💙13 - Sæskuggar [Runes of Wyrd]🤍

In the picture, from left to right: Torgä – A faithful shieldmaiden of Skörta Torstein Orrisson – Personal bodyguard of Skörta and loyal servant of the Eldrún family Skörta Eldrún – Future Queen of Norway, daughter of King Håkon who has recently died under mysterious circumstances Album : https://suno.com/playlist/d3b85d17-41e5-4f6c-bfbc-4086191ed19e 💙🤍💙🤍💙🤍💙🤍💙🤍💙🤍💙🤍💙🤍 For more than a week, Torstein had been waiting for Queen Skörta’s return. In her absence, he had handled the most pressing matters of the realm as best he could, maintaining a fragile sense of order, often through generous amounts of ale and fleeting pleasures. When she entered the Great Hall, he straightened immediately, pushing aside a half-empty mug and attempting, somewhat clumsily, to regain a posture worthy of his position. Skörta acknowledged him with a slight nod, then stepped closer and discreetly caught the scent of his breath before murmuring with a faint smirk. "I hope you have not spent all the kingdom’s gold on celebrations... your smell gives me a small reason to doubt." Torstein cleared his throat, visibly embarrassed. "My queen... it was only the beginning of a small gathering, nothing more. You could even join us, the atmosphere is quite..." She raised her hand and cut him off. "We do not have time for that. We are leaving. Prepare twenty members of my personal cohort. I want a few drengr and several shieldmaiden. Enough to secure our journey, but not so many that we weaken what remains behind us." Torstein nodded, ready to obey, then hesitated. "Yes, my queen... but who will rule in your absence?" Before she could answer, a figure stepped forward behind her. A young boy, no older than Bruno, with long blond hair and clear, steady eyes. Skörta placed a hand on his shoulder. "Have you already forgotten that my son will be the next king of Norway? Erik is fifteen, and he is ready. I have trained him for this." The young man dropped to one knee without hesitation. "By Odin, mother, I will be worthy of your trust." Several days passed in preparation. The great royal drakkar was loaded with care, Torstein personally ensuring that every crate was secured, paying particular attention to the barrels of mead, which he refused to see shattered through carelessness. Skörta, for her part, entrusted Erik with final instructions on trade, governance, and the management of the people, leaving behind a kingdom that appeared stable... at least on the surface. They finally set sail. Around twenty warriors accompanied them, including seasoned drengr and experienced shieldmaiden, each carrying spear and shield with practiced precision. Skörta herself was no less formidable than those at her side, and she knew well that the journey ahead would not be peaceful. That feeling proved true sooner than expected. On the horizon, a dark shape cut through the waves. The banner of the Sæskuggar rose in the wind. They were coastal raiders, hardened by hunger and salt, living on plunder and survival, their bodies lean, their eyes hollow and restless, driven more by desperation than discipline. Their black flag bore a silver wave twisting into a pale-eyed shadow that seemed to stare back at those who dared meet it. Torstein drew his sword. "Form up!" Two shieldmaiden moved to escort the queen to safety, but Skörta pushed them aside, gripping her spear firmly. "You have not forgotten the last time I defeated you, have you, Torstein?" He allowed himself a tight smile. "I was hoping you had." The clash was immediate and violent. The Sæskuggar boarded with chaotic fury, their movements unpredictable, their weapons worn but deadly in close quarters. They fought like men who had nothing left to lose. The shieldmaiden held the line, their shields locking together with controlled rhythm as their spears struck forward with precision. Every movement was deliberate, every weakness exploited. The drengr answered with contained brutality, their axes carving lethal arcs through the cold air. Skörta moved through the chaos with terrifying efficiency. Her spear found its mark again and again, her steps measured, her strikes relentless. She advanced without hesitation, leaving behind fallen enemies and shattered resistance. Then a cry broke through the battle. Torstein. A heavy axe had struck his side. He staggered, attempted to strike back, then collapsed onto the deck, breath torn from his lungs. "Torstein!" Skörta forced her way through the fighting, slamming one attacker aside with her shield before dropping to his side. "Get him to the rear. Now!" Two drengr rushed forward and lifted him as blood already began to pour too quickly. The battle raged for a few moments longer, but its outcome was no longer uncertain. Less disciplined and weakened by heavy losses, the Sæskuggar finally broke and fled, vanishing into the mist like restless spirits. Silence fell, broken only by the groans of the wounded. Skörta rose just enough to give orders, her voice steady despite the storm within. "Those who can still stand, tend to the injured. Quickly." Then she moved toward the rear of the ship. Torstein lay there, pale, his breathing uneven. The wound was deep, torn open, and the blood would not stop. Skörta knelt beside him, her hands already stained red. "No... no, no... not you..." She pressed against the wound, using whatever she could to slow the bleeding, but she knew the truth. They were too far to turn back. Too far to hope for anything but a miracle. She clenched her jaw, refusing to break. "Do you hear me? You stay with me. You do not get to leave now... not after all this..." But Torstein did not answer. And for the first time in a long while, the queen wondered if even she could save him. 💙🤍💙🤍💙🤍💙🤍💙🤍💙🤍💙🤍💙🤍