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"These people are sick!" Alvina protested as Hvitserk tried to help her away from them.
"Exactly!" He returned, holding her arm. "And you will be too if you go near them."
"I don't care!" She yelled back, pulling herself away. "I can't just watch them suffer!"
"Ivar told me to look after you, Alvina." He responded in exasperation. "How am I supposed to do that when you're wandering around a bunch of corpses?"
"I don't much care what you do, Hvitserk. But I am going to help these people and you can either help me or get out of my way." She stopped in her tracks, arms folded and head high. "And you can tell Ivar that without food, he won't have an army left to fight with." Angrily, the young princess stormed off towards the sick men. With her hair tied back, out of her face, she began to assist wherever she could.
As a child, she'd wanted so desperately to be a healer. She wanted to make a difference, to help people and save lives. Until then, she'd never been able. Though she'd read as many books as she could on the subject, fabricated a fascination and held onto her keen interest intently, she'd never actually practiced the art of healing.
Nevertheless, she did all she could to ease the suffering of the men - who were in great need of food and herbs. Without necessary supplies, a vast number of them would surely perish.
She'd spoken to Ivar quite rarely in the prior days. He seemed so focused on whatever he was doing, watching everyone else like he was above them all, and in all honesty she'd not taken the time to find out what he was doing. She'd always been humble, and valued such modesty in others. However, it did seem that modesty was never exactly Ivar's strong suit.
Instead, she'd spent much of her time with Ubbe and Hvitserk. It would seem that they both felt quite the same towards their little brother as she did.
Ivar seemed to be an enigma. On one occasion, he would seem like the gentlest of souls - silently crawling into her room at the dead of night, just to hold her after a long day, whispering soft words and disappearing before morning light as though it had never even happened. However much of the time, he avoided her at all cost, his words sharp and his features as cold as stone. She wished she could break through, find the love that she was certain his behind the large stone walls that he had constructed around himself, but alas nothing seemed to work. And everyday he became more distant. When she'd met him, in that prison cell, she could see the kindness and compassion in his eyes. But every time she looked at him, it seemed another piece of said compassion had slipped away into darkness. And no matter how much she tried to help him, it felt like it was to no avail.
"Alvina, could you just listen?" Hvitserk tried again, hoping that she would follow him back to safety. "It's not safe for you to be here."
"No," she answered, blotting a cold cloth against a dying man's cheek. "No, it's not safe for any of us. And if Ivar doesn't start realising that then we are all doomed to die here."
"What do you want me to do?" He sighed, tired of running after her and telling her she was wrong when he knew she was right.
"I want you to leave me to help these people." She responded sternly. "And you can tell Ivar that I do not want or need his protection."
"Alvina-"
"You can go now, Hvitserk." She dismissed, returning to what she was doing as he stood there questioning whether to push on or whether to just adhere to her request. Finally, he decided to leave. Perhaps he could talk some sense into Ivar, although he wasn't entirely certain that anyone had the ability to that. If Alvina couldn't, no one could.
She continued all day with the sick. Applying poultices to wounds, bringing them cold water for fevers, feeding them medicinal concoction that she'd read about once in old Roman manuscripts. Though she tried all she could to help, it seemed almost as though she was fighting for a doomed cause.
The day persisted, long and arduous, but by the end she felt an odd sense of accomplishment that made her smile. At least, in many ways, she felt useful, and that was all that she could ask for really. By the time she left the sick men, it was dark outside and Alvina felt as though she might collapse at any moment. She was tired, and a day of running around to tend to all that needed it was a day that had left her quite drained.
Her hand brushed across the top of her head, wiping sweat away as she clutched the stone wall with her arm. Each groan from within made her want to return, to keep helping as much as she could, but she knew that without rest she would be no good to anyone. Silently, she walked on towards the small house in which she had taken shelter. The wooden walls welcomed her in, candles within already burning - to her surprise. Tiredly, she assumed that Hvitserk or Ubbe must've put them on for her, so that she may return, in peace, to the comfort of light. Oh how wrong she was.
