Freya Save Me!

He was right, of course. But that didn't stop her from wanting to ask Freya's blessing. The goddess had saved her more than once and in more ways than one. It only seemed fitting.

That following night the threat of snow finally began to fall. Bjørn had known it was coming and was prepared. It was to be a full moon tonight, the sixth night of Yule, halfway through. It was only fitting that they bind themselves under Freya's full moon. He didn't believe the gods or goddesses cared for any save themselves, nor did they intervene in the matters of man. But he did believe in Yrsa. And this was important to her.

She'd spent the day cleaning and mending the ceremonial dress she'd been sacrificed in. It was the finest linen she'd ever worn. It only seemed felicitous that she should wear the dress she'd been doomed in to be raptured in. She fashioned it with a white fox fur about her shoulders and braided her hair into a crown. He wore plain clothing, his own hair and beard bore a few braids, and the large berserker bear skin on his back.

He placed her on their horse and by moonlight journeyed to the only place that had ever felt spiritual to him. A perfectly round grove amidst a thick forest of ancient pines. There was nothing particularly special about the clearing, just a place that felt different to him. It felt like home, in a way he'd never known. At least, not before her.

She slid off the horse into his arms and there he held her, taking in his love's beauty and marveling at his fortune. Walking to the center of the grove, they faced one another and exchanged coy smiles, neither entirely sure where to begin.

"Yrsa, you are my gift from Freya. She rules over matters of the heart, and she must have found mine wanting, for she sent me you. It is you who have healed me and made me whole." He pulled a short sword from around his waist and offered it to her. "This is all I have of my past. For the first time that I can remember, I now have family, in you. Let this sword symbolize the protection I offer you, as well as a hope to continue us onward, giving this to our son." She took the sword, forbidding her tears to yet fall. He pulled out a strand of black spun wool and together they tied it gently around their left wrists, joining them together, binding them. "With this tie, I ask for Freya to bind us together, to finish what she has put into motion, and to bless us as our hearts become one."

Yrsa no longer tried to hold back her tears, letting them flow freely as they burned her cheeks against the cold. "I have nothing to offer Freya, and I have nothing to give to you." He started to shake his head in protest. "And so I give to you all that I am. If I truly am a gift from Freya, as you say, then I am yours in every way. My heart wants for nothing but yours. You have always been my purpose. I will thank Freya every day for the rest of my life for guiding our lives towards one another and entangling our hearts so. I ask of you Freya, continue to bless us, as you always have."

They held one another in that cold clearing, foreheads together, bound hands between them. A warm glow of growing, swirling light caught their eyes. They looked to the heavens to see the northern lights coming to life. "It looks as though she heard us," Bjørn mused, admiring one of the earthly manifestations of their goddess.

"She's given us her blessing," Yrsa whispered to the night as she marveled at the whirling waves of awe. The blessing was no surprise to her, but underneath this wonder she couldn't help but be humbled.

They made love in the grove under Freya's lights and full moon as the snow fluttered down around them. It had warmed slightly, and now the snow was beginning to turn to wet, heavy tufts. They didn't dwell for long, but it was a night neither of them would forget, and they wanted to drink it in for as long as they could.

The next morning a messenger arrived through the snowstorm. The chieftain's lands were being attacked on the far side. They were losing men thanks to the weather and Bjørn was needed. He couldn't refuse the call, neither his duty nor his honor would allow it, but he knew this was not all that it seemed to be. "Go around and ready my horse. I will say goodbye to my wife a moment." When the messenger had left he pulled her to him and began whispering urgently.

"I feel it in my bones that there is danger here. Yet I cannot refuse this call. I may be able to end half an army, but Ulf would send that and more if I were to abandon him. You have the short sword and your dagger. Stay inside but flee if you feel danger is near. He dare not intrude during Yule, even that is below him and he is no fool. But something is amiss. Be alive and well when I return home, wife." She always listened and did as he bade, he had to hope this time would be no different.

"Husband, you worry because everything has come on so suddenly. As you say, he is not fool enough to offend during Yule. I will be fine. It is you that I worry about. Promise me you'll return to me?"

"Even if I were to die on the battlefield I would fight through all of Valhalla to return to you, my wife, my gift." And with a kiss to be remembered, he was gone. They spurred their horses on wickedly through the snow, he knew he needed to return as soon as he could. If he needed to give in to his rage and fury he'd be out of control and would pass out with his task accomplished. That would leave her alone for far too long. His worry and fear urged him forward.

Yrsa dutifully did as she was told. She busied herself with spinning her wool to yarn. He'd brought her fleeces not knowing how poor of a spinner she was. Now with the storm she had nothing but time to practice. Maybe she'd even be able to work a loom by spring.

That first day was uneventful. Bjørn had added onto their home, making a small passageway between their living quarters and the space where they housed their animals. It was only the one goat now and with the snow coming down heavily it had no ability to graze. She kept it inside for fear of the weather and to better follow Bjørn's instructions. She knew he had reason to fear, he knew better how to survive. She dare not risk anything unnecessarily.

The sun was just starting to set on that second day, the eighth day of Yule, when the door to their home was kicked down. Ulf came through over the felled wood. Yrsa tried to run to the doorway between their house and the shelter for the animals, but he grabbed her by the hair and pulled hard, knocking her onto her back. "Yrsa, now come to your senses. You cannot want to stay here. He is gone now. There is no reason for you to fear anymore. Let us go home and you will become my wife and I your husband. As it should be." She glared at him from the ground he'd just thrown her to.

"I already have a husband. One who has never thrown me on the ground in anger."

"You would really choose to stay here and be his little whore?"

"I choose to stay here and be his! Just as he is mine."

Ulf shook his head in amused disbelief. "Stay here then. But I'm taking what's mine before I go." He lurched down to her, grabbing at her dress and legs. She scratched and clawed and fought until he shook her brutally, hitting her head against the ground hard enough that her vision blurred.

As she fought to maintain consciousness he ripped up her dress and began to fumble with the ties to his pants. She again tried to move, weaker this time, and he grabbed her, ready to knock her head again if she didn't hold still. "I want you awake for this, Yrsa. Don't make me knock you out. You need to remember what a real man feels like inside your tight little pussy. Although I wonder how tight it is anymore, fucking that monster like the little whore you are."

She closed her eyes, her senses returning to her. He didn't need to know how conscious she truly was. Her arms went from trying to push him off to falling to the sides. He spread her legs and placed himself before her. He was close enough she could feel his warmth against her. He grabbed her thighs, positioning her, his cock bumping against her before he grabbed it, trying to place it at her opening.

His eyes were focused on where he'd soon be forcing his way into her body. As he began to press in she lunged to the side, grabbing the unsheathed short sword she'd been keeping under their bed, swiftly bringing it across his throat. The blade was perilously sharp, taking nearly half his head off with that one slash. His eyes bulged in horror, realization coming much quicker this time. His blood sprayed all over her face and body before his corpse came crashing down on her.

Severing the rest of his body from his head didn't disgust her in the way she thought it might. And relieving his corpse of his cock before shoving it into his mouth had been something akin to enjoyable. Yrsa wondered how endearing Bjørn would find this level of her rage. She put Ulf's head into a sack and covered it with snow just outside their front door. Through the snow, over the small hill behind their home, in the opposite direction of their water source, she walked for an unnecessarily long time before discarding the body. A wolf for the wolves, she thought to herself. The snow had finally stopped, and it was easy enough to follow the trail of blood back to her home.

She'd done what needed to be done. It was as simple as that. Perhaps some of her berserker's rage had rubbed off on her. Or maybe it had always been a part of her.

That night she dreamt of her berserker, rage and fury and love racing towards her. She woke with a newfound sense of freedom and calm. That morning she gave thanks to Freya before washing her bloodied clothes. She wanted the blood completely gone from her home and decided to bathe naked. Regardless of the nearly freezing water of the stream. As she washed she began to worry about Bjørn.

Ulf had said he was gone, but she didn't know if he meant gone from their home or gone from this world. She wondered if he'd actually been truly needed for battle at all. He'd be back soon if it had all been a ruse. Gods help anyone that got in his way. She smiled thinking of her dream, remembering him racing back to her. After all, Freya was not a cruel goddess, and Yrsa chose to not worry about what the gods may or may not have done. All she wanted was for him to be with her again. It was nearing the end of Yule, after all, and she knew Freya would not have brought them together just to tear them apart.

She walked the short distance from the pool of the stream to their home naked. He said he wasn't accustomed to visitors out here, and she believed him, but it certainly didn't seem like he'd been telling the truth given the last few days. Believing it would now calm down, she took her time. The temperature had warmed, and even naked she felt almost comfortable in the water.

She'd dressed and had put her clothes up to dry. The door was still badly broken in a way she couldn't fix. The night before she'd propped the door up and barricaded it with logs she'd rolled in from outside. She was looking at the door, trying to see if she would even know where to begin, when she heard a flurry of hooves.

She didn't recognize the horse, but she'd know the rider anywhere. It seemed as though her husband had returned to her, just as he'd sworn to. He would have switched out the horse as he raced it back without rest. He didn't even stop the beast before he jumped off its back in front of her. She smiled seeing him, and gave a pleasant greeting, "Hello, husband," as she calmly embraced him.

He eyed her suspiciously as he looked between her, the broken door, and the bloodied sack half buried in the melting snow. "Hello, wife. How have you fared in my absence?"

"Well enough. I swore to you I would be alive and well when you returned home. And so I am." She reached up to kiss him, distracting him from his questions and pulling him into the moment with her.

It was the tenth day of Yule as she sat in his lap on their warm bed and told one another their stories. She recalled hers with the honesty he'd come to rely on, and he did the same. There had been a skirmish. But it was one the young chieftain had instigated foolishly. It was clear now that it was done with the intention of pulling a husband away from his wife. The berserker's fury and rage never took over because it wasn't needed. As soon as the matter was settled he had indeed exchanged his horse for a fresh one and ran nonstop back to her. For the rest of that day and the next they discussed what their future held and did nothing but fuck and make love and savor one another, mind and body. Yrsa's body had needed the rest, but now it needed his with a vengeance. Bjørn was always more than ready to ravage his wife, and he did so as if she needed to feel the proof of his desire.

The next morning they stood outside enjoying the final day of Yule, thanking Freya for one another and for their good fortune. "It seems as though we have a Yuletide gift to return to that nearby village," Bjørn said as he roughly nudged the bloodied sack.

"I suppose we do," she agreed, smiling to herself.

When they entered the village nearly everyone was celebrating in the chieftain's grand hall. They walked hand in hand as they entered. Yrsa carrying the newly late chieftain's head by his hair, his cock still jammed in his mouth.

They walked up to the chieftain's table where a few brothers, cousins, and uncles sat scattered, awaiting a chieftain that had just arrived. Husband and wife stood in front of them all. Everyone's eyes were focused on the couple as hushed whispers circled the hall. Yrsa threw the head down towards the nearly empty table. "Your foolish chieftain tried to rape the wife of his berserker. The same berserker that is solely responsible for the power that your family has long held. I offer it to you, his people, so that you may know what kind of man he was. And so that you may have reason to stay out of our way. There is no call for revenge. I defended my honor and my life by right."

Bjørn simply looked on, bemused with his ruthless wife that he loved so dearly.

"Is there any who wish to challenge either me or my husband?" she asked, raising her voice so that all may hear. After a fair time one of his uncles came around to pick up his nephew's head. He looked from his nephew to his new chieftain and the lady of the village. Tossing the head into the hall's blazing fire, he moved in front of them, kneeling and swearing his sword and his life to the lady of virtue and her husband of strength.

That evening they sat at their table and spoke with everyone in the village as the people swore their oaths of loyalty to the couple. Her father approached them but could find no words for a daughter he had failed. "Father, this whole village failed me. It was weakened by selfishness and greed. Your actions are why I am alive. For the rest of them, we will make sure this lack of judgment will not be repeated. You are forgiven, just as they all are forgiven."

Husband and wife were inseparable that evening, the last night of Yule, and ever after. They thanked Freya for her interventions and again asked for her blessing for them and now too for their people. A dozen boars were sacrificed, one for each night of Yule, and as the old ones did- they left the sacrifice for her.

That night they slept in the chieftain's quarters, a room larger than their entire home. Inside the great hall it was outfitted with dark wooden walls and a roaring fireplace. A lavishly soft bed Bjørn would need to get used to. He had no desire to rule, but knowing what he was, he knew this was how he would keep her safe, how he could keep their family safe.

She sat on their bed, combing her hair to calm her mind, contemplating the position she'd put them in. "I am sorry, husband. I know this isn't the life you wanted."

"And what life do you believe my heart desired?" he asked gently. Their love had come to them quickly, and they knew they had much to learn of one another. But important things are felt, and they felt them in spades.

"One of combat and glory, my Bear! Not of strategy and responsibility and...," she looked around their new accommodations. She'd been promised this, and for a time believed she wanted it. Now he was all she wanted, and she feared he'd be miserable.

His eyes twinkled with that devious and desirous look that now reactively elicited her own arousal. He came to kneel before her, and she began combing her fingers through his hair and beard. "For strategy and responsibility, we shall both serve those titles. I could not do this without you by my side, nor would I have reason to. Don't fool yourself my beloved gift, with what I am, I can know no other way but to live a life of combat. And of glory? I shall have it, on the battlefield and off." As he spoke his fingers traced from her ankles, under her dress, and up to her thighs at a maddingly slow pace. Her breath catching every so often, her face showing him everything he wanted to see.

His hands had stilled when he finished speaking. Her own thoughts returning to her, she asked, "What glory would a berserker find off the battlefield?" A devious grin spread across his face. His wife, while certainly not a girl, was still more than a bit naïve. He almost felt sorry that he'd be taking that away from her, almost.

His hand swiftly slithered to her womanhood, his aim strong and true, her head bent back, and her chest arched forward from the sudden impulse of pleasure. "Here is more glory than I had ever hoped to find," he whispered to her as he fingered her pussy, his eyes heavy with desire as he pulled little mewling sounds from her.

He'd more than ignited her fire, but there was more to it now. There was something different, and he was more than intrigued. She put her hands behind his head and pulled him to her, kissing him gently at first, letting the heat slowly rise as he continued his ministrations between her legs. When her climax was near she could no longer focus on anything else. Her tongue retreated and he pressed his lips to her temple as he pushed her over the edge. All she could do was cling to him and let go and slowly come back down.

He looked at his bride, dazed with pleasure as he pulled her to her feet. Her legs were wobbly as she looked up into his eyes, the same wild eyes that had only two weeks ago surprised her and saved her. He pulled her dress off, slowly running his hands along her warm body, grasping her plump breasts, pinching her nipples before taking each in his mouth in turn.

"Bjørn, please!" She pleaded, needing more of him.

"I am in no hurry, wife. We will remember this night for the rest of our days. I want it to be for the right reasons." She nodded meekly, understanding but still impatient. Slowly she peeled off his clothes, her hands exploring his body, placing lingering kisses as she went, enjoying his heavy, sensual sighs.

She knelt before him and looked up, waiting for a sign that she wasn't moving too fast. He wanted tonight to be memorable for all the right reasons, and she was going to do her share. With a half-smile he gave her a curt nod. Her attention turned to his cock, hard and throbbing as it was. She had difficulty taking all of him, but that's what made him groan the roughest and she could never get enough of those sounds. She held him as her tongue slowly ran up and down the front of his shaft. She sucked on first one of his balls and then the other as she stroked him, worshiping his manhood.

His hands became entangled in her hair as she sucked on the outside of his cock, making her way back up to the head. Pulling the tip of his cock between her pouty lips she looked back up at him. His burning eyes were on her intently as he grasped her hair. She held the gaze as she began to take more and more of him, her tongue massaging every vein, bump, and ridge along the way.