Somewhere Between Daisies and Pews: An Explanation

It's been half a year since I posted my hastily made fanmix for Vikings' Gyda Lothbrok. When I posted it, it was as part of a daily fanmix challenge, I was well aware that it was not very good, and I just wasn't that bothered about it. But I decided to give it another listen and I wanted to explain myself and justify myself.

[In case you haven't listened to it, you can click here to do so, if you like.]

A quick side note: I ship Athelstan and Gyda a little bit (sorry if that bothers you) so some undertones of that may have slipped in. None of the songs are, in my opinion, blatantly romantic, though.

Overall, however, this fanmix is about Gyda. I imagine her to be a curious girl and not one who is quick to judge, traits which I think she gets from Ragnar. She isn't necessarily like the other vikings. This fanmix imagines her as wondering who she is, faltering between the religion of her people and her own nature. That's where the title comes in and the song with the same name. She is somewhere between daisies (representing both literal nature - as I imagine she likes to be outside and listen to the quiet of the world - and her own nature, the thoughts and tendencies that make her herself) and pews (the religion of her family and village, what she is expected to be and what it would be easier to be).
It's not perfect, and some of the songs don't fit this sort of theme all that well but that is meant to be the overarching theme.

Now, in a way, I may be kind of ascribing all of this more meaning than it really has. I made most of this fanmix late, late at night. But they all kind of felt right to me. And, not in quite so many words, that's what the fanmix was about for me. And at least now, you have a little bit of insight. If you were curious about that sort of thing.

Fanmix Day 5 - For a TV Show

Never Shall We Die from heyitsalyssa on 8tracks Radio.

On the Riverbank

I wrote a short Athelstan/Gyda story, here's quick snippet.

The plague came quickly and unexpectedly. And it was almost certain to be fatal. A fever on the first day led to a painful sickness so severe one was bedridden. At that point it was only a matter of time before death took them.

Lagertha Lothbrok was worried but thanked the gods that Ragnar, Bjorn and even Gyda were gone on a raid and so were safe. Her only company was Athelstan. Thyri had just passed and Siggy fell ill not long after. Lagertha and Athelstan spent most of their time taking care of the sick and the dying. So when Athelstan fell ill as well, it was a tragedy but not exactly a surprising one. She prayed over him as often as she could. The man had become like a son to her. She sent word to her family about Athelstan’s condition and his probable fate. Ragnar and Bjorn decided to stay. But Gyda, little Gyda, rushed home. She only hoped she would not be too late.

Gyda stayed at Athelstan’s bedside constantly, only conceding to leave when her mother gently forced her to eat something or sleep in her own bed. She fetched him water and food on the rare occasions he was awake and hungry. In the nights when she couldn’t fall asleep she would talk, sometimes to him, sometimes the gods (hers and his), sometimes simply the universe.

“Oh, please don’t make Athelstan die,” she asked no one in particular in an inarticulate prayer. “He can’t die. Please make him better. He can’t die. I love him.” At those three little words that she’d had no plan of saying, her mouth dropped open, then she snapped it shut again. She’d been speaking quietly but in the silence it felt like a shout and she glanced around to see if there was anyone around that could have heard. But no one was there. She looked back down at Athelstan and brushed his dark hair off of his pale, sweaty brow, when she noticed his eyelids flutter open. He said her name weakly.

“Hi Athelstan,” she said timidly, hoping he hadn’t heard what she’d said. I love him. She hadn’t meant to say it, had never even thought it to herself. She thought he was good-looking, she admitted to herself. And he was sweet and listened to her as other people did not. She loved their talks late at night, the moonlight turning the world to shades of black and white and grays, when she’d teach him about their gods and their stories and songs. And he’d do the same, telling of all the places he’d traveled to and the people he’d met. But she hadn’t known she loved him—as anything other than a friend or a brother—until she’d said it aloud and now she knew it to be true.

“Um, I have some water. Here.” She handed him a cup and he drank.

“I’m going to die,” he said, his voice betraying no fear, but a certain sadness.

“No you’re not!” she said desperately, with a ferocity that made him think that already she had something of the shieldmaiden in her. “You’re not,” she said again, quietly, but he’d fallen asleep. And she hadn’t noticed immediately but he had managed to slip his hand around hers. She yawned and fell asleep resting on his chest.

A few nights passed this way, though Gyda did more silent praying from then on, when it seemed as though Athelstan was getting better. He ate a proper meal for the first time in over a week, and then he had only a bit of a headache. Soon he was back to normal. He never brought up what she said so she assumed he hadn’t heard her. Her embarrassment dissipated, things went back to normal and time passed. Ragnar returned with a very pregnant Aslaug who gave birth to two boys. Bjorn got married at 16 to a bastard daughter of King Horrik. When he was 17, the girl gave birth to a daughter. Gyda turned 15—the age of womanhood.

You can read the rest here.

Fanmix Day 2 - For a Female Character

Somewhere Between Daisies and Pews from heyitsalyssa on 8tracks Radio.

I should have thought about this more intently before choosing Gyda but she's one of my favorite characters lately. But it was so difficult to make a fanmix for her, especially in a day. And so, none of this probably makes any kind of sense, and also a bit of Athelstan/Gyda almost certainly slipped in there but oh well.
Hope you like it (or don't hate it).