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The morning light was dim, but it was enough to wake Alvina from her brief and shallow slumber. She'd never made it to her bed, in the end. Instead she'd slept upon the floor, exactly where she'd been sitting when Ivar left her. She'd wept the whole night through, every piece of hope that she'd once clung onto was now obliterated in the dirt.
The night before should've filled her with joy - hearing Ivar tell her that he loved her - but it was only filled with heartbreak. Heartbreak for both of them. As he left, Ivar wished he'd never said anything. It would've been easier for them both had he not. Alvina wouldn't constantly live with the knowledge that they both loved eachother, but could never be. And he wouldn't have to live knowing that he'd opened up to her, shown her his feelings, and still could not tell her everything that he wanted to say.
Of course he'd never abandon her, of course he'd always protect her. But now he couldn't even approach her to keep her mind at ease. He couldn't o near her, knowing that neither one of them could look the other in the eye.
This morning was different to most others. Alvina could feel it in the air; war. As she stepped outside, she was greeted with Hvitserk - who was on his way to inform her of their plan so that she might be safe with the sick and the healers.
"Alvina," He began, noting how tired and out of sorts she seemed. She didn't look like herself, and part of him wondered if she'd caught a sickness from the men that she'd tended. "Come with me, I'll explain everything in a moment."
She nodded, following his lead as they made their way through the almost completely empty streets. "Where are we going?" She questioned, looking over towards her friend.
"The sewers." He answered calmly before the reached the entryway of the old Roman sewage system. "It's Ivar's plan."
Alvina nodded, still following Hvitserk's lead as they made their way down the ladder and under the old city. But as she looked around at the men and the women here, she felt a disconnect like she'd not felt since she first arrived. Without Ivar, she had no real reason to be among these people. And, as she thought about the alternative, she recalled the familiarity of home. Her father, Aethelred, Alfred. Lord she missed them all dearly.
If this was Ivar's plan to defend York, surely that meant that her family were here. Her people. Her father would surely be there today, fighting with his men. And so, she came to the simplest conclusion that she could.
She was going to run. If she returned home, she could kill Judith herself. And still she would be reunited with family. With her brother's and father. With her God. No more tears over Ivar The Boneless. She had to remember who she was, where she came from.
She was Alvina of Mercia, heir to her mother - Queen Kwenthrith. In her own right, she was royalty. And, just like her mother before her, she needed no boy, and certainly wouldn't waste her tears on one.
The plan was simple, perfect in her clouded mind. She'd slept for less than a couple hours, her head was still clouded with thoughts of Ivar - far too much to come to a truly logical conclusion. But to her, it seemed perfectly rational.
As she watched the men run up the ladder, the sound of swords echoing throughout, Alvina couldn't help but smile. In front of her, Ivar and Hvitserk stood watching their men before they would eventually make their way up into the battle. But behind her, men were charging up to an alternate ladder that Alvina could only see as her rode to freedom.
Finally, her hand clasped onto the old splintered wood as she climbed the shaky ladder. Her heartbeat was like a drum as she listened to the clash of swords and smelt the irony scent of blood. As she reached the surface, bodies littered the ground. All around her, war raged on. It was chaotic, brutal, like nothing she'd ever witnessed. Her first real battle.
She picked up a sword from one of the dead men, charging into battle to find her father. Home. She had to make it home.
As Hvitserk turned around to look at her, his face went pale. Why he'd assumed she'd stay where she was, he had no idea. He should've left someone with her, someone who would've chained her to the wall if they had to. She was, after all, always one for running away. She'd never been one for following orders.
Ivar was quick to notice his brother's expression, rapidly catching on to what was happening. She was gone. She'd run into battle. And he had no doubt in his mind that it was because of him.
"Where is she?" Ivar questioned his brother coldly. The only answer he received, was Hvitserk's attention turning up towards the battle above them.
He had to get up there. The thought of her, alone in the middle of this bloody battle, made him feel something that he'd not felt in a long time. Fear, true and genuine fear. He had to get up there.
