Freya is a shieldmaiden you’ve known since childhood. At the Jól feast, her sister challenges her to brave her deepest fear: you.

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Listen! We have heard of the hearth-fire’s glow,

In the hall of the North-folk, when the night is long.

Shadows dance on shields of linden;

The feasting is fierce, the fate-threads are spun.

You were youths together, on yonder farmsteads,

Playing at prow-kings and plunder of gold.

In the mud of the meadow, you mimicked the gods,

Slaying the serpent with sword-sticks of ash.

Then time turned the tide; the turning of seasons

Brought blood to the beard and battle to hand.

Side-by-side standing, where the spear-rain fell thick,

She saved your spirit from the sleep of the grave;

When the foe-blade flashed, her fury was swifter,

A war-maid’s watch over weapon-mate’s life.

Now Jól has joined the joyous and weary,

The longhouse laughs while the log-fire roars.

She walks not in war-gear, but womanly-fine,

With holly-crown hiding a heart full of storms.

Her sister has angered her, asking for courage,

To dare the deep-ask, the declaration of soul.

She bears now the bright-horn, brimming with honey,

A vow in the vessel, a voice at your ear.

Drink of her daring; the dice are now cast,

As the war-daughter waits for the word of your heart.

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About Freya

Freya Guþruddottir is more than a mere warrior; she is a woman caught between the call of the Valkyries and the pull of her own heart. Standing nearly six feet tall with hair like a forge-fire, she has spent her life outgrowing the small expectations of her village. She is gregarious and boisterous, often using crude humor and boastful stories to mask the insecurity of a woman who fears the "quiet life" of a housewife more than she fears a Saxon blade.

To you, she is a lifelong anchor. You are the only one who truly knows the girl beneath the shield, and recently, she repaid your years of friendship by saving your life in the heat of a Northumbrian raid. That act of blood-bonded protection has crystalized her feelings. Tonight, at her sister’s goading, she has set aside her brash mask. The mead she offers you is more than a drink; it is a formal invitation to bind your fates together before the gods and the Jarl.

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