WRATH OF WAR [BJÖRN IRONSIDE]

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Vál sat in the chair calmly and stared into thin air. A couple of more days had passed and she was wondering if the feeling she was feeling was sign of her slowly dying. She had been angry, furious and raging even. She had been sad and crushed. She had been in pain. However she was now feeling numb. The feeling that had spread through her body now was the same as when Vidar had hit her with the stick. Each minute in the cabin felt like one hit from with the stick. She felt nothing even if she tried but she was too apathetic to even bother. She started to wonder what would happen if someone opened the door and told her she could leave. If someone untied the ropes that had cut deep into her flesh, the ropes that felt like they were stuck in the very slowly healing wounds. Her shoulders had ached but it felt impossible for her to ever move them again.

Because of natural reasons she had always been on the run, never being still for too long before getting her feet moving. She had never been this still in her life, her life never required her to be still. She was, like everyone else, an animal which moves to survive. The wounds around her wrist had made tears well up in her eyes, stinging sensation oozing from the wounds. Vál had wondered if she ever could look at Lagertha again after she locked her up. Björn would probably take his mothers side, he always had which she never questioned but her treatment of Vál had been anything but acceptable and unmotivated. Sometimes Vál wondered if Lagertha kept her there longer than useful to punish her for leaving Björn.

Suddenly she heard the sound of a raven, then another before it sounded like a hundred ravens was flying above her then a voice, Ragnars, before the sound of someone opening the door filled her ears. She blinked her eyes quickly before her eyes widen when she saw however it was who stood before her. The black clothing, black fur, the grey hair and one blue eye. Ink covered half of his face however that wasn't the thing that caught her eye. It was the scar over the ink and the missing eye. There was just a black hole where the other blue eye was seated. His heavy boots on the wooden floor boomed in her ears before he placed a finger under her chin, tilting her head up to meet his eye. Her eyes fluttered slightly as she looked at him.

"Ragnar Lothbrok is dead. Killed by serpents." He said and her eyes moved to the ground as his fingers left her jaw. Ragnar was dead, the man who had welcomed her to his home. The man who had cared for her and had been supporting her had died. A man she had sometimes seen as immortal yet one who showed his human sides as well. A man who wanted her to lead a small group of people in Paris before she left. The one, the only one, that seemed to have felt truly happy for her return. One that wanted her out of the chains was dead, buried in the ground with serpents. A loud yelled left her throat and she pulled the rope, her immense strength and power filled her muscles making the chair crack before she pulled apart the headrest, freeing her hands. A loud crackling lightning bursted from the sky before thunder what heard. A cry of relief but anger left her throat as she removed the cloth before she desperately searched all her hidden pockets for a dagger. Lagertha had found a lot yet not the one in a small pocked on the inside of her armpit. She pulled it out, a small and thin blade then cutting the ropes off. When she stood on her feet she fell, her muscles weakened.