Iceland, 1023AD

Sindri trembled as she entered the stable at the edge of the farm. A leather pack sat hidden in an unused stall while a coin purse lay hidden behind a pile of broken tools. She wouldn't need a sword; not if all went well and Meili guided her steps.

Drugging her father with dwale had been too easy. Ødger needn't die; only to be incapacitated long before anyone thought to miss his eldest daughter. No one would question the patriarch for falling too deep into his drinks. After all, everyone present was celebrating her upcoming wedding. Inclement weather had postponed her betrothed's ship due to arrive at port, but that didn't prevent the family and neighbors from partaking in the festivities.

Riding gear hung from a hook near the entrance, and Sindri took it, along with the rest of her tack, to the middle stall housing her favorite mare, Rín. The chestnut coat glistened from this morning's loving brush, and decorative beads adorned her braided mane. Curiosity gleamed from her soft brown eyes as she peeked over the door and nickered.

Sindri held out her hand, knuckles first, and allowed Rín to touch her first before doing anything else. Rewarded with a playful snort, Sindri stepped into the stall with a pail of feed, placing it on the ground. As Rín tucked into her meal, Sindri readied the mare for travel.

Time was of the essence, and she couldn't afford to be caught in the barn by herself this late in the evening. Once everything was in place, including her saddlebag and coin purse, she removed the empty pail and opened the stall. Then she took the reins and led her outside, where she mounted the beast and rode past the vegetable gardens all the way to the southern gate.

The air was cool as storm clouds hid the moon, but not so cold to require her furs. She couldn't carry much; only what she had in her bags, but she'd replace everything once she crossed the sea to the mainland. She hoped to bring Rín with her, but she wasn't sure if the crew would permit such a large beast aboard the vessel. Traveling as an unaccompanied woman would be scandalous enough.

Flower stalks rose above the muddy patches in the meadow, and in a few weeks, bright colors would paint the landscape. The plan had been for her to wed before summer on Frigga's Day, but Ivor, her betrothed, intended to bring her to his home far away from her family and home.

A guard, a lanky boy with curly straw-colored hair and freckles dusting his cheeks, forehead, and nose, stumbled as he turned to face her. Sindri recognized him immediately — Torston, son of Einarr the Bonebreaker. Sadly, the boy was nothing like his father in stature or skill. His sword and shield were too big and clunky, and Sindri wondered if he'd ever have a growth spurt.

He scratched the back of his neck and lowered his weapon. "Halló, Frue Sindri. Should you not be at the feast?"

Sindri squared her shoulders and bristled, but maintained a cool façade so as not to alert him to her plans. She'd last seen Einarr regaling a rapt group of scarred warriors and boys fast becoming men with tales of successful raids. Torston, being the youngest and least valued of the brood, had likely been left behind to avoid embarrassment. And though she knew her actions would lead to further shame, she couldn't turn back now to marry a stranger.

In a confident tone, she kept her words measured and concise. "I wish to pay my respects to the gods."

Without further inquiry, Torston bowed before stepping aside and waving her through the gate. Then she rode forth, stopping at the shrine near the runestones in case he tracked her movements. She dismounted and knelt before the statue of Meili, portrayed in his helmet and heavy fur. "Please guide my steps this night and for the journey to come."

Sindri had barely placed her offering of coins and a small bone carving of an eagle on the altar when a brash voice cackled behind her. "What you be running from, my child?"

The unexpected company made her jump, causing her to bump the figurine with her elbow. The bird cracked against the plinth, and the left wing broke. Closing her eyes, she prayed Meili wouldn't take offense. It wasn't as if she'd disrespected him on purpose.

Swallowing her consternation, she greeted the haggard old woman with wispy hair whiter than snow and tattered gray rags. "Heil ok sæl. I seek safe travel."

The woman, hunched and frail, leaned on her walking stick as she watched Sindri with unnerving eyes the color of ice. She must have been at least seventy, despite the average lifespan of only thirty years. Even her wrinkles had wrinkles, and it was a wonder she'd managed to sneak up on Sindri at all without making a sound.

"No blessings from the goddess Frigga?" She tutted and shook her head. "You mock her by defying her will."

How could this crone know Sindri was to wed? She'd never seen the old woman, though she'd heard tales of a sorceress deep in the mountains who'd kept to herself. Many a brave Viking warrior had cautioned against seeking her company, and Sindri instinctively sidled away. "I know not what you mean," she hedged, balling her shaking hands into fists. "I should leave."

The woman cackled again before moving with the agility and speed of a warrior in his prime, appearing before Sindri in a cloud of black smoke. Sindri gasped as the crone grabbed her arm and traced the lines of a rune in her arm. Translucent ribbons of blue and white glowed as she chanted,

"The desire of thine heart, I grant thee
the power to set thou free.
True love, I guarantee
but beware the fee!
This life thou shall not flee;
doomed to walk in immortality.
The only relief thou shalt see
will come in twenty-twenty-three!"

Ice and fire scorched Sindri's skin, but she stood paralyzed, unable to break free or scream in agony. Fire seared her shoulders and sizzled the back of her dress as her blood scalded her from inside. The light from the rune flashed, slithering through her veins with luminescent colors until her entire body matched the unholy magic.

When the woman released her, Sindri fell to her knees and panted for air. Though her skin resumed its normal color, the magic hummed and whispered in her blood. The rune on her forearm faded into a black scar, a marking one might mistake for permanent ink.

Frozen tears streaked her cheeks as something rippled in her back, followed by a flutter. She reached for her shoulders, only to gasp. Are these... wings? "What have you done to me?" she demanded through a strangled sob. All she'd wanted was to escape a loveless marriage; not bind herself to a life of immortality without love. And what had the old hag meant by twenty-twenty three?

The 'old hag' shifted in a cloud of black smoke, and her appearance melted away to reveal a man fair in visage and hair, grinning from ear to ear as he mock-bowed with a hand to his broad chest and green armor gilded in gold. "What fun would it be, if Loki were to reveal himself to thee? I have given thee a marvelous gift, and with it, thou may do as thou pleases. Until thou finds true love, thou shalt wander the earth as fae, free from the bonds of marriage and duty."

Sindri opened her mouth to plead with the trickster to take back his power, but he clicked his fingers and disappeared in a flash of light. Alone in the dark and unable to return home, she shivered until the sun peaked above the mountains to signal the dawn.

Word Count: 1296
First Prompt Met