Writing Resources from Fifteen Minutes of Fiction

Aldrik and Dyrnhildr

House of Lynch Part 03


Aldrik Lynch was called Aldrik Anguson by his maternal aunt Dyrhildr Aerunasdotter after the old family naming tradition. His sister, to whom aunt Dyrhildr was midwife, was named Verdandi Byrnhildesdotter.

Aldrik prefered the quill to the sword. During the nights that followed the daily skirmishes of the long campaign that had waged since the early days of his sister’s life, he put tip to parchment writing down long lays on the subject of how well or poorly the battle seemed to have done that day, and short dirges in honor of those who had fallen.

That wasn’t to say that he did not see combat. The war in those days was so widespread that it was mandatory for all young men of fighting age to join the ranks.

Verdandi also joined up. Neither she nor her brother would ever forget the day she had taken up her mother’s sword.

Verdandi had been engaged to marry a farmer named Alistair Cottington, a goodly man whose great grandfather had come from across the sea when farmland in his home village had grown scarce after a tyrant had confiscated the lands and poisoned the crops.

The two had met at the town market during Verdandi’s sixteenth autumn and he had offered to take her on as a milkmaid.

The girl who bore a Valkyrie’s name was of a mind to tell him that she was a warrior maiden and did not take kindly to the offer of milking cows, Alistair had one of those smiles that you just can’t say “no” to and she soon found herself gathering up the old bucket each morning while he worked out in the fields with the crops.

It was this same smile he wore on the day he asked her to become his wife.

On the morning of her wedding day, she put on her dress, walked outside with her mother and father, and saw the flames that cover the house and fields of Cottington Farm. Stricken, she ran to the farm, seeing the tracks that led to and from its gates.

She could tell that this was no accident or divine act. So turning and walking quietly back to the house, she cast her veil and the ring he’d given her into the flames. She didn’t bother to change out of her gown as she girded herself with sword and dagger and mounted her silver grey steed Gunnar.

On the field of battle, she became known as the Bride of Doom, fearing neither death nor storm. Some called her Verdandi Tyrsdotter. Those last were those who followed her into combat on the morning after the leader of their group had been mortally wounded and had gone beyond this world in the night.

The battle had not been without its losses. Twenty men and two women were lost that day. Those who survived mourned their loss with mead and fire and listened to the dirges of Aldrik as he sang in respectful tones while the pyre-boats floated solemnly out to the great sea.

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