Falstanna woke up, stood and surveyed the battlefield around her. The fires of broken catapults, the darkening sky signalling the All-Father’s disfavour, the call of carrion come to claim a feast. She was hurt, bad; leaning on her spear while trying to put pressure on a wound in her lower abdomen.
As a shield-maiden severing under the grizzled Harold Wartooth, she was use to war. She had been called multiple times to battle and seemed to relish it, rather than being one of her sisters that stays at home. It was only when she had seen the battle, Viking vs Viking, Brothers against Sisters, that this looked like something that would come at the end times.
She slowly limped her way along a clear path. The skies had started to rain and she didn’t have a destination in mind, rather she was just wandering around, trying to see if anyone around her was still alive. She hobbled a ways more towards the coast, the smell of blood, newly rotting flesh and newly drenched earth assaulting her senses.
It was when she reached the coast that she saw what the catapults must have been for. Row upon row of longboats that had been used to carry her brothers and sisters, all were burning half submerged along the beach. There would be no way for her to get back to the frozen lands of the north that she called home.
Falstanna felt her legs grow weak at the sight of all this pointless destruction. She tried to hold herself, using all her strength to keep herself standing with the help of the spear but it was in vain. Her now de-pressurised wound started to ache and bleed. She knelt, replaced her hand on the wound and started to cry.
“I’m a Shield-Maiden of the North, an honourable Norse fighter in service to Harold Wartooth, the most respected and proud leader I’ve ever had the chance of serving. I don’t cry.” Falstanna cried in anguish to no-one.
She slowly dragged herself to a nearby cliff face, hoping the cliff would provide shelter from the rain. She leaned her back into the smooth stone, laid down her spear beside her and then she let out her breath.
She was assaulted with pain. She quickly figured that the walking to the beach had taken it’s toll and she couldn’t go any further. She also kept her breathing short, to avoid the pain from taking a longer breath. She hadn’t managed to see the wound yet, what with her armour in the way but she figured it was deep enough to cause alot of bleeding if pressure wasn’t held.
Sitting at the beach, watching the long ships burn with the now heavier rain battering everything around her gave Falstanna time to think. She remembered her childhood, reading the old tales and being wondered by them. Her teenage years, where she dedicated herself to the spear and learning how to take care of a house. Then to adulthood, where she was constantly called to battle, favouring the thrill of combat to being stuck home raising kids. She never found the time to just… stop and think.
All those battles were just blurs to her now. Indeed, she didn’t even know how she was wounded or knocked out. All this battle, fighting with ourselves when we could be fighting Britons or Goths or whatever looked at her funny. It all seemed so pointless in the long run.
“It wasn’t all pointless… was it… All-Father…?” Falstanna looked up at the darken sky, expecting a reply but found none. A single tear rolled down her cheek as the light behind her eyes started to fade. She had long since stopped trying to put pressure on her wound, she was simply too weak. She closed her eyes, let out her breath… then slumped against the beach cliff.
All that could be heard was the calls of crows feasting and the roar of the rain dousing the fires of war.
Epilogue:
Falstanna felt nothing, her mind and body had long since entered the dark void. The very identity that was her, she could slowly being felt lost to the black nothingness. Death had claimed her and was making sure she wouldn’t escape. Falstanna felt… wait, Falstanna felt? She followed the feeling, a physical motion. She could feel her body being shaken, she followed the motion and emerged in bight light.
“Sister. Sister, please wake up.” Falstanna groggy opened her eyes. She stared dazily at the winged figure. Wait… wings? The figure infront of her gave a soft smile. She helped Falstanna to her feet and was surprised that she could stand. She reached down and indeed, there was no wound. There wasn’t even any blood. Falstanna got a better look at her rescuer.
Long white wings, regal presence, finely crafted armour. Falstanna knew that she had been visited by a Valkyrie. The figure made a motion for her to pick up her own spear.
“I am Skuld. I have been sent by the All-Father, who has recognised your honour in battle and valour at death. He has extended an invitation for you to join him in Valhalla.” Skuld extended her hand. Falstanna hesitated for only a moment, before she took up her spear, and grabbed Skuld’s hand.
The only thing to go through her mind as they disappeared off the battlefield was:
"This was worth it. The pain, the killing, the loss of friends, of never having a family, of forever seeking battle, of even her own death.
This was worth it."
Now I’m not saying all character deaths have to be portrayed in such a fashion, but I agree with you, there has to be meaning to a character dying. How it affects the people around said character and how it affects the reader have to be taken into consideration when planning a character to die.
What I wanted to prove by writing this is that any character that is killed, should be given meaning. Use that death somehow in the story, not just to provide shock value.
