The forest was alive with the magic and life of his Gods, it thrummed like a living heart beat beneath the Vikings paws as he walked beside his wife, as if they were chasing the burning horizon alight as the sun rose with fire in brilliant golds, oranges and reds. Each step Ragnar took made him feel alive in ways he had never known, each step bringing with it jolts of electricity filling his stomach with a giddy anxiety at Thistle becoming a proper Viking, witnessed so none could dispute it, by all the Gods. “Can you feel them Thistle?” He whispered to her, his fur bristling from the feeling of their presence in these holy woods. Some found the forest to be forbidding but to Ragnar it was welcoming, an invitation to claim what Odin deigned to be his. “They are here,” Ragnar did not know if his wife could feel the magnificent presence of his Gods, did not know if she would or even could feel their presence as he felt it now. Powerful, invisible but inherently there. He could feel them through the wind, their heart beats merging to one thrumming pulse through the earth.
“The Goddesses you will be sacrificing to today are Freyja, she is the goddess of love, sexuality, beauty, and fertility, among other things, and Frigg Odinn’s wife. In a way she is similar to you,” Not because Ragnar fancied himself as Odinn - never that far - but because of Ragnar’s kinship with the Allfather. “Her companion, Eir is a healer, like you. More importantly, she is the Goddess of married woman and will assist you in giving birth.” Ragnar explained, his usually soft voice lowered for his concern of not wishing to speak over the Gods whose whispers came alive on the wind. “Both are important in the protection of you and our sons. After they are born, in nine days time, I will perform a rite where I will properly acknowledge them as apart of our family. This is also for protection.” He explained to her further, having not spoken of the rite he had to perform before this time. It seemed appropriate, given that he figured she was close to giving birth now.
Here.
Eventually, Ragnar stopped walking, the small clearing writhing with a light fog, the voices of the Gods rising to one tremendous one in his head commanding that this be the place of sacrifice. “There are many prey scents here,” Even as Ragnar spoke the warmth began to fan the fog away the cries of two ravens over head commanding the Viking’s attention for a second as they circled. It was only then that Ragnar realized it had been this very clearing that they had shared their night of passion before their marriage. He smirked, slowly, almost lazily and glimpsed down at his wife, not speaking but wondering if she recognized it too. “It does not matter what order you sacrifice to them or what you say, just pray to them whatever feels right. They will accept it.” Sacrificing and praying to them was more of a ‘thanks’ but it would, at the very least, soothe the last of Ragnar’s worries. He spoke to Thistle quickly, lowly, feeling Odinn’s approaching presence in the marrow of his bones with a heightened sense of things. As if to welcome their master’s approach the ravens, one by one, flew down to perch on either of Ragnar’s shoulders their sharp talons piercing through his fur and into his flesh.
Ragnar could see Odinn approach them, no more substance than a wraith, white fur ruffled and riddled with scars, twined with the feathers of ravens, face wise with age and the knowledge he beheld, one eye a writhing liquid gold, while the other was missing, the blackened empty socket writhing with a flame. Ragnar watched, transfixed, momentarily forgetting about Thistle as he watched his God approach him and stand nearly nose to nose with him though Odinn was much larger than Ragnar who was already a bear of a wolf. Let me in. The Allfather commanded in their native tongue before he vanished inside Ragnar. Ragnar’s body felt like lead as Odinn took possession, body briefly convulsing, aware but submissive beneath the Allfather’s control. “Sækja,” The Allfather commanded the voice that slipped from Ragnar’s lips a guttural and throaty sound, very different from the soft voice of the Viking whose body Odinn inhabited. The Allfather looked down at Thistle then, studying her heavily pregnant body with one eye despite that Ragnar still had both of his, the flame of knowledge licking higher so that Ragnar could feel it’s heat like a ghost flame upon his own left eye.
She did not speak their tongue.
“Proceed,” He spoke, instead, in hers, waiting as witness to her rite of passage but also to ensure that the sons born of her and Ragnar would be protected by his wife, Frigg and Freyja, too.
