If I didn’t know what love was, how could I return such rich feelings?
“If I’m going to be a goddess, then I am going to change things for my people through love and devotion.”
Tears pricked, and my vision blurred. I wished for nothing more than to be around something familiar. The huge room began to close in around me. My thoughts began to muddle. I stepped out of my room and decided to roam the halls. Moving from room to room, I felt something pull at me as if I were on a string. Following the tug, I bypassed the garden and moved to what must have been Baldr’s armory. Inside were swords, large axes, bows, and arrows, and the air was infused with the scent of heavy oil.
Picking up two throwing daggers, I padded back toward the garden and halted before the large tree that stood in its center. The white ash glimmered. With the daggers gripped tightly, I aimed.
Holding my breath, I released them into the night air, and that was when the audible thudding beckoned me—it beat in tune, louder and louder, and I wasn’t sure if it came from outside or even from within.
Nanna
Breidablik—The Hall of Baldr
I was seated on the terrace, looking at the morning view when a gentle knock at the door interrupted my thoughts. I’d spent the night in the library I’d stumbled upon, learning everything I could. The spicy tinge of harissa wafted through the air, giving me pause. It reminded me of home, and of family and friends.
Turning, I recognized the face instantly. Not from having known him, for he’d passed away before my time. But he’d left behind his image on the Carthaginian shekel. My dear grandfather stood across from me, waiting for me to grant him entrance. The proud and heroic Hamilcar Barca, the great Carthaginian general, strolled through the large gold leaf doors, decked out in his gleaming Asgardian armor, his sword sheathed at his side.
“Granddaughter,” he said. His voice was rich with warmth. Surprise wrinkled my brow, for I’d never thought that being in Asgard would mean I’d be able to see my ancestors. I could only suppose that my grandfather, like other men of war, had found respite in the great hall of Valhalla—the hall of the heroic dead.
A feeling foreign to me settled in my chest: luck. Luck of sorts to at least have some family here—even if it meant that Odin had elected to take grandfather from the battlefield all those years ago as he’d sought to expand our territory into Spain. Of course, it had been his insight and forethought during the First Punic War that had helped my father build his strategy in the second. Who knew that elephants and the Alps would be such a great idea?
“I see that, even after my passing, your father had the sense to continue the family’s training,” my grandfather said. He handed me a bouquet of chamomile flowers. Their aroma calmed and soothed my senses.
Our family was built for war. We fought hard, to survive, to live, to thrive. It was a part of the very foundation of our existence.
The flowers’ sweet scent added to the aura of peace that I realized encircled this home, and now I understood. Baldr was the God of Light, and he acted like a sunny day, every day—his cheerful demeanor was a breath of fresh air. Clutching the freshly cut flowers to me, I deeply inhaled. I nodded, and placed the bouquet on the table.
Maybe none should have been surprised when Odin handpicked Grandfather from the battlefield—he’d taken the best generals and leaders, and even tended to make those who were fit to win, somehow end up losing. Rumor had it that this had to do with his fear of Ragnarok. For that simple reason, these brave men, as part of the Einherjar, soldiers who’d fought every day on the battlefield, also died every day, and then went forth to drink mead and be merry in the hall of Valhalla, until they could repeat the cycle once more. Each day they lived, then died, only to be resurrected again and again.
“You can never be too sure as to how things will happen, how time will behave,” Grandfather said. His warning rested behind his serious gaze. “Remember what we taught you.”
The Barcas always fought against tyranny, every appearance of overt evil, even when the odds were against them.
“Always expect the unexpected,” I whispered. I’d not forgotten that lesson, and life here in this hall hadn’t changed my fortitude or determination. A warm, comfortable bed didn’t erase the scars of the past.
My thoughts shifted again to my children. He must have noticed my frown and read my worry. “You need not worry about the children, dear Annôn. They are secure and safe in the mountains, adjusting well.”
“How do you know? Have you seen them?”
He shrugged. “You need not to concern yourself about their wellbeing. I have seen them and even spoke to Gisgo who assured me that he’s enjoying the fresh mountain air and the fishing in the streams.”
Gisgo, with his long inky-black hair, was only seven years old and had taken on his self-appointed leadership role in caring for his family for sure.
A pent-up breath whooshed from me. It was a relief to know that the children indeed were well.
Grandfather reached between his breastplate-and tunic-covered chest and retrieved a piece of papyrus.
“I know for me to see you here, there must be a reason,” I said, and took the offered document.
Grandfather nodded his head and stared at me for a long minute, silent, as my eyes welled; my mouth gaped, and a sob escaped. “I am to marry Baldr immediately? I thought I had time.”
I fell to my knees as the dismay taunted me. Attraction did not automatically lead to love, and captivity did
