Chapter Text
Her name was Maurytha, a Saxon princess in Wessex. And at this time she was fearful, more than she had ever been before. Men were being cut down with single swings of swords. Axes were buried into the skulls of her people. The Scandinavian Vikings had promised to pillage all of England, and now the Danish were here to steal everything God had gifted them.
What Maurytha feared even more though were the women who sliced through bodies with deadly finesse. She had read fables of the viking maidens believing them to just be tales told to intimidate little children. But here they were in her home, killing alongside their men. Their bodies slithered around the steel and stone weapons meant to stop them, and they took it upon themselves to shield their allies. Her gaze aligned with a dark-haired and fair-skinned maiden. The woman’s wild eyes burned into her own. The connection was broken as the woman raised the circular shield up to block the fall of a man’s sword towards her head. Maurytha admired the woman’s skill as she twisted around, allowing his momentum to carry him to the ground. She instinctively thrust her sword into his back. The maiden’s eyes fell back on her. Her heart thumped against her ribs. One pulse. Two. The beats echoed within. The third thump. Behind the bloodthirst in her eyes, Maurytha swore she saw lust. Four. Five… and was there also fear? Six heartbeats. The warrior yanked her sword from the man’s chest and blood dripped from the blade. That was what woke the princess from the entrancement she was under.
Fear overtook Maurytha, and she ran. She fled deep into the great hall praying to her god that he have mercy on all of them. She pleaded that he save her people from the hand of these monsters. The battle raged on outside. Metal clanged against metal. Blood from both sides soaked their soil. Why had she not killed me? All it would have taken… Thoughts plagued the princess as she cowered near the hearth. I owe my life to a shieldmaiden.
She had no way of knowing how long it had been when the king’s voice rose above all encouraging victory. The shouts of their men grew louder as the tide turned. “Turn back!” A deep viking voice called out eventually. Maurytha let out a gasp of relief. The knife she was clutching clattered down against the stone floor. She sunk down; the adrenaline draining from her veins. Thank you, Oh Father. You, Almighty God, have guarded us once more against our enemies. We praise you always, in the good and the bad, but thank you for delivering us from evil.
A murderous cry broke through her prayers, and Maurytha watched the same warrior woman push a spear through the chest of a man in the entryway. The princess scrambled to grasp the knife once more and rise to her feet. The viking woman advanced against the beckoning of another to retreat. Her leather boots hit the stone floor of the hall, and she took in the grandeur of it all. Theirs was truly magnificent. Gold cast art decorated the walls. Many rich skins and furs adorned the benches. She stood before the mantle staring perplexed at a large crucifix.
Maurytha took the opportunity to slink along the wall behind her. Admittedly the woman was nearly as beautiful as the temptress Delilah she has read about so many times. Her frame was thin and delicate, yet ferocity radiated from every movement. Intricate braids were woven through her luscious locks, and a dark tattoo started at her left temple and draped down her sharp jawline. Coal was smeared all along her eyelids, and three lines of bloodstains marked her chin. Leathers and armour concealed what feminine features she might have, though it was evident she was a beautiful woman. The shield she bore was painted in bright colours and embellished with metal reinforcements. Juxtaposing the beauty, blood dripped from her shield onto the stones depicting just how capable a killer she was.
“Are you actually going to use that thing or will you continue to stare?” the woman’s voice pulled her back to reality. A murderer, her enemy, stood before her.
Before the woman could turn around to face her, Maurytha stepped forward silently and pushed the knife into the side of her neck. “Do not move.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it,” the woman whispered back. The hairs on her neck stood up as the breath of her attacker brushed across it. “so now what, Princess?” She dragged out the title slowly and surely. Maurytha’s breath hitched. She hadn’t realised she was recognised. The shieldmaiden turned her head, allowing the blade to break the skin cutting a thin line across her neck. A single eyebrow raised and a smirk crossed her lips. “Do you want to kill me or fuck me?”
A gasp escaped this time. Lust flowed in the air between them. “Kill you.” Hives began to crawl up her spine.
“That’s a shame. I always wanted to have a princess.” A frown slowly shrouded her smirk. “So then,” she tilted her head up providing full access to all the veins along her neck. She stared into green orbs that under circumstances, she would certainly lose herself in. “Kill me.” Each consonant was enunciated deliberately.
Maurytha was transfixed by the woman before her. What human willingly submitted to death? She studied her eyes. Despite the viking’s hard mask, her eyes were exceptionally expressive. Hidden behind eagerness and fury was a layer of lust and cockiness. But just beneath that, shame and regret swirled. The hall was silent beyond their synchronised breaths. Warm fluid trickled down her knuckles. She broke contact with those wild eyes to see the woman had pushed her neck further into the knife.
“No.” She shook her head, shuffling backwards. She dropped the knife now coated in blood.
Anger pulsed through the shieldmaiden. “Kill. Me.” She lunged at the princess to provoke her. Maurytha simply stepped aside, as her intent was clearly not to harm. The woman stood rigidly and outstretched her arms. “I am not afraid. The Æsir have called me home. I am ready.” A pained smile crept onto her features. “I welcome the Valkyries to summon me to Valhalla!”
Saxon soldiers stormed into the hall at the shouting. A swift kick to her knee cap and the Viking fell to the stone. After considerable struggle, two soldiers pinned her arms behind her. Another retrieved the knife and looked to his princess for directives.
“Your name?” Maurytha regained her manners.
The woman’s gaze blazed into her soul. “Janegerd Francettor.”
Recognition flashed across all their faces. They had captured a Viking legend - a woman said to be a Valkyrie fallen to Earth. Maurytha stood over the shieldmaiden. “You still have purpose in this life, Janegerd. And I will not take that away from you.”