brave in the heart. vikings

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Chapter thirteen

In only five days, Merida had become heartily sufficient in their language, thanks to her pure drive and determination to fit in. That was, if sufficient could be a word used to describe a person who knew a few greetings and a army sized list of insults. It seemed that Ragnar had taken much interest in her, and she had a feeling it had something to do with the priest.

They were nearing the homeland of the Northmen, the country's shape of huge, undulating hills rolling against the grey-blue sky. The mountains sang and beckoned them from the mist, leading them into the stream of light that was surrounded by the fierce and bold peaks. It was as if they were chasing the wind, moving down the waters faster than she had ever moved before. She trailed her hands through the deep waters. They seemed to hold reflections of lost times, the memory of them filling her skin with the icy touch, making her feel alive and wild.

In that moment, as the longboat finally stopped its sailing, Merida felt as proud as an eagles call, as her father had always said about his legend. She had made it this far, into the heart of her adventure. There was no looking back, her fate had been changed. There was no controlling mother to force her into things, no annoying brothers pushing her to the solitude of the forest and no restraints of her kingdom to put chains on her legs. This was when her life of freedom would truly begin.

At the end of the fjord, there was a dock, leading straight into the heart of many huts and homes, engulfed in decorations of snow. Merida leaned over the very front of the boat, gazing out at the town in the short distance. She could feel Bjorn coming up to stand beside her, elbows leaning against the wooden edges of the boat.

"Kattegat." He stated, naming the village that they were imposing upon.

He stared out at his home with awe. No matter how many times he had seen it, Bjorn would never grown tired of the sight of his people's hard work and resilience.

"Beautiful." She whispered, and he turned to look at her with a wide smile. She had already begun to speak in his language. To his ears, the accent was sweet, like a twinkling bell against his own harsh one.

The word that she described the village with, had been drummed into her brain by the first day, thanks to Ragnar's excessive use of it. He had always seemed to call her it when he was next to both her and Bjorn, and she would answer with a thankful laugh, while his son would roll his glare at him and move away.

Their whole ordeal was a strange one. For one, only days ago, there was a chance that they would be married. Now, they were making their way into Bjorn's home, Merida with her incredibly broken language, by his side. The only person who fully comfortable with it, was Ragnar, who was beyond happy with his smug pride.

Not once though, had Bjorn thought to fear the judgement of others about her presence on the boat, and not once had he been afraid of the potential actions. He would not allow it, he thought. And surely his father wouldn't either.

Merida laughed, breathing in the scent of the air that rushed passed her face. It was both sweet and fresh, like the snow and earth of the landscape. As the boats slowed to greet the village, a heavy feeling formed in her stomach.

"Like me?" Merida stumbled on her words, coming up with the only two that would fit her question.

She stuttered, only still getting used to the feeling of the strange words on her lips. The way the speech sounded against her own was quite harsh. She thought she sounded like a child, speaking blubbering messed until she could say a sentence.

"You're only thinking about that now?" Bjorn asked, and she shot him a warning look. "It will be fine. I think my mother will like you."

Merida has only recognised a few of the words he said, but the point was made across to her nevertheless. They had promised to speak to her in their language only, until she became fluent. Merida sighed, her eyebrows furrowing, lost in thought.

"Don't worry, I know it." Bjorn said, turning to stare across the mere meters of water that separated them from the dock, not willing to say any more. She sighed, closing her eyes as she attempted to slow her own breathing.

The long boat screeched as the wood slid against the post of dock, the road sliding up like a snake and wrapping tightly around the end. Bjorn stood, nudging his head for her to follow him as he moved to stand beside his father. They left the boat together, sliding between the crowds that gathered around them excitedly.

The fiery red of her hair stood out sharply against the pale backdrop, melting the whiteness of the snowy area, and startling the blanched eyes of those that huddled around. Bjorn pushed her in front, his hands brushing her dark locks gently, before he flinched, as if the itch had burned his skin.

"Bjorn!"

He guided her forward, pushing passed her as he greeted a blonde woman with a hug.

"My son, we waited your safe return."

Bjorn smiled warmly to his mother as he turned toward Merida. Ragnar has appeared beside her, looking proudly toward the two. He pushed her forward.

"This is the Princess. Merida."

Lagertha looked across to her surprised as she glanced her up and down. She smiled, taking her hands.

"I am so pleased to meet you." Lagertha said, and Merida glanced to Bjorn, not understanding fully.

"She is not fluent yet in our language, mother." He explained.

Merida studied the woman's face, letting her eyes flow down softly across her flawless skin and pleasant smile. She could tell that she would like her- she was both strong and caring, as she could tell by the gleam in her eyes and touch of her hand.

"Then we must communicate in a way that doesn't need words. The feast is ready in all of your honour." Lagertha nodded toward her son. "And Ragnar. You must explain."