Freyja’s 8 Section 8
Letter ‑ W
Name ‑ WYNN ‑ FRIEND
Meaning ‑ JOY
Planetary Rulership ‑ VENUS AND SATURN (LIBRA/WAYLAND)
Gemstone ‑ DIAMOND
Flower ‑ EMOTIONAL SEXUAL ‑ LOVE IN A MIST
OTHER ‑ LARKSPUR
Number ‑ 6
Arthian ‑ THE GRAIL
WEATHER ‑ WHAT YOU WANT
Joy and happiness in labor
Fulfilment in almost any area, but especially in love or career matters. Successful results of travel.
Joy in work, usually in the aspect of working with one’s hands, romance and travel. A happy love life.
Unhappiness in love. Third-party interference. Uncongenial work. Unhappy or unsuccessful travel. Advises caution. Delay making important decisions.
Sweyn sat on the wood floor of his house. His feet dangling to rest on the hardpacked dirt floor that surrounded the fire pit. He’d set aside the net he’d just mended and cradled his infant son in his arms while Ingrid stood stirring the iron cauldron that dangled from the ceiling joist by a chain over the firepit. The smell of beef and winter vegetables filled the home’s one large room. The winter wind howled outside, but the sturdy, overlapping, plank walls and piled earth embankment around the building kept the wind at bay so that it stayed warm inside.
What’s more, it was theirs. His captain’s bonus for being the first ship back coupled with the trading of five of Ingrid’s cows had paid to build her house and buy his land that it sat upon. Sweyn looked at his son and smiled. He loved his parents, but the family home was so crowded with his brother’s family and two unmarried sisters. Not to mention the two thralls and his mother and father.
Having his small home to himself and his family was a joy. A reward for his hard labour on the sea.
Raising his eyes to Ingrid once more, he appreciated her strong lean body and the way her dress conformed to her curves. Silently he carried his son to his sea chest, now empty of Sweyn’s possession and filled with straw under a blanket. He lay the babe in the makeshift crib. They could have afforded to have his father, the local wood wright, craft them a crib, but why take on the expense when the ships were harboured for the winter anyway and his father already had more work than he could manage.
Straightening he moved behind Inga and then pulled her back against him, nibbling the length of her neck.
“Sweyn, I’m making dinner.” Inga’s hands moved to caress Sweyn’s strong arm about her waist.
“I’ll rake-back the coals so that dinner doesn’t burn.” He gently turned her in his arms and kissed her passionately.
“I love you.” Inga smiled up at him with joy in her face.
“You are my joy. Any voyage is a wonder so long as I can come home to you.”
“Good. Now rake back the coals while I get ready.”
The lovers separated but only for a moment, the joy of their union absolute.
Tuborg stared desolately into his empty drinking horn then up and around the main room of his father’s hall. The central firepit with its dirt floor surround glowed with hot coals. A spitted pig hung on a pair of iron tripods at the ends of the pit.
One of his father’s thralls, a blond-haired youth dressed in a ragged, hand-me-down tunic and trues, turned the meat. At one end of the hall, the passage leading to the private rooms was blocked by Sigyn talking to his mother. The mead was going to his head, and he wanted to lay down, but if it meant crossing his wife’s path, he’d stay put. He noticed she wore the neckless that had cost him half his captain’s portion. It had bought him nearly a day of her good favour before she learned that without the bonus for being the first ship back he couldn’t afford to build her her house. The silver from her dowry was long gone on high living and trinkets. Silver didn’t breed like cows.
“I should have stayed at sea. Hard as it is there, there is even less joy here,” he muttered.
He watched with a kind of dread as Sigyn and his mother approached. Both wore rich clothing, but he had to admit his mother carried herself the better of the two.
“Tuborg, I have spoken to your father. There is a shipment of Thralls ready that needs to go down the coast. If you were to take it now, it would mean there would be more time in the spring for other cargo. It could make up for the cargo you lost in that storm.” The grey-haired woman spoke with a waspish demanding tone.
“It is winter. There is no joy on a winter ocean.” Tuborg stared at his mother.
“I told you he’d say that. Loses all that money and isn’t willing to do anything to make up for it. Useless, just useless.” Sigyn fingered the amethyst neckless he’d brought her and glowered at her husband.
“I didn’t say no. I just said that sailing in winter is hard and usually unprofitable.” Tuborg looked at his mother, beseechingly.
“I hate to say it about my own son, but you might be better off divorcing him, dear.”
“Mother,” breathed Tuborg. “I’ll do the trip.”
There was the sound of sleet striking the hall’s roof.
“But not today. When the weather breaks.”
“That will do. Have you seen that lovely house Inga had built? It’s not that big, but I’m sure that Sweyn will add to it in time. Now there’s a man who knows how to look after his wife. He reminds me of my Vidurr when we were young,” remarked Tuborg’s mother as she walked away.