If ever there was a prime example of the old term “the milk man's son(and/or daughter)” it would be Valr. Only he's not the milk man's son...he's the Jarl's son. Oops. In a steamy, berserker mushroom high, lust filled night proven to be unaided by his mother's heat cycle, a bastard was conceived and two months later alongside three ivory siblings said bastard was born into the world a flame against the blizzard raging outside his mother's birthing den. It wasn't, by any stretch of the imagination, a necessarily uncommon thing in his culture though infidelity was not often done by women but men (and typically with their “slaves”). As Helga told it brazenly, Floki had been away on a raid and she had merely sought the heat of another; and Valr's biological father had been well known for his libertine ways and Valr believed that it hadn't taken any sort of convincing on Helga's part.

Despite knowing this, Floki raised Valr as if he were his own son, nevertheless. When Ragnar had stepped down and left the Cove and Vali rose to power he'd chased Valr out of the Cove, threatened by the ambitious youth whom had quickly risen the ranks under Ragnar's rule. Valr spent his life after that like a gypsy, joining packs here and there but never being able to commit due to their fear of his worship of the Norse Gods, his belief that he's a Seer (see. shaman) — someone had once told him that his eyes were unlike anything they'd ever seen and thus it made him a favorite of the Gods (or somehow able to commune with them), or the fact that he was simply gripped by wanderlust.