Hjördis had been carrying Sigurd in her womb when her first husband Sigmund was ambushed, betrayed, and slain by the treacherous King Lyngvi of Sweden. Blood brother and sworn ally of Sigmund, King Álfr had promised his dying friend that he would wed Hjördis and raise her unborn son as his own. And now, though Sigurd did not share his fosterfaðir’sblood, he had been raised in the clifftop royal fortress ofSjóborgwith all the privileges, upbringing, and elite training as the powerful Wolf King’s son.
Silken gown shimmering like the deep blue fjord, blonde braids woven around the glittering crown atop her noble head, hismóðirreturned Sigurd’s smile, anticipation and delight gleaming in her bright gaze. She had hinted to him that King Álfr intended to bestow a trinity of gifts tonight at the celebratory feast, and Sigurd’s knee bounced restlessly beneath the table, drumming with excitement at the prospect.
Now that the feast had finished, King Álfr rose from hisöndvegi, the silver rim of the elaborate elkhorn clutched in his hand etched with runes and embedded with lapis lazuli gems. Since it was late spring, the evening sun had not fully set, despite the late hour, and the last rays streaming through the narrowwindows gilded the sigils and jewels of his elkhorn and elegant crown with glorious golden light.
The king’s booming voice bellowed through the jubilant hall. “Tonight we honor not only my foster son Sigurd, newly sworn among theSjórúlfar, but also the noble guests who have traveled from distant fjords, kingdoms, and halls to witness this triumph. Let all who behold Sigurd’s glory raise their cups in respect for valor, strength, and victory!”
The rapt crowd erupted in riotous cheers. Warriors slammed their fists on tables, horns lifted high, and voices thundered in unison. “To Sigurd Sea Wolf!Skál!”
When the shouts subsided, the visiting jarls rose from their seats, their fine woolen cloaks trimmed with fur and fastened with elaborate silver brooches, armbands glinting in the golden light. One by one, they approached Sigurd, seated among theSjórúlfar, nodding respectfully to King Álfr on the dais before presenting their prestigious gifts.
Jarl Hróald of Bjørndal offered Sigurd a silver ring with the head of a wolf and blue eyes of lapis lazuli. “For courage and cunning,” he murmured, a broad smile breaking his braided, silver-streaked beard.
Sigurd inclined his head with reverence and gratitude as he slipped the ring on the first finger of his left hand. “I shall honor it always.”
Next came Jarl Thorfinn of Skjöldheim, who presented a wooden cask of rare cloudberry mead, carried by two strong attendants. Bjarki of Skógvik offered an ashwood shield, a snarling wolf etched into the polished bronze boss, while Jarl Siggtryg of Ørnesund knelt to offer a bundle of exotic northern furs, shimmering softly in the firelight.
With theBlárúlfrwolfskin cloak wrapped securely around his broad shoulders, its fierce lupine head resting snugly atop his own, Sigurd stood and accepted each gift with honor as thecrowd rumbled with raucous cheers. When the jarls returned to their respective seats, leaving him glowing with glorious pride, Sigurd sat back down amongst theSjórúlfar,who grinned and growled in appreciation and admiration of the magnificent gifts.
The royallonghousefell into hushed reverence as King Álfr rose to address the crowd once again. “Noble jarls and esteemed guests, your gifts honor not only Sigurd but the courage, loyalty, and spirit of all theSjórúlfar. May these offerings stand as symbols of your generosity and the enduring bond between our halls.”
At the king’s words, festive guests raised carved elkhorns and pewter goblets, golden mead glinting in the firelight. While thunderous shouts of “Skál!” rippled through the throng, Sigurd drank deeply, reveling in the fierce fellowship of warriors and the tribute to his triumph.
Álfr raised a regal hand, and silence fell over the expectant hall. The king lifted his carved elkhorn, the blackened runes and lapis gems glittering in the golden sun. Nodding to the crimson-clad king seated at the high table, Álfr introduced his honored royal guest. “Warriors and kin ofSjóborg, I present King Rögnvaldr of Rauðvik, who brings a noble gift to honor Sigurd Sea Wolf.”
As Álfr resumed his seat upon the elaborateöndvegi,King Rögnvaldr rose and inclined his head in respectful deference to his royal host. He motioned to an awaiting attendant, who strode across the gleaming pinewood floor, carrying a ceremonial spear upright in his outstretched arms.
Carved along the pale ashwood shaft, snarling wolves and rolling waves were imbued with deep blue woad. A black leather sheath covered the blade, and a matching grip encircled the shaft near the center. Embroidered in shimmering silver thread, wolves and waves adorned both black leather sheath and grip. At the base of the hooded blade, a lapis lazuli gem gleamed,encased in etched silver where the spearhead met the pale ash shaft.
King Rögnvaldr’s regal voice rose above the murmured din. “Sigurd Sea Wolf, this spear is forged for one who walks with wolves and rides with waves. May it serve you well, as the Norns weave glory and valor into yourwyrd.”
Sigurd accepted the spear with both hands, bowing his wolfskin-clad head to King Rögnvaldr upon the dais. The hall hushed, the lapis gem near the sheathed blade sparkling like the sunlit fjord. Pride and resolve in his reverent voice, Sigurd solemnly addressed the crimson-cloaked king. “I shall wield it with honor, King Rögnvaldr. May its steel bring glory to us both.”
King Rögnvaldr acknowledged the expression of gratitude with a slight incline of his crowned white head before sitting back down beside the flame-hairedvölvawho observed Sigurd with far-seeing amber eyes.
Álfr rose again, his regal voice ringing over the rapt throng. “Let all here lift horn and heart to King Rögnvaldr of Rauðvik, who honors Sigurd, Sea Wolf ofSjóborg,with this noble spear. May it serve my foster son well, and may the bond between our houses endure as steadfast as its steel blade.”
After another riotous round of cheers, the king raised his bejeweled hand to command silence. “And now, before warriors, wolves, welcome allies, and worthy kin gathered tonight in the clifftop fortress ofSjóborg… I proclaim that I, too, have a trinity of gifts to bestow upon Sigurd the Sea Wolf.” Álfr gestured for Sigurd to approach the high table.
Heart hammering, legs shaking with adrenaline, Sigurd rose from his seat among theSjórúlfarand strode across the polished floor. He mounted the steps of the elevated wooden dais upon which the king stood before the ornateöndvegi,the entire hall utterly silent as Sigurd approached the elaborate throne. There,beneath the towering pillars carved with runes and wolves, he sank to one knee before the majestic monarch.
Álfr motioned to one of hishúskarlarstanding at attention along the wall,who brought forth an intricately detailed silver armband resting upon a dark wolfskin. The thick torc displayed a snarling wolf head with bared fangs and lapis lazuli eyes, glittering like the icy fjord. At the opposite end of the arm ring, a thick tail etched with runes rested above sharp, curved claws. The king’s commanding voice echoed off the timbered walls. “For enduring the brutal trial of three endless days and arduous nights, for braving death and demonstrating your prowess and valor, I hereby bestow upon you theÚlfhringr,identifyingsymbol of the Sea Wolves.Rise, Sigurd, and take your place among theSjórúlfar,bound in brotherhood, blood, and blade.” When Sigurd rose on unsteady legs, the king fitted the silver torc firmly around his upper right arm.
At the nearby table of honor where Sigurd had been seated, the eight remainingSjólrúlfarshot to their feet, holding their own arm rings high. In a feral, unified howl that shook the rafters, rumbled across the clifftop, and rippled out over the icy fjord, they hailed Sigurd as a Sea Wolf warrior of the maritime kingdom ofSjóborg.
The hall thundered with frenzied shouts of “Skál!” at the guttural salute of theSjórúlfar. When the exuberant cheering subsided, Álfr’s proud, generous gaze swept over Sigurd. With a flick of bejeweled fingers, he beckoned an armored attendant forward, who carried a shining silver platter, the gleaming edges etched with blackened runes and embellished with glittering blue gems. Draped across the ornate silver tray was a large dark wolfskin, and laid across the luxurious grey fur was a magnificent sheathed sword.
“To honor your triumph in becoming a member of theSjórúlfar,I presentÚlfblóðr,forged in the same blood of thegreat blue wolf whose cloak now wraps you in his fierce spirit and infuses you with indomitable strength. May this wolf blade always strike true, lead you to victory over your enemies, and defend you with the blood ofBlárúlfr.” Álfr lifted the sheathed blade from the silver platter and reverently offered it to Sigurd. “The scabbard is crafted from the same leather and fur as your cloak, adorned with lapis lazuli to mirror the sword. As the sacred wolfskin strengthens yourSjórulfarspirit, so may the sheath guard your lupine blade.”
TheÚlfblóðrsword gleamed in the glorious golden light. Within the intricate pommel, a large lapis lazuli gem glistened like the deep blue sea. The crossguard curved elegantly into the shape of a snarling wolf head, its feral eyes set with smaller lapis stones threaded with gold that blazed with inner fire.
Sigurd humbly accepted the sheathed sword, reverence and awe tightening his proud chest. Shifting the scabbard to his left hand, he wrapped his fingers around the leather throat and slowly withdrew the blade with his right.
Steel whispered free in a long, ringing breath.
Wolves etched along the blade glimmered as if alive, their strength surging up his sword arm and sizzling into his skin. At the base of the elaborate hilt, a trio of runes glinted in the setting sun.
Algiz, for protection.
