The Story of the Valkyries

High above the battlefields of Midgard, where mortal warriors clashed with sword and spear beneath storm-darkened skies, flew beings of such terrible beauty that men’s hearts would stop at the sight of them. These were the Valkyries—Odin’s chosen maidens, the “choosers of the slain” who carried the souls of fallen heroes to Valhalla.

They rode through the air on horses whose hooves struck lightning from the clouds, their armor gleaming like captured starlight and their long hair streaming behind them like banners of war. Each carried a spear that could pierce any armor and a shield that could turn aside any blow, for they were warriors as skilled as any god.

The greatest among them was Brunhilde, whose name meant “battle-burning” and whose courage was legendary even among the fearless. She had hair like spun gold and eyes like blue flame, and when she rode to battle, her very presence could inspire cowards to heroism and turn the tide of war.

“Sisters,” Brunhilde would call to her fellow Valkyries as they gathered before each battle, “remember our sacred duty. We choose not for ourselves, but for Odin All-Father, who sees the future and knows which heroes will be needed for the final battle.”

The Valkyries’ task was both glorious and heartbreaking. They soared above the clash of armies, watching as brave men fought and fell, their keen eyes identifying those who died with the greatest honor and courage. When a hero fell who was worthy of Valhalla, the Valkyries would swoop down like beautiful hawks, their arrival often seen as a flash of light or a sudden shadow across the battlefield.

To the chosen warrior, they would appear in their full radiance—tall and noble women clad in mail that seemed made of silver light, with faces of such beauty that the dying man would know he gazed upon beings from the halls of the gods.

“Come, brave one,” they would say, their voices like the sound of silver bells carried on the wind. “Your earthly battles are done, but greater wars await. Odin All-Father calls you to Valhalla, where you will feast with heroes and prepare for Ragnarök.”

Among the most renowned of the Valkyries were nine sisters, each gifted with special powers and responsibilities. There was Skuld, who wove the fates of men and could see the threads of destiny; Verdandi, who understood the present moment and could judge a warrior’s true heart; and Urd, eldest of them all, who remembered every battle ever fought and every hero who had ever lived.

The sisters Gondel and Skeggjöld were master strategists who could read the flow of battle like an open book. Randgrid and Radgrid were swift as thought itself, able to reach any battlefield in the Nine Realms within moments of a hero’s death. Reginleif was the strongest, capable of carrying even the mightiest fallen champions, while gentle Gunnr had the gift of easing the pain of death for those she came to claim.

Each morning, the Valkyries would gather in Gladsheim, Odin’s great hall, to receive their orders for the day. The All-Father would sit upon his high throne Hlidskjalf, from which he could see all the Nine Realms, his ravens Huginn and Muninn perched on his shoulders whispering news of battles to come.

“My daughters,” Odin would say, for he loved the Valkyries as if they were his own children, “today I see three great battles approaching. In the north, the Geats fight the Swedes over disputed lands. In the west, Irish kings clash on the plains of Mag Tuireadh. And in the east, the Rus battle the horsemen of the steppes. Choose wisely from among the fallen, for each soul you bring to Valhalla must be ready to fight beside us when the Wolf Age comes.”

The Valkyries would nod gravely, understanding the weight of their responsibility. They were not merely collectors of the dead, but guardians of the future, ensuring that when Ragnarök finally came, Odin would have an army of the greatest heroes from all ages to stand against the forces of chaos.

But their duty was not without its challenges and sorrows. Sometimes they would watch brave men fall who had loved ones depending on them—young fathers who would never see their children grow, devoted husbands who would leave wives to face hardship alone. In these moments, the Valkyries felt the full weight of their terrible burden.

“It breaks my heart,” young Sigrun once confessed to Brunhilde after a particularly brutal battle where many good men had died. “That young warrior who fell defending his village—he had three small children. How can I rejoice in bringing him to Valhalla when I know his family will starve without him?”

Brunhilde placed a comforting hand on her sister’s shoulder. “Our duty is hard, little sister,” she said gently. “But remember—the heroes we choose will help save all the Nine Realms when the final battle comes. Their sacrifice protects not just their own families, but every family that will ever be born.”

“But does that make the pain less real?” Sigrun asked.

“No,” Brunhilde admitted. “And perhaps it shouldn’t. If we felt no sorrow for the lives cut short, if we took no thought for those left behind, we would be no better than the ravens that feast on carrion. Our grief honors the fallen as much as our choice elevates them.”

The Valkyries’ work was made more difficult by the fact that they could not simply choose every brave man who fell. Odin’s hall, vast though it was, had limits, and only the most exceptional warriors could be granted a place among the einherjar. For every hero they carried to Valhalla, dozens of other good men went to Hel’s domain or found their rest in the quiet graves of mortal earth.

There were strict rules governing their choices, laws laid down by Odin himself in the early days of the world. A warrior must die with sword in hand, facing his enemies rather than fleeing. He must have shown exceptional courage, not just in his final moments but throughout his life. And most importantly, he must be one who would fight willingly at Ragnarök, even knowing it meant his death a second time.

Sometimes these rules created heartbreaking dilemmas. The Valkyries once watched a battle where the greatest hero on the field was struck down by a poisoned arrow from behind while rescuing wounded comrades. Though his courage was unquestionable and his heart pure, the technicality of not dying “sword in hand” while facing enemies meant he could not be chosen for Valhalla.

“The rules are the rules,” Odin said when the Valkyries questioned this decision. “But rules are not always just, and justice is not always kind. Remember this warrior’s name, daughters. When Ragnarök comes and we have need of every brave soul, I may call upon him anyway.”

This incident taught the Valkyries that their father, for all his wisdom and foresight, was not immune to the same moral struggles they faced. The burden of choosing who lived and died, who was honored and who was forgotten, weighed heavily on him as well.

The Valkyries also served as Odin’s messengers and agents in the mortal world. They would sometimes appear to kings and jarls in dreams, offering wisdom about coming battles or warning of treachery among their followers. They could grant courage to those who needed it most, or plant the seeds of honor in the hearts of young warriors who showed promise.

But perhaps their most important secondary duty was their work in Valhalla itself. When they were not choosing the slain from battlefields, the Valkyries served in Odin’s great hall, welcoming the newly arrived heroes and helping them adjust to their new existence.

“Welcome, brave warrior,” they would say to each new arrival. “You have died with honor and been chosen for the greatest privilege a mortal can receive. Here you will feast on mead that never runs dry and meat that is always fresh. Here you will fight beside the greatest heroes of all ages, and your battles will prepare you for the war that will decide the fate of all creation.”

The einherjar—the chosen dead—would train each day in Valhalla’s vast courtyards, their battles overseen by the Valkyries who knew more about warfare than any general who had ever lived. In the evenings, the warrior maidens would serve in the great hall, pouring mead and listening to the tales of heroes from ages past.

It was during these quiet evening hours that the Valkyries would sometimes speak of their own dreams and desires. For though they were divine beings with tremendous power and purpose, they were not without hearts or hopes of their own.

“Do you ever wonder,” Gunnr once asked during one such evening, “what it would be like to live as mortal women do? To love and be loved, to have children and watch them grow?”

“I have wondered,” Brunhilde admitted. “Sometimes I see the grief of widows on the battlefield and envy them their capacity for such deep feeling. We love our duty and our father, but it is a different kind of love than what mortals share.”

“Yet we have a purpose that transcends individual happiness,” Skuld pointed out. “We serve the continuation of all life, all love, all families. Is that not a worthy trade for personal fulfillment?”

“Worthy, yes,” Brunhilde replied. “But still sometimes lonely.”

These conversations revealed the depth and complexity of the Valkyries’ nature. They were not mere automatons carrying out divine orders, but thinking, feeling beings who struggled with the same questions of purpose, duty, and personal happiness that plagued mortals.

As the years passed and the signs of Ragnarök grew stronger, the Valkyries’ work became more urgent. The Fimbulwinter was approaching—the terrible three-year winter that would herald the beginning of the end. The final battle drew near, and every hero they could gather would be needed.

“The Wolf Age comes,” Odin announced to his daughters during one of their morning councils. “Brother will fight brother, and the bonds of kinship will break. In such times, heroes are both more necessary and more rare. Choose carefully, for each warrior you bring me now may tip the balance between order and chaos.”

And so the Valkyries rode forth with even greater purpose, knowing that their choices would help determine not just the fate of individual souls, but the destiny of all creation. They were the bridge between mortal courage and divine purpose, ensuring that the best of humanity would stand alongside the gods in the final hour.

Their story became one of duty transcending personal desire, of the nobility found in service to something greater than oneself. The Valkyries embodied the warrior ideal—not the mindless brutality of berserkers, but the disciplined courage of those who fight not for glory or gain, but to protect what they hold dear.

When the final battle came at last, the Valkyries would stand with their chosen heroes, sword and spear in hand, facing the end of the world with the same courage they had honored in others. They were, in the truest sense, the guardians of heroism itself, ensuring that as long as brave hearts beat anywhere in the Nine Realms, hope would never be entirely lost.

For in choosing the slain, the Valkyries chose the future—and in their choices, the seeds of whatever world would come after Ragnarök were already being planted.