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Blood. Blood everywhere. It ran through the streets on the tide of gutters, crimson waves flowing into the abyss of the sewers below.
Body after body littered the street. None of them seemed at peace as they lay to rest. All had a look of terror and turmoil as they lay beside their kin, their agony preserved in their features for all eternity.
Alvina knew that she should be among these dead. But instead she strode over the corpses, looking to each with a horrified gaze, a small tear in her eye.
The great city of York. What was it now? A home for heathen hosts. A graveyard to piety.
As Alvina wandered through the streets of York, the stench of death reeked. Her crystal eyes glimmered in the sunlight, watching the world around her. This dark, brutal, senseless world.
"Alvina!" She got dragged from her thoughts by Hvitserk calling her over. "Ivar wants you. He's in the church." She turned, looking at him as the blood ran down his features.
So much blood. So much pain.
She gave a curt nod, shaking off the urge to faint. It wasn't the blood that she hated, no she was rather used to such sights. Blood and gore had never much bothered her. In fact, as a girl she wished to be a healer. Of course, Aethelred had told her that such professions were not things she could pursue as a princess. But nevertheless she always wanted to help the sick and injured. No, it wasn't the blood that she hated. It was the willful suffering. It was the mercilessness. The cruelty.
When she entered the beautiful church, her mind became clearer. The enchanting stone architecture was a distraction from the agony outside.
"Alvina," Ivar's smooth but authoratative tone dragged her from her thoughts once more. She looked over at the three brothers, still shaking a little from what she'd seen outside. "Sit."
Her eyes narrowed slightly at the command. She couldn't quite place why, but she could feel an anger bubbling within her chest. And she could see the same anger in the eyes of his brothers. Her gaze wandered over to Ubbe, who gave her a reassuring nod, and she complied silently. As Ivar never seemed to miss a thing, this small gesture didn't go unnoticed and it became his turn to narrow his gaze at her.
"You did it." She looked to each of them. "You conquered York."
"And how long until your people come to avenge their city?" Ubbe spoke up curiously, a judgemental look aimed towards his little brother that Alvina fully understood.
"It won't be long." She sighed casually, crossing her arms and leaning back in her chair. "Soon they'll be here, probably with assistance from others. Since King Ecbert is now dead, my father will be King and his distain for your people knows no bounds. He will not be merciful."
"If I didn't know better, I'd say it sounded like you were hoping we'd lose." Ivar spoke up suspiciously.
Alvina gave a small smile, shrugging. "My brothers and father will be among those who attack us. The man that killed your father had the lungs ripped from his body. Do you not think I will feel much the same if my own father dies? I care not who wins and who loses. Either way... I lose." She croaked out, a small tear in her eye as she finished her words, gaze directed solely on Ivar. They both knew what she meant. That she had people she cared for on both sides of this mess.
Being in the middle was tearing her apart. Her soul belonged to her family, her people, her home.
But her heart belonged to a heathen.
Sooner or later, she knew that she would have to chose between them. There was no other way. And each day that passed, her decision became harder. She longed for her kin, for her home. But she felt something pulling her away every time. It was times like these that she wished for her mother. Surely she'd know what to do.
Whether to remain with the heathens... Or go home...
