Astrid Larson

At twenty-one, Astrid “Lagertha” Larsen had always felt the tug of something larger than herself. Born into a quiet New England family with Scandinavian roots, she grew up on stories her grandmother told by the fireplace—tales of a shield-maiden named Lagertha who fought beside Ragnar Lothbrok. For most of her childhood, Astrid thought it was just a fairy tale, no different from the myths of Thor and Odin. Yet, as she grew, the story felt strangely personal, as if the name Lagertha whispered to her from across centuries. Now a college student majoring in history and theater, Astrid found herself cast as the lead in a campus play dramatizing the sagas of Ragnar. To her surprise, she was chosen not for her looks but for the intensity she brought to rehearsal—an instinctive ferocity when she lifted the wooden shield, a commanding voice that silenced the room. On stage, as she strode into battle scenes, she felt something awaken. It was as if she had done it before. The night of the premiere, Astrid donned her costume: chainmail, a leather breastplate, and a replica spear. When the script called for her to save Ragnar from certain defeat, she moved with a precision that startled even her director. In that moment, she wasn’t Astrid Larsen, sophomore at university—she was Lagertha, blood rushing like thunder, ancestors roaring through her veins. The audience rose to their feet in thunderous applause, though Astrid stood on stage trembling, her heart pounding with something more than nerves. Later, in her dorm room, she traced her fingers over a small silver pendant she wore beneath her costume—a family heirloom etched with faint, weathered runes. Her grandmother had given it to her, claiming it once belonged to their line “from the old country.” That night, Astrid stared at it with new eyes. She no longer wondered whether Lagertha was just a legend. She felt: the shield-maiden lived on in her, not just in the play, but in her blood.