The Siege of Firnstayn I. - Ships on the Fjórd

With a plunk, the hook broke the surface of the water and sank. It was entailed by bright feathers and tiny splinters of glass that the Northmen used to attract the salmon when they were fly-fishing. The skilled flick of a wrist brought the string to stretch. The hook followed, sprang over the Fjórd without that a fish would have bitten.
  Frøydis reached back again to let the bait fly.
  Plop!
  Ever since her journey with the woodsmen had brought her back to Firnstayn she used every free hour that she had to come after her passion of fishing. Her grandfather had taught her how to efficiently hurl the rod forth and back.
  Plop!
  But today no salmon seemed to want to bite. Her arm was already starting to tense at the repetitive motion.
  A light breeze came up, grasped at solitary strands of her white-golden hair that shimmered like liquid threads of mithril, and conjured up tiny waves on the river. It brought the scent of rock and iron with it, rolling down from the Iron Mountains that lay just beyond the Withered Heath, to the west of Firnstayn. Deeply, the young girl inhaled. This scent was the most familiar to her. Home.
  A sudden movement in the mist rising from the Fjórd caught her attention. Just beyond the cliff, she thought to hear the splashing of oars into the water. Puzzlement and intrigue became visible on her face. It was far too early for the fishermen to return already.
  Frøydis halted her doing, climbed unto a rock for a better point of vantage -- and froze.
  First one, then two, three; Ever more ships peeled themselves from the fog. And they were larger than any people of the town would use! The dire looking wolf's head on the broad sails were known to her.
  In a sudden rush, the young woman threw down her fishing rod and turned on her heels, leaped down the rock unto the path-way. As quick as her feet could carry her, she ran up to the village, small pebbles and rocks loosening themselves beneath her steps. Her breath caused small clouds of white steam to rise up, her heart a crescendo in her chest.
  She ascended the steps, ran between the houses that the men and women of Firnstayn had built from the sturdy wood of the surrounding firs and covered the roofs with reeds. Except for the solitary neigh of a horse and a call, Firnstayn lay quiet on this morning.
  But Frøydis heard nothing but her own racing heart-beat and the continuous impacts of her boots upon the ground.
  She took a sharp turn, evaded a woman who was carrying a basket full of clothes and shrieked in surprise as the girl almost ran into her. Frøydis paid her no heed.
  One, two leaps and she stood before the doors of the mead-hall, pushed the doors wide open so that they crashed ear-deafening against the beams that held the roof. »Easterling ships!«, her call echoed through the hall.
  And for the moment that an eye would have required to blink, all those who had sat in the hall fell quiet. No one moved. Men, women and children had halted in their doing and looked up to her.
  Lit candles flickered by the suddenly invading wind and threw grim shadows on the rich carvings of the hall that described Firnstayn's history. White-blue banners, emblazoned with a golden dragon coiled up and accompanied with their cracking the howling of the gale.
  A single figure rose from the high-chair at the far end of the hall. She was clad in a rich armor made of brown leather and chain. White fur lay about her shoulders and a modest crown made from hart-antlers lay upon her brow. Every strand of the white-golden hair was woven into a thick braid. Skjalddís narrowed her eyes. »Sound the alarm and assemble the men!«, sounded her order through the mead-hall and a sudden turmoil broke out. In a mad rush armor and weapons were being donned, men stormed out of the hall and ran down the way that Frøydis had come. The deep, thundering sound of a horn roared over the village.
  »Are you certain of what you saw?«, Skjalddís asked the girl as she had reached her. Her expression was stern. She was being flanked by the old bear Brúnjulfr, her advisor and comrade in battle.
  Frøydis raised her hand to point out towards the Fjórd. »I am, mother! Ten or more ships! They bear the dire wolf head«, the young woman answered and tried to ease her breath. The run in the cold was now biting in her lungs and let her break out in sweat.
  »Eastern Wolves! One would have thought that they had learned!«, exclaimed the grim Brúnjulfr. »Someone bring me my sword!«
  Skjalddís had kept her inquisitive look upon her daughter. »You stay in the hall until it is over or you receive word from me.«
  Frøydis' expression slipped downwards as if sliding down a mountainside. Already was she about to object, for she had proven her capability in combat many times with the woodsmen. And now that Firnstayn was once again in danger, she felt called upon not to sit idle.
  »She wields Nothung, Skjalddís. Do you not think that the sword would give us the advantage over the eastern scum?«, Brúnjulfr said and granted the young woman an encouraging smile.
  But the Jarl of Firnstayn only waved her hand in a powerful dismissive fashion so that Frøydis' anticipation to aid her kin would die again. »She has not the experience to fight on the ships. If they get past us, she will have her hands full enough defending the hall.« Skjalddís rose up to her full height, standing more than two heads taller than the old Brúnjulfr. She was a formidable sight of a woman. »I accept your wise council at any time, old friend, but do not question the final word of your Jarl -- or a mother.«
  Brúnjulfr bowed his head and hurried ahead.
  Skjalddís followed him, but not before shooting a meaningful glance to her daughter. The Jarl knew that Frøydis possessed an outstanding skill in finding loop holes in what she said. Getting into trouble was an understatement.
  A moment later, Frøydis turned and saw herself before ten armed men of Firnstayn who would follow her command. She clapped into her hands. »Let us show these Easterlings how Firnstayn welcomes uninvited guests!«
  The loud approval of the men thundered through the hall.