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But the physical exertions meant nothing to Eir.
Her sisters often “fell in love” with men, however briefly, given their role in the men’s fates. Sometimes, they would even try to save the man they marked for death. They even succeeded on occasion, but the stay of execution would always be temporary.
No one could change Fate once it’s set.
Which was why, Eir had never allowed herself to feel even an iota of attachment to any man. Her fondness for hard cocks and muscled buttocks did not have to lead to fondness for other things.
Like a man’s heart and soul.
But this particular warrior she was hunting…
He was different.
So different, that in each of the times he was sent to the mortal realm to die, when her sisters marked him one by one, trying to steal him for Odin’s Valhalla no matter the governance of other pantheons—she’d forbade them to bed him.
That didn’t stop him from rutting with anything else of the female persuasion that moved, of course. But he’d never had a Valkyrie. And Eir never had to give her own sisters a beatdown for lying with what was hers.
She forcibly smoothed a wince that wanted to ripple across her face at that thought.
He wasnothers.
This inexplicable proprietaryfeelingthe male evoked in her was utter nonsense. She shook it off.
“Spread out,” she gave her sisters the order now.
“Choose your own warriors to mark and woo while there is time for wooing.”
Rota licked her lips, her eyes glinting with predatory anticipation.
Eir met her gaze with a smirk.
“Go, you hussy. Have some fun while you can.”
The women moved stealthily through the crowds despite their stature and palpable aura. Eir did the same, stalking slowly around the perimeter of the large hall like a hungry jungle cat.
It didn’t take long to reach the periphery of the crowd gathered around the host of the event—Olaf the Witch Breaker himself.
He sat upon an enormous fur-covered chair with the bear’s head still attached at the top, hanging over the back of it, mouth open with bared teeth. The seat was set on a slight platform, so that he sat taller than everyone else in the hall.
A sovereign presiding over his flock.
Olaf himself was a great bear of a man, with long, shaggy brown hair peppered with gray, and a long, fulsome beard to match. Bushy eyebrows lay like a heavy shelf over deep-set eyes, giving the impression that he was always scowling with a murderous mood and squinting his eyes in suspicion.
But he was laughing presently in a booming voice that veritably shook the liquid in the goblets of his guests, as well as the wine cup in his own fat-fingered hand. A Skald was weaving a fantastical tale of Olaf’s past adventures, apparently, and taking great liberty to embellish and exaggerate for the utmost effect.
Eir spent only a moment more observing the Jarl, flicking her eyes over the men gathered near and around him.
She knew the Fate of each and every one of them. Who would live or die in the coming battles. Some of them would only have days; others, years. Death eventually came for all mortals. It was the manner in which they met their Fate that mattered the most.
The difference between cowards and heroes.
“…after defeating an army of ten thousand, the warrior continued on his quest. He encountered the Draugar, giants and trolls. With the strength of Thor and the support of Freyja, he conquered every obstacle. And the people began to sing his praise—‘here comes Olaf the warrior king, the savior and champion of the gods.’”
At this, the clearly pleased Jarl, inflated on his own self-importance, chuckled deeply through his barrel chest. While the handful of women surrounding his seat simpered and sighed. And the men who wished to gain his favor heaped lavish praise, toasting to his prowess and might.
“…the last of his tasks was to make the silent sorceress speak. To make the very Fates bend to his will,” the Skald went on, holding his audience rapt.
“Olaf climbed the tallest, snow-capped mountain and crossed the widest fjord. Even Skaði’s ice storms were no match for him. Then…isolated in the ice castle at the edge of worlds, he found the silent sorceress who could see stories untold but never voice them…”
