Arvid the Witch-Breaker was the young master of the jarls of Strandasýsla. Each spring, he led the jarls from their mountain stronghold, searching the countryside for seiðkonur—witches—and slaying them. Some warriors died in battle with the followers of these foul women, but always Arvid returned untouched and full of glory.
That is, until they came upon Femke the Horse-Gelder.
Femke's followers numbered in the hundreds. Many of these were strong warriors who worshiped her as a goddess. When Arvid realized his jarls were outnumbered, he blew his horn to sound the retreat. But it was too late. His men were slaughtered in the melee and Arvid was surrounded. He managed to kill a dozen men before his sword was knocked out of his hand. The enemy piled on top of him and beat him unconscious.
For two weeks, his captors gave him only sips of water to drink, so when Famke finally came to see him, Arvid was too weak to fight. But even through half-starved delirium, he could see she was younger and far more beautiful than he'd expected.
“I know you, Arvid Witch-Breaker. Many of my sisters have fallen to your blade. You are no warrior, you are a murderer. But that ends tonight.” Unsheathing a gelding knife, she ordered her warriors to restrain him. “I will show you how I earned my byname."
Screaming in horror and agony, Arvid was forced to watch as Famke cut off his testicles.
Many days, he wished he'd died that night. But Famke's healing skills were magnificent. He survived, but they kept him locked away for months, feeding him only broth. Arvid's proud muscles withered away, and soon he was a skinny weakling. Even his beard stopped growing
With his warrior's spirit all but broken, Famke ordered them to begin feeding him better. Indeed, he was brought heaping portions of bread and fatty meats. These were served with a delicious draught Famke claimed she brewed herself.
But any hope Arvid had of regaining his lost muscle were soon dashed. Lacking stones between his legs, he simply grew flabby—and not in the right places! To his horror, he found he was developing a woman's shape! Within a year, he was more buxom than any girl he'd ever bedded.
Arvid was shamed by his body, but Famke was pleased. “As a man you were a brute and a killer. As a woman, you can help the village survive. Indeed, your body has taken so well to my herbs I wonder if Freyja herself hasn't helped mold you into this figure of womanhood.”
"I'm no woman!" Arvid shouted. “I'm a warrior."
“Right now, you are neither," Famke replied. "But I will give you a choice. Be recognized by the village as a woman, or die. If Odin still sees you as man, you will be reborn in Valhalla to fight at his side. But if he sees you as a woman, you will spend the afterlife as a warrior's bride. You have until dawn to decide.”
It was a sleepless night for Arvid. When dawn came, the warriors brought him before Famke in the village square. The entire village had turned up to see his decision.
Famke regarded him. “Will you join us as our sister or die as our enemy?"
Arvid bowed his head. The words almost choked in his throat. “I will join you."
The crowd murmured in shock as Famke smiled. “Good. You are Arvid Witch-Breaker no more. I name you Arnora New-Sister, and you are welcome among us.”
Today, he sits with Famke learning the womanly craft of weaving. It is difficult, but rewarding. Perhaps Famke had been right. Odin had abandoned him on the field of battle, but Freja-goddess of women—had guided Arnora to this new life.