The fury she sparked in Tyr made him tremble. When sleep stole him for the night, he no longer dreamed of the glories of Valhalla and endless branches of Yggdrasil. No, he only could dream of her, and the terrible shame she had brought him. He was the son of fine blood, born and bred for glory. Tyr had slain fools in battle, he had tasted victory and one day the Gudrun Clan would obey his every word. He had done everything right, and his prize had been a simple one — a Queen to call his own. His mother had made things painfully clear, that he was to honor and love and ravish his Queen. Baldur might have been the clan Chief, but Hel's voice commanded him. She would not stand for Tyr mistreating the prize that had attained for him, and of the peace the offering would bring — the clans would have peace.
The glory of bringing peace between Gudrun and her clan was supposed to belong to Tyr. She had robbed him of his chance for that glory, and she had robbed him of his very manhood. Clan brothers had offered their sympathy — false smiles and lying encouragement, he had barely been able to contain his fury. It was with Hel and Baldur's blessing that he would seek her out. Seek out the white wench that had betrayed him, and robbed the clans of their peace. She had broken promise, law, her honor bound duty...but worst of all, she had shamed him.
The scent had nearly grown cold, but above all else, Tyr was an excellent tracker. The faintest whiff of her, the absolute (and probably foolish) certainty that it was her had driven him. With no other thought or purpose, he had sought her out. His body had thinned from its previous glory, but he still stood tall and strong. Hunting, growing fat and returning home could wait until she was where she belonged. Her scent was heavier in the lands he had found and with a nearly manic grin across his handsome face, he crept out from the cover near the river. Blood still stained her jowls, and faint droplets of water clung to her chin, and for a moment he was struck dumb by her beauty. But his fury eclipsed his appreciation of her (and oh, how he wanted her) and he spoke the name he had not dared allow himself to think since she had left him. "Sigrún."