LJ Idol- Prompt: "Banner Year"
Dec. 8th, 2025 02:00 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
drippedonpaperWhen I think of that time, I remember Mor's hands. She said even from my the days of my infant beor, I seemed fascinated by her needle.
"You were a leikinn, leikinn to be sure, " Mor would laugh, chucking me under the chin. "I could hardly keep up with you, even as a litil barn. Such grabby hands! And oh, you knew what you wanted from the beginning, you did. Always reaching and fussing loud if I put you down. But in the evenings, sometimes, sometimes, you'd quiet for a bit. I didn't know why you were quiet, but I'd take it, desperate as I was to work with our cloth. If I didn't, I'd never stay ahead of it, with you and your brothers growing and stretching right out of your clothes, every time I turned around.
I didn't know why you would quiet until one day, I looked by at your in your little beor and saw that your eyes were following my needle. I guess it was flashing a bit, catching the firelight. I turned to your Far and said, 'Maybe she'll grow up to help with the mending,' and I was right, wasn't I? I could see you had the hunger to create right from the beginning. 'She wasn't the warrior you wanted, but maybe she's the mended you needed!' I told your Far.
How he laughed. 'You almost done?' he'd say, trying to snatch my needle, he was, "Come on to bed, I need another warrior!"
"Mor!" I'd reply, half delighted with the story of my early genius, half horrified at hearing of my parents' fun. Looking at her face, I couldn't imagine her with smooth cheeks and nimble fingers now.
"We had some fun, we did. Your Far was a good man, he was." She would sigh, turning to stir the fish stew. "Now I'm good for nothing but cooking, I am."
"And how could I take time to sew, if you weren't feeding us all and keeping me strong and all, Mor? Everything I weave has you in it as much as me, and I don't just mean the way that stew smell settles into my cloth. I'll have to wash it before it can be delivered to Ingrid, that's for sure!" Teasing and joking, that's what we did, whenever there was a spare moment. Long days, trying to stay warm enough to keep my fingers moving. In life, you either laugh or cry, that's what Mor said.
And the longer I live, the more I see how true she is. Not ready to tell her that yet, us being better at the laughing than the fancy speeches for sure, but I think she saw it in my smiles. I hope so.
Times were tough that winter after we lost Far. The harvest that fall hadn't been plentiful, though we saved all we could. There was more and more talk of the men going raiding. I was worried because this year Gunnar felt he was old enough to join the warriors. Mor didn't want him to go, I could tell.
"But I've been practicing, Mor. It's time. I couldn't even hold my head up if I didn't go," Gunnar would yell, right before the door slammed on his way out.
I was grateful for that door that winter. It was one of the last things Far had made before he died. Sometimes, when I slid it closed, I'd run my hand over it, for a just a minute. Far had rubbed it so smooth, I never felt a splinter. Touching that door, touching it, I felt closer to Far for just a minute.
"He'll go" Mor would sigh. "He'll go and hopefully find Far should he also reach Valhalla."
"Mor! How can you say that?" I would explain.
"Freya, Freya, calm yourself. Men do the going and women keep the fires burning. To fight your lot won't make it any better." Mor sounded weary.
"But Mor, there's no reason to think we'd lose Gunnar too. He is strong and young and quick."
"All it takes is a moment, my leikinn barn. Just a moment. As Odin says, 'Better to fight and fall than to live without hope.' Battle is the hope of the men, and their return is the hope of us women. You'd do well to remember that, Freya. Different hopes, different dreams, but we all want the same thing. Survival. And we each have our ways to get there." Mor uncovered a bowl and began kneading rye dough.
"Rye bread, Mor, and what's the occasion?" Rye was softer than our normal flatbread. To be making rye must be notable as Mor was stingy with our antler salt. We couldn't always count on renewing the salt supply as often as we wanted to.
"Well, you know this raid that Gunnar's so geisa about? That boy, you'd think if he doesn't fight soon, he'll go berserker on us, he will." Mor punched the dough, acting a bit geisa herself. There was nothing like Gunnar's drive to put himself in danger to get Mor heated. She'd slam around, still getting things done, but doing them with all her power behind them. Sometimes I thought Gunnar got his fighting ways from Mor more than from Far, but I'd never tell her that, of course.
"Yes... so you're making rye because of the raid?" It didn't make sense to me. Raids were common place enough, especially when the weather eased for a bit in the winter. The men said it was for supplies, which was likely true, but I sometimes wondered if the women didn't mind a bit of peace, instead of everyone stomping around each other in the longhouse. Things got a little tight and smelly in the winter, without the creek frozen and no easy way to wash.
"No, my Freya, there's something else Gunnar said before he got all tousled about going out to be a man. Frode himself asked Gunnar if you could be the one..." Mor's voice trailed off as she folded the dough and turned it over again.
"The one to what, Mor, to what?" I was practically dancing. What could Frode have said about me?
"Well, you know how they need a new banner, and while they were talking, Gunnar mentioned you. You're going to need to work swiftly, my barn, to get it done in the next two weeks!" Mor smiled, looking straight at me for once.
"Oh Mor, really? Me? I'll start today, I will. Are there any ... did Frode ask for a certain design? I can do anything, I really can."
"Two Ravens, this time."
Two? I knew the stories, we all did of Odin's ravens, but most flags just had one.
"Two?"
"Frode says with how important this raid is, we need both Thought and Memory this time. And Freya, remember how you made that lichens dye?"
"Yes, I have some lichens left. It's such a deep purple, my best dye yet!"
"Start with the dying. The cloth is over there." Mor was elbows deep in her dough, so she pointed with her chin.
Such a pile of cloth! I loved the look of fresh linen. "I'm to dye it all purple?"
"No, no girl, just enough to shape the Raven's. Gunnar said white linen background, with purple ravens sewn on. You think you can do it? We have both spoken highly of you, but I know you've never made a whole banner?"
"Mor, of course. I'll get started right away!"
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The next weeks were long. First the dying and the cutting and the hemming and the sewing. My fingers were tired, but so were my eyes. How I wished it was summer, so I could sew in the outside light, but winter it was so I'd sit near the fire, straining for any bit of light as I worked. This wasn't a task to skimp on, the banner had to be strong and stay together in any weather. I made it of layers so it would be thicker.
One day, I was sewing away, and there was a voice at the door. I laid my sewing aside carefully and walked over.
"Hail and Joy!" I'd never seen this man before. He looked older than Gunnar, probably even a bit older than me. He had the most piercing blue eyes.
"Uh, Velkomin, Velkomin. Uh, Gunnar isn't here ..." my voice trailed off. I hated to rush away such a handsome warrior.
"I'm not looking for Gunnar. Frode sent me to inspect the banner. Are you Freya?" He looked at me again and, for a second I wondered.
"Am I ... of course, of course. It's right over here." I led the way. "And you are?" I had to know his name.
"Arne. I need to make sure I can carry this thing!" Arne laughed, and I swear the house, the hills, and the valley all echoed with his deep laughter. The fire even seemed brighter.
As I showed Arne how much I had completed, I wanted to cry. "Are you sure, you're the one to carry this?" I asked. It was well-known how dangerous the role of banner-bearer was.
"Of course, I volunteered!" Arne announced proudly. My heart sank. So far, we'd lost three banner bearers that I knew of.
"It's my role this time and maybe, maybe this will earn me a long sword" he started to explain. As Arne talked I forgot to be sad. We discussed the stories of Huginn (Thought) and Muninn (Memory).
"I always feel Huginn is the more important!" I announced passionately. "Leaders must think and reflect to make good decisions."
"And how does one reflect without Muninn?" Arne asked. "Memory guides our decisions as much as new information does. New is great, but not if you can't fit the ideas into cause and effect."
I was sorry when Arne left. Thankfully, he visited several times, "To check on the banner, " he would say with a smile.
After one of his visits, Mor shook her head. "To check on the banner!" Mor mimicked Arne's voice. "To check on the Freya, more like it!" she laughed.
"Mor!" I flushed. "Arne is conscientious is all."
"Oh he's conscientious all right. To everything ... or everyone I should say. Just be careful, Freya. You know how hard it is to love a warrior." Mor nodded toward Far's empty chair.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I thought about what she said that night as we lay snuggled under furs. Loving a warrior was definitely the path to heartbreak. But what alternatives did I have? The only men who didn't fight were too young, too old, or too broken, like poor Gorm, born without a foot.
I watched the firelight dance on the ceiling as I thought about Arne's eyes. Surely someone as brave as him could outrun fate. Surely. Tired from my sewing, I drifted to sleep.
~~~~~~~~~~~~
Somehow the days raced by. I finished the banner in time, "And a fine one it is," Mor pronounced proudly.
The whole village was celebrating and feasting, getting ready to send the men off. Mor had gone to trade for supplies, that last time Arne stopped by.
"So you leave tomorrow?" I said. I couldn't imagine not seeing him again. Surely he would be safe, surely.
"Yes and, and Freya. Would you ... " he touched my face so gentle and suddenly his hands were in my hair.
"Oh Arne,"
His mouth was warm, his touch so gentle, the bed so close. I was glad the banner wasn't ruined, as I later saw we'd dropped it to the ground in our rush to, well, let's just say our rush to say good-bye.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I went down to the water with the rest, waving off our proud warriors. Mor had tears in her eyes and so did I. I felt so ashamed, unsure if I was more upset that Gunnar was leaving or that Arne was. I just knew that sometimes I hated this life of ours. If the cruel climate wasn't enough, to send away the ones we love, survival seemed too much sometimes.
~~~~~~~~~~~
Mor and I filled our days with cooking and mending, carrying for the animals, toting the water. There was more to do with Gunnar gone and that worked for me.
"Are you alright, my liekinn barn? All that sewing and dying took the color right out of you, Freya," Mor sighed as she stirred yet another fire stew.
I swear we'd been warming up the same old stew day after day after day ... I rushed outside, unable to stop the sickness bursting from my mouth.
I wiped my mouth with the edge of my skirt and took deep breathes of the cold, cold air.
Mor put her arm around me. I hadn't even heard her come outside.
"Ah Freya, my Freya, are you?"
I nodded, then met her eyes defiantly. "Arne carries his banner and I'll carry mine!" I cupped my hands over my stomach and marched into the house.
What else was there to say? Mor didn't mention it again, as we waited for news. What's done is done and if we women knew anything, we knew how to hold on: hold on to hope, hold on to memory, and hold on to our needles, ready to sew for whatever the future brings.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Notes:
I envision this entry has happening among the Vikings.
Odin was the mythical god of War whose two ravens, Huginn (Thought) and Muninn (Memory) flew around gathering news and whispering it to Odin.
Definitions:
Mor- mother
beor- bed
leikinn- playful, full of fun
litil barn- little child
Far- Father
Hail and Joy! - Norse greeting
Velkomin- Welcome
"You were a leikinn, leikinn to be sure, " Mor would laugh, chucking me under the chin. "I could hardly keep up with you, even as a litil barn. Such grabby hands! And oh, you knew what you wanted from the beginning, you did. Always reaching and fussing loud if I put you down. But in the evenings, sometimes, sometimes, you'd quiet for a bit. I didn't know why you were quiet, but I'd take it, desperate as I was to work with our cloth. If I didn't, I'd never stay ahead of it, with you and your brothers growing and stretching right out of your clothes, every time I turned around.
I didn't know why you would quiet until one day, I looked by at your in your little beor and saw that your eyes were following my needle. I guess it was flashing a bit, catching the firelight. I turned to your Far and said, 'Maybe she'll grow up to help with the mending,' and I was right, wasn't I? I could see you had the hunger to create right from the beginning. 'She wasn't the warrior you wanted, but maybe she's the mended you needed!' I told your Far.
How he laughed. 'You almost done?' he'd say, trying to snatch my needle, he was, "Come on to bed, I need another warrior!"
"Mor!" I'd reply, half delighted with the story of my early genius, half horrified at hearing of my parents' fun. Looking at her face, I couldn't imagine her with smooth cheeks and nimble fingers now.
"We had some fun, we did. Your Far was a good man, he was." She would sigh, turning to stir the fish stew. "Now I'm good for nothing but cooking, I am."
"And how could I take time to sew, if you weren't feeding us all and keeping me strong and all, Mor? Everything I weave has you in it as much as me, and I don't just mean the way that stew smell settles into my cloth. I'll have to wash it before it can be delivered to Ingrid, that's for sure!" Teasing and joking, that's what we did, whenever there was a spare moment. Long days, trying to stay warm enough to keep my fingers moving. In life, you either laugh or cry, that's what Mor said.
And the longer I live, the more I see how true she is. Not ready to tell her that yet, us being better at the laughing than the fancy speeches for sure, but I think she saw it in my smiles. I hope so.
Times were tough that winter after we lost Far. The harvest that fall hadn't been plentiful, though we saved all we could. There was more and more talk of the men going raiding. I was worried because this year Gunnar felt he was old enough to join the warriors. Mor didn't want him to go, I could tell.
"But I've been practicing, Mor. It's time. I couldn't even hold my head up if I didn't go," Gunnar would yell, right before the door slammed on his way out.
I was grateful for that door that winter. It was one of the last things Far had made before he died. Sometimes, when I slid it closed, I'd run my hand over it, for a just a minute. Far had rubbed it so smooth, I never felt a splinter. Touching that door, touching it, I felt closer to Far for just a minute.
"He'll go" Mor would sigh. "He'll go and hopefully find Far should he also reach Valhalla."
"Mor! How can you say that?" I would explain.
"Freya, Freya, calm yourself. Men do the going and women keep the fires burning. To fight your lot won't make it any better." Mor sounded weary.
"But Mor, there's no reason to think we'd lose Gunnar too. He is strong and young and quick."
"All it takes is a moment, my leikinn barn. Just a moment. As Odin says, 'Better to fight and fall than to live without hope.' Battle is the hope of the men, and their return is the hope of us women. You'd do well to remember that, Freya. Different hopes, different dreams, but we all want the same thing. Survival. And we each have our ways to get there." Mor uncovered a bowl and began kneading rye dough.
"Rye bread, Mor, and what's the occasion?" Rye was softer than our normal flatbread. To be making rye must be notable as Mor was stingy with our antler salt. We couldn't always count on renewing the salt supply as often as we wanted to.
"Well, you know this raid that Gunnar's so geisa about? That boy, you'd think if he doesn't fight soon, he'll go berserker on us, he will." Mor punched the dough, acting a bit geisa herself. There was nothing like Gunnar's drive to put himself in danger to get Mor heated. She'd slam around, still getting things done, but doing them with all her power behind them. Sometimes I thought Gunnar got his fighting ways from Mor more than from Far, but I'd never tell her that, of course.
"Yes... so you're making rye because of the raid?" It didn't make sense to me. Raids were common place enough, especially when the weather eased for a bit in the winter. The men said it was for supplies, which was likely true, but I sometimes wondered if the women didn't mind a bit of peace, instead of everyone stomping around each other in the longhouse. Things got a little tight and smelly in the winter, without the creek frozen and no easy way to wash.
"No, my Freya, there's something else Gunnar said before he got all tousled about going out to be a man. Frode himself asked Gunnar if you could be the one..." Mor's voice trailed off as she folded the dough and turned it over again.
"The one to what, Mor, to what?" I was practically dancing. What could Frode have said about me?
"Well, you know how they need a new banner, and while they were talking, Gunnar mentioned you. You're going to need to work swiftly, my barn, to get it done in the next two weeks!" Mor smiled, looking straight at me for once.
"Oh Mor, really? Me? I'll start today, I will. Are there any ... did Frode ask for a certain design? I can do anything, I really can."
"Two Ravens, this time."
Two? I knew the stories, we all did of Odin's ravens, but most flags just had one.
"Two?"
"Frode says with how important this raid is, we need both Thought and Memory this time. And Freya, remember how you made that lichens dye?"
"Yes, I have some lichens left. It's such a deep purple, my best dye yet!"
"Start with the dying. The cloth is over there." Mor was elbows deep in her dough, so she pointed with her chin.
Such a pile of cloth! I loved the look of fresh linen. "I'm to dye it all purple?"
"No, no girl, just enough to shape the Raven's. Gunnar said white linen background, with purple ravens sewn on. You think you can do it? We have both spoken highly of you, but I know you've never made a whole banner?"
"Mor, of course. I'll get started right away!"
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The next weeks were long. First the dying and the cutting and the hemming and the sewing. My fingers were tired, but so were my eyes. How I wished it was summer, so I could sew in the outside light, but winter it was so I'd sit near the fire, straining for any bit of light as I worked. This wasn't a task to skimp on, the banner had to be strong and stay together in any weather. I made it of layers so it would be thicker.
One day, I was sewing away, and there was a voice at the door. I laid my sewing aside carefully and walked over.
"Hail and Joy!" I'd never seen this man before. He looked older than Gunnar, probably even a bit older than me. He had the most piercing blue eyes.
"Uh, Velkomin, Velkomin. Uh, Gunnar isn't here ..." my voice trailed off. I hated to rush away such a handsome warrior.
"I'm not looking for Gunnar. Frode sent me to inspect the banner. Are you Freya?" He looked at me again and, for a second I wondered.
"Am I ... of course, of course. It's right over here." I led the way. "And you are?" I had to know his name.
"Arne. I need to make sure I can carry this thing!" Arne laughed, and I swear the house, the hills, and the valley all echoed with his deep laughter. The fire even seemed brighter.
As I showed Arne how much I had completed, I wanted to cry. "Are you sure, you're the one to carry this?" I asked. It was well-known how dangerous the role of banner-bearer was.
"Of course, I volunteered!" Arne announced proudly. My heart sank. So far, we'd lost three banner bearers that I knew of.
"It's my role this time and maybe, maybe this will earn me a long sword" he started to explain. As Arne talked I forgot to be sad. We discussed the stories of Huginn (Thought) and Muninn (Memory).
"I always feel Huginn is the more important!" I announced passionately. "Leaders must think and reflect to make good decisions."
"And how does one reflect without Muninn?" Arne asked. "Memory guides our decisions as much as new information does. New is great, but not if you can't fit the ideas into cause and effect."
I was sorry when Arne left. Thankfully, he visited several times, "To check on the banner, " he would say with a smile.
After one of his visits, Mor shook her head. "To check on the banner!" Mor mimicked Arne's voice. "To check on the Freya, more like it!" she laughed.
"Mor!" I flushed. "Arne is conscientious is all."
"Oh he's conscientious all right. To everything ... or everyone I should say. Just be careful, Freya. You know how hard it is to love a warrior." Mor nodded toward Far's empty chair.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I thought about what she said that night as we lay snuggled under furs. Loving a warrior was definitely the path to heartbreak. But what alternatives did I have? The only men who didn't fight were too young, too old, or too broken, like poor Gorm, born without a foot.
I watched the firelight dance on the ceiling as I thought about Arne's eyes. Surely someone as brave as him could outrun fate. Surely. Tired from my sewing, I drifted to sleep.
~~~~~~~~~~~~
Somehow the days raced by. I finished the banner in time, "And a fine one it is," Mor pronounced proudly.
The whole village was celebrating and feasting, getting ready to send the men off. Mor had gone to trade for supplies, that last time Arne stopped by.
"So you leave tomorrow?" I said. I couldn't imagine not seeing him again. Surely he would be safe, surely.
"Yes and, and Freya. Would you ... " he touched my face so gentle and suddenly his hands were in my hair.
"Oh Arne,"
His mouth was warm, his touch so gentle, the bed so close. I was glad the banner wasn't ruined, as I later saw we'd dropped it to the ground in our rush to, well, let's just say our rush to say good-bye.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I went down to the water with the rest, waving off our proud warriors. Mor had tears in her eyes and so did I. I felt so ashamed, unsure if I was more upset that Gunnar was leaving or that Arne was. I just knew that sometimes I hated this life of ours. If the cruel climate wasn't enough, to send away the ones we love, survival seemed too much sometimes.
~~~~~~~~~~~
Mor and I filled our days with cooking and mending, carrying for the animals, toting the water. There was more to do with Gunnar gone and that worked for me.
"Are you alright, my liekinn barn? All that sewing and dying took the color right out of you, Freya," Mor sighed as she stirred yet another fire stew.
I swear we'd been warming up the same old stew day after day after day ... I rushed outside, unable to stop the sickness bursting from my mouth.
I wiped my mouth with the edge of my skirt and took deep breathes of the cold, cold air.
Mor put her arm around me. I hadn't even heard her come outside.
"Ah Freya, my Freya, are you?"
I nodded, then met her eyes defiantly. "Arne carries his banner and I'll carry mine!" I cupped my hands over my stomach and marched into the house.
What else was there to say? Mor didn't mention it again, as we waited for news. What's done is done and if we women knew anything, we knew how to hold on: hold on to hope, hold on to memory, and hold on to our needles, ready to sew for whatever the future brings.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Notes:
I envision this entry has happening among the Vikings.
Odin was the mythical god of War whose two ravens, Huginn (Thought) and Muninn (Memory) flew around gathering news and whispering it to Odin.
Definitions:
Mor- mother
beor- bed
leikinn- playful, full of fun
litil barn- little child
Far- Father
Hail and Joy! - Norse greeting
Velkomin- Welcome
no subject
Date: 2025-12-19 11:08 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2025-12-23 06:23 pm (UTC)This line really stood out to me. It's such a declaration of strength and claiming her own power.
Really well done, Maria.