Stepping out from the mead-hall, Lìfa had to shield her eyes from the morning sun reflecting from the white snow. As weeks passed by, winter's sharp claws had loosened around the land, letting springtime slowly claiming its kingdom back. The ground was still slippery from snow, but each day more sunshine came down to melt it away. The thick ice keeping the sea in a frozen numbness had cracked and the waves began to move and fight their way up to the surface again.

As she carried her gaze upon the small hill by the shore, her eyes got caught up on the form of a tall man with broad shoulders, struggling to lift an enormous piece of wood.

"For fuck's sake, Carolus! Put that lute down before I shove it up somewhere you don't want me to, and come help me!" Bjarne's thundering voice filled the air, making a small smile spread across Lìfa's face. "This forsaken arch is heavy as Mjollnir*!"

The skald sat on one of the several benches lined up on the small hill, practising a new song.

"Instead of bear, your name should mean cryin' little girl who can't lift a small stick on his own!" Carolus let out an annoyed groan, not willing to leave his place, but seeing the thunders bolting from behind his friend's eyes, he finally put his instrument aside and walked up to Bjarne.

The two men grabbed the heavy object and while shouting several curses and the names of all known gods, they managed to make it stand. It was an arch carved out of heavy wood, covered with many figures, gods and blessed runes. They set it up on the top of the hill, providing a beautiful landscape from there to the awakening sea.

The cracking of a nearby fire and the heavenly smell of roasted meat made Lìfa tear her gaze away from the arch and her friends. As she turned back to the town square with her stomach grumbling, she found a group of women slowly spinning a wild boar above the fire and preparing other delicious foods in several bowls. The sound of their laughter and chatting merged together with the voices of their children happily running around and decorating everything with colourful ribbons and beads.

Meanwhile, Ivar and Olaf carried more benches and chairs in front of the arch, organizing them into two columns. Close behind them walked the happily whistling Halfdan, carrying a big pile of fox, wolf and bear furs, covering every seat  to make them more comfortable and warm in the sharp wind.

Anywhere she turned her face, Lìfa saw the town burning in hasty preparations of an event quite unusual in wintertime. The air was thick with excitement and anticipation, she could feel it with every breath she took. With each moment passing by, the ritual came closer and her stomach shrunk into a more tiny ball. With longing eyes, Lìfa watched the townspeople decorating the arch, carrying there more benches or just cooking food for the big feast. She wanted to be part of it, to share their joy and excitement, but something was holding her back. A feeling she couldn't name looming over her head like a dark cloud, turning everything into grey.

"Can't believe this day had finally come." Sveinn's voice pulled Lìfa out of her thoughts. Stepping out to the sunlight, he wrapped an arm around her shoulders. With a smile, he took a deep breath of the morning air. "I'm so excited! You too?"

Seeing the flourish sitting on his face, Lìfa couldn't help but force her lips into a pained smile too.

"Yeah, can't wait for it." She tried to sound as enthusiastic as she could, and hoped that it would cover up her mixed feelings. For her luck, Sveinn didn't seem to notice as he just placed his chin on top of her head, staring at the hill and the busy people. For a while, they stayed in this comforting hug, but in thought they were far away from the other.

"Lìfa–" Sveinn broke the silence, but something made him change his mind and stopped.

"Hm?" The sudden silence caught Lìfa's attention, bringing her thoughts back from the far land they wandered off to.

"Nothing... It's nothing." Sveinn's voice sounded calm and comforting, but he couldn't hide the slight shaking in his tone from his friend.

Lìfa freed herself from his hug and turned to face him. She looked up at the boy, which was now quite challenging. Sveinn grew more than a head taller than her in the last two months. Since then, he wore his blonde locks in a long braid running down from the middle of his head. Around the sides, his hair was shaved and the skin was covered with the sacred runes of the berserkers.

"Sveinn. I know something's up." Lìfa put her hands on her hips, her eyes staring deep into her friend's, trying to read his mind.

"Nothing. I think I'm just nervous as everyone else would be. Anyway, I have to go, I promised to help father. But see you by the arch at the ritual!"
Before Lìfa could ask anything else, he hurried away, leaving her alone with her doubts again...

The rest of the morning slipped away like it was only a quick beat of the heart. A second ago, Lìfa was just staring alone into the morning sun, and now it was early in the afternoon with her walking towards the arch set up on the hill. She wore a silver coat of wolf fur over her nicest and cleanest clothes. Her red locks got tied into many small braids, decorated with beads. Her palms were slippery with sweat and each step she took among the lines of benches made Lìfa feel like running out of air. Finally, she reached the first line and sat beside Rùni and Magda, Sveinn's parents.

After all members of the close family and friends took their seats, and the other villagers formed a half-circle around them, Frode took his place beside a blonde man by the arch as well. Over his black robe, he wore a coat made of a bear's skin, the animal's head put over his as a hood. He stood straight, rising above the crowd with his staff in hand.

The noise of excited gasps and whispers filled the air as an old man walked between the rows with a young girl by his side. She wore a red cloak with the hood on, hiding her face from the sea of curious eyes. When they reached the arch, with tears shining in his eyes, the man let go of his daughter's hand and gracefully stepped away. All noises faded as the girl turned towards the crowd and slowly pulled her hood back, revealing her porcelain skin and honey blonde hair, tied into several braids. Beneath the traditional red cloak, she wore a simple, white dress, radiating in the afternoon sun.

Runa was beautiful, Lìfa could not deny it. The bright smile on her face and the way she looked at Sveinn made her lips curl into a smile too. The two were longing for each other for so long, and finally, they were about to tie their lives together.

"Dear friends," Frode's husky voice caught the crowd's attention as all the heads turned towards him. "Today we came together to ask the gods' blessings to this young couple and their beautiful union."

As the godi started the ceremony, Lìfa felt the dark cloud lingering around her slowly soaking its poison into her mind, muting all happiness inside. As she was watching the couple changing swords, she felt like she saw an altered version of reality. A painful, broken one with each shard cutting deeper into her soul.

Prayer after prayer, Lìfa felt like time was simply walking past by, leaving her stuck. She knew that they changed rings, she heard the crowd cheering and whispering to each other, but it all seemed to come from the distance.

Her mind was loud as a storm, keeping everything else outside.

The thought of Sveinn being with the love of his life and starting a family caused at first a small crack on her guard, then with a huge crack broke it into a million pieces, letting all her sorrow rain down on her and escape in the form of hot tears. Sveinn getting married meant that soon he would have his own family, leaving Lìfa completely alone. In a glimpse of time, he would change their hunts and endless walks in the forest to teaching his first kid how to walk. Instead of practising with Lìfa, he would teach that tiny human to hold a toy-sword. Instead of drinking mead with her in the hall, he would sit by the fire with his wife bearing their second child, choosing its name.

On a night filled with bad dreams, she couldn't just walk up to Sveinn's place anymore to find some peace. He would sleep sweetly with his wife between his arms. Lìfa was about to lose the only person who was still important to her. The last piece of family she had. After losing Einar then Finn too, the thought of another person just walking out of her life felt unbearable.

Sitting among the crowd she suddenly felt like she was all alone with no one around, but the heavy loneliness wrapping her.

"You can't have it all. It's either your happiness or his." Lìfa heard the familiar voice whispering above all the noise, making her aching heart quickening up the pace. She turned her head towards the row behind to search the crowd for him, but through the foggy veil of her tears, the red-haired man was nowhere to be found. Before she could have the time to think more about what she had just heard, Bjarne's voice jerked her back to reality.

"Lìfa! Hey, Lìfa, you not coming?"

"S– sorry, what?" The shakiness and weakness of her own voice surprised her, but fortunately, the man didn't seem to notice.

"I know, I know, it was beautiful and all, but wipe your tears and come! You'll miss out on all the mead and food! The real fun's only starting now!"

Touching her face, Lìfa had just noticed that wet streams of tears were running down her face all along, she was just too lost in thought to care. Wiping her face with the sleeve of her coat, she looked around, her eyes scanning the small hill.

The ceremony was over and everyone headed towards the mead-hall to congratulate the happy couple and to start the feast. After a few deep breaths to recompose herself, Lìfa followed the crowd with a straight, emotionless face. Stepping into the building her senses got filled up with the smell of smoke dancing around in the dim light and with the sound of music, agitated chatter and joyous laughter. Avoiding all eye-contact, she sat down to the farthest table from the couple, trying to hide from their sight.

"Look, who decided to join our little group back here. Why don't you sit with your oh, so mighty friend and his new wife?"

Before looking up at Vidar, Lìfa emptied her drinking horn and held it out for the servants to fill it with honey mead again.

"None of your business." Her voice was cold as ice and her eyes pierced right into the man's. He stood her glare and opened his mouth to an ugly smile.

"Really? Well, you don't have to tell, it's written all over your face. Someone's jealous."

Wildfire flashed behind her eyes as Vidar uttered the last words. In rage, she smashed her fist against the table, spilling her drink all over it.

"What do you know? Mind your own business and let me be! I just want to have a drink or two in peace, is that too much to ask for?"

Seeing her sudden change in mood and the deadly lightning and flames bolting from behind her eyes, Vidar leaned back in his chair with a smile again.

"You know what? Drink with us! We wanted to have a contest anyway..." He gestured around, pointing at Halfdan, Ivar and Olaf sitting by the table, nodding in agreement.

"Servant! Bring the pitchers!"

In no time, Lìfa found ten pitchers of strong mead lined up in front of all five competitors. She had never tried it but saw her crewmates playing this game and land under the table countless times before. Just what she wanted. To mute all those feelings raging inside her and to forget all her sorrow for a while.

"Alright, my dear friends!" Halfdan carried his gaze around like it was serious business. "The rules are simple. Each round a drink. If you vomit or leave the table, you're out. The last one standing after the most rounds wins."

The first two pitchers were emptied easily. The sweet honey mead washed away their past conflicts, obscene jokes and laughter filled the air around the table. Lìfa felt the darkness loosening its grip around her heart and her mind became more and more numb.

The third round passed by easily too. The huge weight pulling her heart down seemed to fade away and it became too easy to talk, too easy to laugh about the little things. There was no need to grip the meaning behind the thoughts anymore, it was easier just getting carried away in the sweet moment of forgetting.

They were just about to down the next round when Olaf stood up from the table.

"Where do ya think you're going? If ya leave the table, the game's over!" Halfdan pointed his greasy finger at the cook. He clearly was not under the effect of the drink yet. His sticky beard could tell the tales of long years of heavy drinking, just like Vidar's or Olaf's.

"I told you! If I get home wasted as fuck, there ain't gonna be good sex tonight, but my sweet Inge's gonna beat the living shit outta me! And I'm definitely not down for that!" Olaf shrugged apologetically with a playful shine in his eyes.

"You fear that woman too much! I can't believe you can't have a good drink with the boys!" Vidar hit the table with one fist, his other hand already holding the fourth drink.

"A man has needs. Ivar, son, win that game for me! Don't let these old drinkers beat you and the girl!" With one last mischievous grin, Olaf bid farewell and left the table.

The fourth and the fifth rounds passed by quickly, Lìfa didn't really remember drinking them, just saw the pile of empty pitchers growing bigger. Suddenly, the air became too heavy to breathe and her head turned dizzy.

"Alright, I... I think I'm gonna have some air." As she stood up, the world swayed and spun around her, making it hard to focus on one point. All sounds blurred together into one big mess. With an urge building up inside her to empty her stomach, she clumsily took a few steps towards the exit, but Ivar stopped her.

"Wait, I'll help you," he placed an arm around Lìfa's shoulder, but the steersman's biting voice made him freeze.

"Really, Ivar? You wanna lose because the girl can't drink? If she wants to be one of us, she has to learn how to drink properly. Now get back on your ass and continue!"

Without breaking eye-contact with Halfdan, he downed his sixth and seventh drink effortlessly, smashing the pitchers hard against the table.

"Now I'm two rounds ahead."

Finally reaching the fresh air with the help of her friend, Lìfa fell to her knees in the melting snow and broke its whiteness with a huge pool of vomit. Releasing everything out made her feel a bit better, but she couldn't stand up yet. Lìfa stayed on her knees, staring down at the ruins of her dinner for a few minutes and took some shaky breaths to calm her body down.

When she finally felt the strength to stand, Ivar wanted to take her back to their table, but Lìfa found something better. A tall, slender boy with long, dark hair, green eyes and a sweet smile asking for a dance.

The next thing she remembered was the sweet and playful melody escaping Carolus' lute and two firm hands on her hips pulling her close, guiding her body around the dancefloor. Swirling and spinning, like the world around her, not thinking about anything. Just getting lost in the sea-green gaze of his, only to find themselves in her house. The feeling of kisses running down her neck. The sound of their clothes falling to the ground, and wrapping her legs around him tight...

Notes:
Mjollnir - Thor's hammer which was so heavy, only the God of Thunder could lift it

A/N:
Hi! I feel like I owe you an apology for disappearing for two months. It's because of my studies. It's my last semester in which I hopefully get my Bachelor's degree in psychology. Unfortunately, it consumes a lot of my freetime, but I'll keep updating whenever I can.
Thank you for sticking with me and still reading! I hope you liked it!
Love,
Csenge 💙