DREAM OF ME, sihtric & finan

8. years pass by

They understood, Tova truly did understand. Her Father and brothers had been her heroes with their playfulness with her Mother as her soothing hands and loving smiles and protective hands, she just hoped when the time came, Rorik had the same bond with Sihtric. That time hadn't taken that much away from them. Away from him. From Father and son.

It came to no fault of Peter's.

"By me or by your Uncle at all times," She finished off, nodding as she pressed a kiss to his forehead and became to move toward one of the abandoned huts. Placing her son on one of the benches, the only one not tipped over, Tova only stepped to look around when Peter took her place, kneeling in front of her son to entertain the boy's attention.

Her hand lingered on the wood between the rooms, checking every dark corner, breathing in deeply when she felt reassured enough, pushing away how silly she felt for Peter had already done it all. She had lost trust in Saxon's but Peter built her trust in him without ever pushing it.

"I shall make us something," Tova announced, stepping back near them with her eyes roaming over the way Rorik's chubby fists were trying to break apart one of Peter's, the Saxon smiling teasingly. He looked to her, Rorik not paying attention, and went to speak, most likely to object and insist he did it, but she held her hand up, "I shall tonight. Would you. . .?"

Peter nodded, glancing to Rorik quickly. "He'll be fine with me, Tova."

Briefly placing a comforting touch on Peter's shoulder, just to reassure him that she knew that, Tova nodded and walked outside to fetch the firewood, not straying too far, one hand on her hilt at all times. Every sound making her body react defensively.  

The years had been hard.  The moment her home had been attacked, everything had broke — the only moments she found peace in was the briefness of her shared skin with Sihtric and the result of their love in their son, whom he didn't know of, and that rolled sadness into her like nothing ever had before.

As she sat in front of the fire, her son between her knees with Peter opposite them, her fingers pulled the skin off the bone and dipped it into the soup, holding it for Rorik who eagerly took it, immediately taking his bite.   Tova smiled, satisfied, taking a bite of her own meal.

Peter asked what she had been expecting him to, "How long are you wanting us to stay here?"

In truth, she was travelling blind, trying to find one of her brothers.  Hoping the Gods were leading her on a path that made sense. Make it make sense, I beg of you, she'd whisper to herself as she stared up at the stars, late at night, knowing somewhere, her siblings could see the same sky she could. 

It's what gave her hope.

Finding her siblings meant she was also one step closer to finding Sihtric.

For a second, she had considered naming her son Ragnar, after her eldest brother. Ragnar. But that name was already held by her Father and by her brother, and no doubt by her brother's firstborn son, so Tova didn't.  Rorik was instead chosen, something alike to his Father's. She knew Sihtric would love their son's name. 

"Perhaps until the weather clears," Tova finally answers, wiping the corner of her child's mouth with her thumb.  "I fear Rorik getting sick." 

They both feared that.  It was why Peter always passed his fur over for the boy, was why somebody always held him close, trying to trap body heat, trying to make sure Rorik didn't get a cough that would lead to a fever.