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Labor had continued all night long in the longhouse. Surrounded by her mother, servants and Roskva the Black, Magna was ready to give birth to her first child, the fruit of her union with Asleifr son of Grimvardr.
The latter was send to the great hall, alone with the thralls of the same sex than his, and was unable to close his eyes by the anguish that the childbirth of his wife gave him, with her piercing cries. Magna had never been heard whine and scream this much, even when she had been wounded in combat in England and in Jelling. Motherhood was truly a terrible war waged by women and, at that moment, Asleifr truly felt the symbolic weight of the morgen-gifu he had payed her the day after their marriage.
And when the sun finally rose on what that felt a never-ending night to him, haunted by the comings and goings of the thralls who went away with their arms laden with bloody linens and the cries of his wife mixed with the songs of the gydja, the silence came, just for an instant, before a ferocious bawl was heard and laughter and exclamations of joy responded to that lively wail.
Shortly after, Asleifr saw Roskva enter the great hall, a bundle of furs in her arms, which she placed gently on the ground at the feet of the father, revealing a red-faced newborn baby who was screaming as he clenched his little fists with all his might. Asleifr hastened to come closer, to examine the child at his feet from every angle without touching him. A son. In good health. Vigorous. He was about to pick it up until the membrane that covered part of the baby's skull made him look up suspiciously at the young gydja.
“He was born with a caul. A very good omen, sign of luck. The Gods protect him.”
Asleifr gave a low chuckle, as if to signify that obviously any offspring born of the fruit of their union could only be blessed by the Gods. With an infinite gentlness which was quite unusual for him, he took his son in his arms and asked a thrall for a cup of cold water and the customary gift he had made for the unborn child. Dipping in the tips of his fingers, he sprayed the child with it, making Thor's hammer sign, to signify that he agreed to raise the child. Then he put the amulet he had crafted on the little boy's tummy when deciding what his name would be.
“Grimr will be his name.”
Roskva smiles. The name seemed so obvious. The one who wears a helmet, for the child born the head protected by the Gods. The young woman then opened the door which led to the room where Magna was bedridden to allow the father and their child to enter. The Thegn of Skjern, still pale and tired, greeted with joy her husband who hastened to return the child to her, the big oaf that was the blond not knowing what to do with a bawling baby.
Astridr who had stayed next to her daughter installed the baby against Magna's breast so that he could suckle, placed a last kiss on Magna's untied hair before leaving the room and leaving the couple some privacy. Asleifr sat down next to Magna, kissed her forehead, lips, shoulder. His trembling fingers ran gently over the baby's skin. While Magna inquired about the name that had been given to the child, Asleifr explained his choice to him and Magna laughed at the obviousness, while highlighting it was a good name, which also traced the history of their family, as much homage to Grimvardr the father of Asleifr, as to Grimulfr the Tall,
Magna's
highly esteemed uncle.
Gazing fondly at the little one between them, both realized that the clan had never been so united as on this day, with the birth of this little boy, born from two rival clans but now allies, and who, one day, was destined to reign over all.