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Time passed so slowly between the day of the Battle and the following week. Waiting for her father to return was like awaiting a summons from God himself and Alvina was growing impatient.
Of course, when he finally returned to Wessex with the news of defeat, that impatience manifested itself into dread. Now they were all doomed. The heathen army would come, and they would surely kill them.
Alvina could see them now - those electric blue eyes staring straight into her soul calling her a liar. She had tried to keep her promise. But somehow she knew she deserved whatever fate was sent for her. How could she just run away when she'd broken her promise to these heathens and played a part in their father's death?
She might have not been a shieldmaiden or some great warrior - in fact she rather loathed fighting - but she was Alvina daughter of the strongest Queen in her people's history. She knew that she would face these heathens. She was not afraid. One did not need to pick up a sword to be brave or kill a man to be strong.
The halls were filled with the bustle of servants as they prepared carts and horses and packed things for the journey. Alvina watched the scene, her fingertips tracing the cold stone walls that she'd called home for so many years.
This place held so many memories. So much had happened here. It had seen her grow from a baby to a young woman, and watched her try to figure out all that had come before her.
"Alvina, father wants us." The familiar voice of her closest friend and brother, Æthelred, pulled her from her inner thoughts.
As she walked back through her old home, everything felt different. The places where she'd played as a child, the books she'd read and the room she'd slept in.
She could see every moment of her life on replay like some long kaleidoscopic reminder, showing her all that she had ever done. The good and the bad. The new and the old. All of it came together in the end. It always did.
When she finally made it to the throne room, it was rather a large shock to see Aethelwulf wearing the crown instead of her grandfather, King Ecbert. However, this seemed to make sense when Ecbert explained he would stay here and face the judgement of the North. Perhaps he'd decided that he'd already lived through enough. Or perhaps he too felt the weight of King Ragnar's death on his shoulders.
"Grandfather," Alvina spoke quietly, pulling the former king aside. "I need to know... Before we are forced to part ways. I have to know what happened to my mother. What happened to Queen Kwenthrith?"
For a moment, the old king paused. His eyes glazed over with remembrance that soon became sorrow. "She was murdered." He answered in that usual wise tone.
"By who?" The princess persisted eagerly. But he did not answer this time. He stood firm and watched as something strange seemed to take root in the girl - something he'd never seen in her before; anger... Rage. "I said by who?" She yelled again.
But soon, Judith walked over. She was calm and patient as always, placing a hand on Ebert's shoulder as she smiled towards the young girl who she had always been so kind to. Was it out of guilt?
"By me." She answered.
Before the Queen could even explain herself, Alvina had lunged towards her. Guards held her back as she kicked and screamed wildly, a certain hatred growing within her stone cold gaze. "I'll kill you!" She screamed before removing the guards from her arms and storming out.
How could she travel to Kent and hide with these people? With the woman who killed her mother! Murdered her in cold blood! No.
But perhaps she could do something else. Either the heathens would kill her, or they would listen. Any which way she would win.
