—— • ° ☽ ★ ☾ ° • ——
𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐄𝐋𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐍 —
ꜱᴛᴀʀꜱ ᴜᴘᴏɴ ᴛʜᴇ ꜰᴀᴄᴇ.
ᴀᴄᴛ ᴏɴᴇ — ᴏᴍᴇɴꜱ
—— • ° ☽ ★ ☾ ° • ——
THE DUSTY SMELL
of hay straw filled her nose, wet and sodden from rain, slowly rotting away as it clumped together. Twigs of hay splintered into the skin of her hands as she held a bundle in her palm, dragging it down the mares back, brushing away the dirt.
"You're certain you want to do this, arseling?" Leofric arched a brow as he sorted through the shields, setting the ones they were taking aside.
The sound of straw rattled together as Uhtred brushed down the pale white steed, his back facing the pair. "Is there a law against it?"
Leofric held a shield in his arms, his eyes scanning across it for any damage that could potentially render it useless. "Dressing up as danes, no. Plundering cornwalum, yes, we're supposed to be at peace." Placing the shield in the cart, he dragged the sheet back over them to keep them hidden.
Freyja frowned softly, halting her movements as she stood by the mares head. She lowered her hands, turning to the warrior as the horse huffed and nudged her nose against Freyja's knuckles. "This was your idea, was it not?"
Leofric raised a brow in her direction, temporarily distracted as the mare continued to push against Freyja, her nose now nuzzling into the shoulder that carried the scar - fortunately, the skin had healed quite quickly as she had been able to remove the stitches, leaving a bumpy, jagged line of pink flesh.
"Perhaps." Leofric nodded once, his lips pressing together thoughtfully as he failed to see her point. "But I said to think about it."
Freyja's lips twitched with a half smirk, dull green eyes running across his taller stance only a mere feet across from her. "And we did - don't tell me you're backing out now." Turning, she resumed her grooming on the impatient mare when she was just about pushed over, the horse letting out a happy snort once she felt the familiar scratch of the hay on her fur.
Leofric squinted his eyes at her, knowing that there was no one to blame here but himself for giving Uhtred the idea. "I'm not -"
Uhtred released a sigh from across the stable, not even so much as glancing at them as he spoke. "If I'm to reclaim bebbanburg, I'll need an army. If I'm ever to raise an army, I'll need silver. We go."
Leofric chuffed, leaning his body over the cart. "I have no quarrel."
"Will Odda not miss you?" Uhtred glanced over, his bitterness still lingering at the thought that Leofric was now young Odda's man.
"I'm doing as he asks," Leofric looked up, his eyes moving over the siblings. "I'm you watching you both. He's building Alfred a church at cynuit, have you heard? With an altar of gold they say."
Freyja pressed her lips together with a hum. "A church in the place where Dane blood was spilt? How godly." Discarding the hay, she leaned her forehead against the mare, pressing a kiss to the stretch of her nose before she turned away to look over her brother who'd fallen silent.
He was staring off into the distance and her eyes followed in the general direction to find three of Oswald's children standing at a distance, hoping to bring her brother some form of guilt for mercilessly killing their father.
"Who are they?" Leofric jerked his chin in the children's direction, confusion hinting at his expression.
"They belong to Oswald." Uhtred information, slowly striding out from beneath the cover of the stables. "Their mother sends them, hoping to shame me for killing their lying, thieving father." Rearing his arm back, he through a rock at the children, hitting the boy square in the chest.
Freyja snorted in amusement as they turned and tucked tailed towards their home, most likely to go cry to their mother.
Leofric pushed off the fence, walking in Uhtred's trail. "I see her plan is working."
"They're not the first to lose a parent. They'll live."
"They are children." Freyja muttered with a roll of her eyes as she walked alongside Leofric. "They'll get over it."
"Did you?" Leofric have her knowing look, his chin buried into his chest as he looked down at her. He knew the answer - he knew that Freyja had yet to fully accept her parents death.
"Shut up, ass wiper." She glared ahead of her, but nonetheless, she bumped her side against him, causing them to slightly sway as they walked.
—— • ° ☽ ★ ☾ ° • ——
THE MOON CASTED
a luminous glow so bright as she felt the cold of the eve begin bite at her flesh, nipping the scarred and alabaster skin of her cheeks and neck. She sat on the thatch roof, basking in the silver pool of moonlight, searching for warmth somewhere in the depthless night.
The stars scattered across the dark abyss like millions of tiny snowflakes, twinkling like an endless stream of lights. Freyja watched them just like she always had, feeling them upon her face, almost feeling the peace they brought.
But the distant loud of bickering was always a way to ruin it - the sound of her brother's harsh words and Mildrith's cold, bitter tone colder then the very breeze that wrapped around her. It was muffled, the words incoherent but still vocal as they echoed through the thin walls of the homestead.
There was shuffle of footsteps, a creak as the door below was opened, the bickering exposed to the night before it was once again muffled as the door was shut.
Freyja barely so much as looked down at the warrior who strode into the night, pausing in his place below her as he searched a potential place to eat his dinner in silence.
Freyja hid a smirk, staring up at the sky. "My brother's not one for hosting." She voiced her presence, seemingly startling the warrior whose body jerked in surprise.
He turned in search for her, eyes squinting as if he were looking directly at the blinding sun, but really it was a silhouette in the night, a shadow of darkness, lit by a pool of white glow. "It'd help if they weren't at eachothers throats whenever they were in the same room." He scoffed, taking a few steps back to properly scan the roof she sat upon.
There was pause, a moment of silence that slid between them, a half smile of agreement that twitched at Freyja's lips. Her eyes still failed to meet his, so Leofric took it upon himself to walk around the side of the homestead where crates were stacked, suitable enough to use as makeshift stairs.
Setting down his bowl of whatever it was Mildrith had generously served to the highest crate, Leofric began to climb, struggling slightly with unsure feet and eventually pulling himself up onto the roof.
Freyja watched him carefully from the corner of her eye, not even attempting to hide her amusement as it took the larger man longer than it should have.
He tested his weight on the roof, feet aimlessly searching for the beams before risking himself to walk across. He soon joined her side, gazing across the ground that look far different with the advantage in height and lowered himself into the space beside her, legs hanging over the edge, his foot occasionally bumping with hers.
He extended the bowl of food towards her. "Here, eat. You need it more than I do."
Reluctantly, Freyja took the bowl into her lap, eyeing it's reddish contents with an uncertain look. "What is it?"
Leofric gave a haphazard shrug. "No idea. Not the worst thing I've ever ate - Mildrith cooked it up."
The way she looked at it was boarding the line of hilarious, as if she was fearful that something would lurch outwards and claw at her face. Her gaze lingered with uncertainty before she reluctantly scooped a heap and brought it to her lips.
She tasted it, deeming it cooked well enough before she shoveled the spoon into her mouth, practically moaning in delight to finally have something in her stomach.
She avoided even stepping near the homestead just to escape her brother constantly bickering at his wife.
Leofric watched as she ate, humoured by the way she eagerly did so with a pleasant smile on his lips. A look of thought hinted at his expression. "Do you cook?"
Freyja swallowed the food with chuckle, her head shaking in no to his question. "My mother tried to teach me but I was always far too interested in swords and climbing trees."
"Some thing's never change then."
"I suppose not." Angling her head towards her lap, Freyja flashed a grim smile before looking up and finally reaching his eyes. She was startled to see the darkness of his gaze, the brown nearing the colour of obsidian. She swallowed thickly. "Do you? Cook, I mean."
"Nah," Leofric laughed as if he'd heard the funniest joke in the world and frantically shook his head from side to side. "Never had the time for it." He could feel her curious gaze on him and for some reason even the thought of that made him far more nervous then he's ever been. "My sister always did the cooking. Never let me step foot in the kitchen in fear I'd burn the house down."
Freyja's brows furrowed and she gently set the wooden spoon against the rim of the bowl. "You have a sister?"
Not once had he ever mentioned a sister let alone having a family - Freyja wondered what else there was to know about him.
The expression on Leofric's face fell, something familiar taking over and that was when Freyja realised that he no longer had a sister.
For some twisted reason, that brought a splurge of comfort to her knowing that she and Uhtred weren't the only ones to understand the grief of losing a sibling - the only difference was, she and Uhtred had eachother and as far as she was aware, Leofric had no one.
The questions were endless, ready to spew from the tip of her tongue but she bit her cheek, forcing herself to not pry unless he outed with the answer himself.
Pressing her lips together, she gazed up at the sky, finally finding her warmth.
Leofric followed her gaze, finally beginning to understand why she spent so many nights on the roof or in the branches of a trees. He felt on top of the world, surrounded by every star and the moonlight upon his skin.
He focused back on her and he froze at the sight before him. There was time in his life that he would have described Freyja's eyes as cold and dark but that was a lie. He realised that now in this moment.
Her eyes were green. Not the green that shines. Not the green that is glossy. The deep green - the kind that doesn't reflect light but rather holds it, keeps it as if it were something most sacred.
The stars fell upon her face like tiny little diamonds shining upon her skin and Leofric swore he could spend all night just watching her - he was curious. Curious by her fascination with the nights sky, curious by the thoughts that seemed to consume her mind in a constant.
He followed her gaze, reluctantly, hesitantly, forcing himself to tear away and replace the image of the moon and stars.
He knew that in his own beliefs, the stars had their own names, but he wanted to know what they called by the Dane's - the ones he once swore to hate with his entire being.
But yet here he was now, sat beside said Dane, sharing the light of the moon.
"What's that one?" His arms stretched into a point towards where a cluster of stars formed the shape of jagged circle. He wasn't sure if the constellation had a name, but in that moment he seemed to notice how that shined brighter than the rest.
Freyja followed her eyes and smiled. "Asar bardagi." She felt his curious glance. "The battlefield of Aesir - some say it was Thor's fight, other's may perhaps say Ragnarok."
Ragnarok.
Leofric was unfamiliar with the word let alone it's meaning. He forced himself to remember it, to save the question for another time.
"What about the big dipper?"
"The what?" Freyja frowned in confusion, a soft point on her lip as she glanced in the general direction of his finger. Realisation dawned upon her the moment she found it and she was quick to correct the man. "That's Karlsvagn - man's chariot. See the one beside it of similar shape?" She waited for his hum of acknowledgement. "That's called Kvennavagn, which means woman's chariot."
She raised her hand, pointing to the constellation Leofric knew as Orion's belt. "Fiskikarlar. The fishermen." Her hand shifted. "Ulfs kepta. Mouth of the wolf, otherwise known as Fenrir Wolf" She paused for a split moment. "Fenrir represents the forces of evil and chaos against the goodness and order of the Aesir gods, whose king is Odin."
Leofric's face pinched. "So the devil?"
Freyja shared a half amused smile, glancing to him from the corner of her eye. "If that's what you choose to believe." There was no judgement in her tone for his lack of knowledge, no disdain for his beliefs, no fear of voicing the beliefs of her world, and he welcomed the information, allowing it to consume his every thought.
They were looking at the same sky together, which is maybe more intimate than eye contact anyway. Anybody can look at you. It's quite rare to find someone who sees that same world you see.
—— • ° ☽ ★ ☾ ° • ——
THERE HE WAS AGAIN,
standing towards the tail end of the group, hidden between horses with a cloak masking his features. That was the second time she had seen him since they set off for cornwalum, and now, she was almost positive he wasn't part of the men they had gathered for the journey.
Her eyes narrowed on him, watching him carefully from a distance that didn't bring attention from the others. The tips of her fingers tapped the handle of her long bladed dagger pressed against her hip, her body instinctively leaning into Leofric's side as she spoke. "I'll be back."
He turned away from the others in search of her - ever since their night on the roof shared beneath the moonlight, he seemed to constantly linger close, failing to stray very far from her side. Freyja failed to understand why.
"Do you need a hand?" He offered, ignorant to where or what she was doing - but still, he offered out the kindness he often felt the need to express whenever he's around her. The old him, the one who was more bitter towards the Dane's would be scowling down at this moment.
Freyja arched a weary brow, already beginning to back ahead. "To take a piss?" She watched in amuse as red curled up Leofric's cheeks, the shells of his ears deepening in colour. His lips sealed into a teasing grin and he gave an unsure shrug. Rolling her eyes, Freyja simply shook her head. "I think I can manage."
Turning on her heel, she dispersed into the trees, not quite hidden from their range of sight. She could hear Leofric's voice fan across the gathering of eager men, heading them to be patient in putting on the dane-like armour.
Carefully, she moved through the woods, her eyes still trained on the unknown figure. She was slowly making her way over when Leofric spotted the man, quickly withdrawing his sword. "Every man stand where he is. No one moves." He pointed his sword. "You. Stay where you are. Do I know you? Lower your hood."
Freyja hid behind a tree. The stranger didn't move even as Leofric began to approach. "I said lower your hood.
Just as Freyja suspected, the stranger ran for the only exit in her direction. Water sunk his knees, leaving his boots waterlogged. Leofric halted his chance inches from the swampy ground.
The stranger continued to run, kicking water up beneath him. Freyja appeared from the tree, tackling him to the ground, her body landing on-top of his, water soaking them from head to toe.
She unsheathed her dagger, holding it to his neck, her free hand ripping back the hood. "Snake?" Her eyes widened at the sight of Aethelwold beneath her straddling legs, a sickness flushing over her skin at his unnerving smile.
"Freyja." He stumbled over her name, hands held open in surrender beside his face. "How pleasant to see you." He trailed off, his eyes instinctively running over her figure like he so often did with women. "And so promising."
Freyja's nose wrinkled in disgust and she threw herself off of him. Her hand clawed his underarm, dragging him up to his feet and pulling his back against her where she resumed her hold on the dagger.
Uhtred's arms dropped at the sight of the young man in Freyja's hold. "Aethelwold."
His chin was forced at an angle and he swallowed thickly against the sharp blade that threatened to cut into his skin. He forced himself to remain still and unmoving, save for his arms that continued to wave in a show of surrender. "I - I merely want to come with you, to - to be part of your adventure. I wanted it to be a surprise." He finished with a shaky laugh, his palms clapping together.
Leofric pointed his sword in warning, looking over at Uhtred. "He cannot be here, he cannot hold his tongue."
"I know a way to fix that." Freyja threatened calmly, raising the tip of the dagger to press against the very corner of his mouth. Her grip on him tightened as he shifted.
"Please, don't. I very much like my tongue where it is."
"I say we kill him." Leofric warned, pleading with Uhtred to give the order and agree.
Aethelwold's face fell. "Kill me? You - you can't kill me. I'm the rightful king, you fool." He made an attempt to step out of Freyja's arms but the knife only found its way back to his throat. He gulped.
Leofric's face soured in resentment for the young man and he ran into the water with the aim to kill, not caring that it soaked him from the knees down.
"Not here, Leofric." Uhtred shouted in warning at the anguish warrior. "Not in Wessex."
"Then I will drag him into Cornwalum." Leofric shouted angrily, spit flying from his lips, resembling the appearance of a large, angry bear.
"Not now."
"You - you can't." Aethelwold resisted the urge to fight, using Freyja's hold to his advantage, knowing that Leofric wouldn't commit anything too lethal while he resided in her grip. "Uhtred, Freyja, you owe me a favour - I call it in now."
Leofric left no room for an answer and faced Uhtred. "If Alfred hears of Christian's raiding cornwalum we will all be killed. He guarantees that outcome."
"Leofric," Aethelwold was on the verge of plead. "I am a changed man. I swear."
Leofric tilted his head, eyes wide as he watched Uhtred from where he stood within the swampy ground. "We kill him. He will not be missed."
"Jeg er mere end glad for at se det gennem, bror." Freyja gave Uhtred a look, but she knew - whenever it came to a debt, her brother's morals and honour seemed to take control of his actions. The whole year had been proof of that.
"Freyja, we owe him." He returned her look, his lips pressed together in warning.
"We seem to owe everyone." She spat in frustration, begrudgingly forcing her grip to loosing. Slowly, she removed the dagger from his throat but not before nicking the tip against his skin in warning. His hiss was satisfactory enough for both Freyja and Leofric.
Uhtred ignored her comment, his eyes settling on Aethelwold who pushed himself as far as he physically could from Freyja, being sure to steer clear of the fuming soldier. "We take him with us." Leofric rolled his eyes. "I owe him. He's my responsibility. He has my protection."
Lowering his arms, Leofric turned and walked away from Aethelwold, glaring at Uhtred as he passed. "And who will protect the rest of us?"
"I will." Freyja snapped, her voice reverberating through the trees and falling upon Leofric's ears causing him to halt at the unfamiliar tone. Her eyes met his at a distance. "If my brother says to not kill him - we don't kill him. Understood?"
Leofric narrowed his eyes at her, his lips sealing shut. Nonetheless, he gave her a firm nod, feeling like a disciplined child. "Understood."
Clamping her hand down onto Aethelwold's back, she fisted the fabric that rested against his neck. With a tug of her arm, she forced him to walk, practically dragging him through the mud.
—— • ° ☽ ★ ☾ ° • ——
SMEARING THE LAST
of the coal beneath her eyes, Freyja set the bowl down with a content sigh and looked across the few men gathered around the small fire. Leofric's gaze was on her the whole time she'd painted her skin, and it brought a an idea into her thoughts.
Shifting on the log, she straddled it between her legs and face him, her coal coloured fingertips reach for his face. "Your turn." She teased with a smirk, her hand inches from touching his cheek.
Leofric immediately leaned away from her touch despite some inner depths of his soul wanting to lean into it. He near toppled off of the log, quickly bracing himself by accidentally cupping her left thigh.
He released her just as quickly, frantically shaking his head. "No way. You are not putting that on my face."
There was no judgement in his tone, he didn't care for what she placed on herself - if anything, he liked when the coal smeared her skin in shadows - it made her eyes that much more greener. But there was in no way, he would allow his own skin to be painted.
"What's wrong?" Freyja feigned innocence with a gentle pout, but her eyes were far from the expression that settled over the rest of her face - they held the fire of mischief. "Thought you wanted to be a Dane."
Leofric once again shook his head, batting away her hovering hand and shifting to the very edge of the log. "I've seen my far share of Danes that don't wear markings." His brows then furrowed. "Why do you wear that anyway?"
It was Uhtred who had answered, an amused smile playing on his lips at their banter as he warmed his hands against the flames. "Our mother used to wear similar markings. Taught Freyja from the age of twelve."
Leofric nodded in understanding, glancing sideways at the woman wearily as she cleaned her hands off and discarded the bowl.
Aethelwold used the silence to speak, his eyes tracing over his fellow Saxons. His skin was now marked in blue paint, a symbol taking up majority of his forehead and a thin line that went from his bottom lip to the base of his throat where the skin held a small cut. "What do you know of cornwalum?"
Uhtred glanced at him and gave a haphazard shrug. "That it's not Wessex."
A knowing grin found permanent settlement on Aethelwold's lips and he leaned forward to trace the head of a stick into the red, glowing dirt. "The Wessex - cornwalum boarder is this river, the Tamar river."
Leofric rolled his eyes. "Which is why we are camped here."
Aethelwold dragged his tongue across his bottom lip, choosing to ignore the warrior's bitterness and resumed in drawing a map in the dirt. "It flows north to south. And cornwalum itself, has a coastline shaped like a leg."
"So they are traders?"
"Yes, on the north coast to the Welsh kingdoms and Ireland, and on the south to the Franks."
Leofric eyed the young man wearily. "How do you know this?"
Aethelwold slowly smiled. "I'm an educated man, Leofric, I simply enjoy hiding the fact."
"You do it well." A chorus of chuckles followed the Saxons words.
Uhtred leaned closer, now intrigued by the information he was receiving. "Do they have a king?"
"More than one."
"Fierce fighters?"
Aethelwold faced Leofric, his smile unnerving. "Have no fear, Leofric, we are danes." Smiles scattered, eyes twinkling in subtle humour. Aethelwold sucked in a breath, almost hesitant with his approach. "I want to be blooded in battle."
Leofric chuffed with a point of his dagger. "Don't worry, boy, you'll be first in line."
"I look forward to it."
—— • ° ☽ ★ ☾ ° • ——
THE SOUND OF SCREAMS
shook the very ground she walked upon, stretching far across the village they were currently raiding. Furniture was tossed and turned, thrown through the doors of ransacked homesteads - but still, even a glint of silver had yet to be uncovered.
Casually, as if she hadn't brought upon chaos everywhere she walked, Freyja strode up the creaky steps onto the porch. Approaching the door, she lifted her leg and slammed her boot against it, kicking it wide open with a slam against the interior wall.
She walked in, halting within the entrance as her coal rimmed eyes found settlement upon a woman clinging to her two young child.
No words left her mouth as she watched their lbs tremble at the sight of her, in fear of the lives they believed was about to end there and then.
Without tearing her eyes away from the trio, Freyja's reached out a hand that wasn't holding the axe and took the apple that had been resting on the table beside the door.
She brought it to her lips, the loud crunch filling the room and making the mother and children flinch. The juice dribbled down her chin, Freyja backed out of the room, closing the door as she left.
Turning on her heel, she reached the edge of the porch and leaned her weight against the wooden pillar. She eyed Leofric who ripped the man out the window from the house opposite to where she stood and threw him to the ground, the warrior disguised beneath layers of armour as he held the blade of his sword against the man's neck.
"Where's it buried? Where's the silver?" He spat, saliva spraying from his lips - Freyja had to admit, he played the Dane part well. "Where is it?"
Uhtred ducked his head to avoid hitting the frame of the doorway as he stepped out. There was a sneer on his lips, a frustration that worked its way into his features. They had found nothing. "These people have nothing."
With an angry shove, Leofric released his captured and rose to his feet. His eyes found Freyja, casually eating away at an apple as if she wasn't in the middle of creating a path of fear amongst the innocent with the intention of thieving their valuables.
Uhtred and Freyja met the warrior half way, the former kicking up dust and dirt as he walked down from the porch. "Five days and nothing."
"Have some faith, brother." Freyja swallowed the fruit, absentmindedly glancing over her surroundings. She then met his eyes with a grin full of mischief. "We are not finished yet."
There was no words to describe the high she felt in that moment, knowing that she held the power in the very tips of her fingers. It was an adrenaline rush, one that failed in not reaching her face.
Uhtred sighed but returned her smile, sheathing his dagger into the scabbard of his hip. "We are not the first Dane's they have seen. I need silver."
"Patience, Uhtred." Freyja cooed, her eyes fluttering shut and her head facing the direction of the pale sky. She welcomed the screams that echoed around her.
"I am not like you, sister." Uhtred watched her with a content, humourous smile. "I have no patience."
Freyja opened her eyes, looking at him. "I know."
Leofric glanced between them one and let his eyes settle on Uhtred. His face held signs of urgency, showing that he too lacked the skill of patience. "So we keep looking."
"And what if the whole of cornwalum has been sacked already?"
"We keep looking." Leofric barely left Uhtred room to finish, his words sharp as they cut from the top of his tongue. "We keep heading west."
Taking a few steps, Freyja stopped inches in front of Uhtred. Tossing the apple core to the ground, she replaced it with Uhtreds cheek, gently patting the scarred flesh. She half grinned, looking into his eyes. "We'll find silver. I'm sure of it, and we'll be bathing in riches soon enough."
—— • ° ☽ ★ ☾ ° • ——
STEEP HILLS ROLLED
across the earth's surface, stretching beyond what was considered visible to the human eye, leaving the bluish faces of silhouettes in the far, far distance.
They rode across the path on the mountains highest peak, the ground around them slowly, slowly dipping into a subtle slope that further on carried the dense, thickness of trees and woods.
Freyja held the reins in one closed fist, allowing the curve of her pinky to guide and steer the grey mare while her other limb found placement upon her thigh.
Her sharp eyes stared ahead, cutting across the empty path between them and the other side where more men seemed to gather upon horses, slowly approaching with caution.
The strangers stopped at the very top of the path before it carried on down the side of the hill. Uhtred and Freyja mirrored their actions, bringing their cluster of Danish Saxon men to a halt.
"Do they want to speak?" Aethelwold questioned dumbly as he stared between the broad shoulders of Freyja and Uhtred, nervously shifting in the saddle he had yet to get used to.
Uhtred refused to answer right away, his eyes squinting at the strangers to hopefully capture a read of their intentions. "Five men, to match theirs. Only Freyja and I speak - Aethelwold?"
"I heard." The young man agreed with reluctance, tilting his head to face the Dane. "Only the great Uhtred and Freyja speaks."
Pleased, five of them split from the rest of the army and trailed further down the path, meeting the strangers halfway. Upon closer glance, Freyja could see that they were far from being Dane's.
A man in a grey gown and cloak slid from the horses back. His expression was uncertainty, his eyes cautioned as he slowly approached. The cross around his neck gleamed golden beneath the setting sun.
"I am brother asser. I bring you a gift, from my king." His hand reached for the satchel against his hip. Freyja unsheathed her dagger with a look of warning, making Asser still as he watched her carefully set the point of the blade against her saddle in silent threat. He resumed his task in retrieving the gift.
Holding the bundled cloth between his palms, he exposed the gift for Uhtred to take. "From king peredur."
Uhtred took the cloth, his brows pulling together in a show of confusion. "King who?"
"King peredur." The man repeated, taking a step backwards. "Of the Britons."
Uhtred looked at the gift in his hands, frowning at its lack of weight. "Never heard of him." He peeled back the cloth to reveal a set of brass bracers.
"I assure you my king has heard of you. A troop of Danes raiding villages in cornwalum does not go unnoticed." Asser pried Uhtred's reaction, gauging his expression only to be disheartened by Uhtred's frown.
"Why does your peredur send me these miserable offerings?" Sliding the bracers together, he flung them in the direction behind him, Aethelwold skillfully catching them within a single hand.
Asser's eyes slowly trailed over the two. "A gesture of peace, a token." He stepped forward once more. "Our king has been attacked by a fellow Briton and neighbour, Callyn, who's forces have seized the fort guarding our land. I am sent to tell you, peredur will pay you well to help recapture this fort."
Uhtred tilted his head with a thoughtful hum, glancing curiously from Leofric to Freyja to Asser "Pay us well. How much?"
"I do not know the sum but I am sure he will be generous."
"He has silver?"
"He is a king."
Freyja clicked her tongue, her body reclining forward across her saddle, elbow bent against the front. She continued to twirl the dagger, lazily carving into the thick material as she stared the man down. "Just because he is a king does not mean he has silver. You can still be poor and have men bow to you."
—— • ° ☽ ★ ☾ ° • ——
PEREDUR WAS NOT
the typical king Freyja had expected. He was delayed in noticing their presence and the moment he had, he sprung up from the chair as if he'd been asleep and scrambled to assemble the crown upon his head.
His wife — the queen — seemed to mirror his actions, she too sitting up with unruly raven hair and dribble staining her cheek. Freyja had to do her best to keep herself composed and not laugh.
"Winchester, it is not." Uhtred hummed in amusement, glancing back at Leofric and Freyja's who both failed to hide the twitch of a smile.
"Alfred, he is not." Leofric mumbled low enough for only the three of them to hear, his chin lowered to stare up at what was presented as royalty amongst Cornwalum.
Brother Asser folded his hands in front of his gown and presented a pleasant smile. "The king greets you."
Uhtred raised his brows in confusion, hearing only silence be relayed towards him. "He does? I hear nothing."
Asser gave him an obvious look. "You are pagans, the king is Christian, and will only speak with you through me. If you would come forward and pay your respects."
Freyja rolled her eyes, being sure to make the gesture known before she slipped away from Leofric's side. Rather than approaching the king, she wandered aimlessly around the hall, her eyes trailing over the walls in false interest, stopping to forcefully admire the random pieces of decoration sprouted about.
She earned herself a confused look from Asser.
With a hesitant glance, Uhtred stepped into where the floor crossed over into sand, the ground soft and sinking beneath his footfalls. He approached Brother Asser and the king. "Please inform the king — Dane's don't bow to Christians." He paused to let the words sink in. "This fort you want us to recapture, it's defended by how many Britons? And what price will you pay?"
Asser leaned towards the king, their words falling to a whisper.
Uhtred rolled his eyes. "It would be much simpler if the king addressed me directly."
Leofric gave the Dane a warning look. "Easy."
Stepping away from the wall, Freyja approached her brother, her eyes carefully settled on the king. Her hand stretched out, fingertips dancing across the licks of flames as she passed.
Peredur reclined his body forward, his beady eyes narrowed into a glare as he stared between the siblings. "They have between forty and fifty men — no more than fifty. We are thirty, fighting men."
Uhtred hummed with hints of a smile. "And we are twenty. How much in silver?"
Peredur sucked in a breath, sparing a moment to think. "A hundred pieces of silver."
Uhtred shifted from one foot to the other, sharing an amused glance with his sister. "I won't bargain. I'll tell you the price. Four hundred pieces of silver."
Brother asser's gaze widened. "That is an absurd amount."
"Is peredur a king or not?" Freyja gave a mocking smirk, hands grasping the leather of her belt, her head giving a sideways tilt as her eyes traced the distance between peredur and asser. "If this fort means as much to you as you say it does — then you won't mind paying the price to reclaim it."
Behind her, Aethelwold grinned pridefully knowing that Freyja had the king trapped.
Peredurs hands tightened into fists around the arms of his throne. His jaw clenched, his eyes revealing just how annoyed he was by their presence — but he was desperate. "I will call for queen Iseult."
Brother Asser turned to him. "Lord, perhaps, instead, you should take a moment and pray for guidance —"
"Iseult." The king's voice boomed, shaking the walls of the hall. "You are needed."
Slowly, a young woman stepped out from the shadows, with russet skin glowing beneath the candle light and long, thick raven locks trailing down her back. She bunched the ends of her skirt, lifting it from the ground as she slowly made her way down the stairs with an air of grace, her heels clicking as she walked. She stood behind her king, her gaze downturned, sheepish, her hand resting upon his shoulder.
Peredur smiled with a knowing glint. "I am blessed with two wives — two queens." He looked across the perplexed expressions upon the Dane's faces.
Asser further explained with a clear sign of annoyance. "Iseult is a shadow queen." Freyja looked from Asser to peredur to Iseult, a curious glint within her stare.
Peredur faced his queen. "You know what I require of you, of course you do." Iseult's hand slid away from peredurs shoulder, the skin scraping across fabric. She remained looking at the ground as she approached the second flight of stairs, easing her way down them till she reached the sand pit.
Then she looked up, the brown of her eyes an elude to looming darkness, holding unfamiliar warmth within her gaze.
"Who are you?" She whispered, staring into the very depths of Uhtred's soul, using his eyes as some form of looking glass. For a brief moment, her eyes flickered to Freyja. "And what will you do for the king?"
Hypnotized by her alluring appearance, Uhtred answer quick and easily, his lips sprouting with words without a single thought. "I am Uhtred Ragnarson. I'm here to fight for your king." His eyes rolled upwards, forcing himself to look away from the woman. "If he pays me what I'm worth."
Iseult inches closer, her eyes gazing upon his face, mapping a path of his every feature. Her hand reached out, red markings tattooed across the soft skin, her fingertips trailing down the scar stretched along Uhtred's face.
Silence, then her eyes hardened and she stepped away from Uhtred, trailing back up the steps. She stopped at the top, looking back over her shoulder, her gaze finding temporary settlement on the Dane. "He is the one." She disappeared behind the sheer black curtains.
—— • ° ☽ ★ ☾ ° • ——
THEY HAD SLOGGED
on up the hill onto the long shallow summit and saw drayndinas green turf walls on the skyline.
Standing amongst the stretch of land, Freyja eyed the fort within the distance. Between here and there, hills plagued the land, rolling out in small slopes, shielding the path ahead. The walls stood ominously, towering over the field with a loom of its silhouette.
The doors opened wide and Uhtred ordered a halt in their troop. Hooves scraped the ground as reins were tugged and ahead, a cluster of men rode out from the forts walls.
"We hold here." Uhtred repeated calmly with a gesture of his hand, his brows pinched, eyes narrowed, lips holding traces of a frown.
Leofric mirrored his expression from Uhtred's right, his scarred features souring the further his curiosities went unanswered. "Why would they leave a fortress to face us?"
There was a pause, a wave of silence that passed over the Dane's. Uhtred called out, his gaze still pinned ahead. "Aethelwold. Advance. Go onto the ridge and see why they are prepared to leave the fortress."
Aethelwold arched a brow, uncertainty pressing into his features. He glanced around Freyja towards Uhtred. "On my own?"
Freyja gave him a sideways look. "Do you wish someone to hold your hand?" Chuckles breached the air around her, mocking Aethelwold's uncertainty.
Uhtred leaned forward in his saddle, tilting his head to give Aethelwold a firm look. "You wanted to be first in line."
The Saxon behind Aethelwold unsheathed his sword, tapping it against the horses rump. Startled, the horse whined and lurched forward, jolting Aethelwold in the meantime. Amusement pierced the air as the boy took off for the ridge.
"Somethings not right." Freyja muttered with a narrowing squint, her eyes tracing along the fortress. The way she shifted, the way she spoke, even the face her features pinched, neither signs went unnoticed between Uhtred and Leofric, the men gazing across her in concern.
"What are you thinking?" The Saxon warrior expressed his concern, his eyes failing to look away from her profile. For someone who very rarely ever revealed her emotions, he was surprised at how easily he was able to detect them.
Freyja's met his gaze and a warmth spread across her skin. She glanced towards peredur hidden behind their men, using them as a shield against the looming battle ahead and brought her stare towards Uhtred. "I think our royal friend isn't telling us the whole truth."
"You believe he's lying?" There was no judgement within Uhtred's tone for her potential accusation towards the king, merely a curiousity for why she chose to believe it.
Freyja gave him a lingering look, no words escaping her for a moment before she looked ahead. "He has no reason not to."
Then, as if her words were alluding to the future that laid ahead, the sight of Aethelwold bolting towards them breached their line of vision.
Uhtred and Freyja shared a pointed look and with a tap of their reins, the gathering of Saxons pushed forward to meet the king's nephew halfway. Trailing down the hill slope, Uhtred called out to a panicked Aethelwold. "What do you see?"
"They are Dane's." The boy screeched. "Real Danes." Upon where the hill met its highest point, the Dane's spread across the mountain top, creating a border between them and the fortress.
Everything had changed, because instead of fighting half armed British savages, they would have to take on a crew of lethal danes. Freyja's eyes widened. "Stand still. Hold."
She counted over forty men along the skyline. She knew there would be others she could not see and the numbers alone would surely bring this assault to fail.
Peredurs sly face churned into something bitter and inpatient. "What are you waiting for?"
The hooves of Uhtred's horse stammered, kicking the dirt free from the earth as he turned back, a heated glare crossed his vision, almost as lethal as the spikes armed within the British savages. "They are Dane's."
Peredur stomped his foot like a child throwing a tantrum, his fine sword slapping the air anguishly. "What do you care? You people will fight anything for money, even yourselves."
"You lied to me."
"Think of the silver. The queen has seen your victory, so fight."
But Uhtred didn't think of the silver, the thought of the shimmering treasure pushed far back into the depths of his mind, replaced by the image of the queen iseult — iseult with big brown eyes. Iseult with hair as black as a Ravens feather. Iseult who'd easily lured him into her trap with a single look, whose beauty haunted him in ways he'd never forget, who made him forget about Mildrith.
A scornful sneer pressed to Freyja's lips. "Give me a reason not to kill him."
Leofric looked at her. "Four hundred pieces of silver." There was a pause as his eyes wandered back towards the Dane's. "Uhtred."
Three of the danes had jumped down from the ramparts and strolled towards them. They wanted to talk.
The leader was a huge man that towered in height, who wore arm rings over his armour and rings of silver and gold that proclaimed him to be a warrior chief — a sword Dane. A lord of war.
He walked the hillside as if he owned it, and in truth, he did as he had claimed and possessed the fort.
"He's a sword Dane, a lord of war." Uhtred's eyes widened, fear crossing his expression. The Dane got closer and closer, the symbols that painted his milk-white skin becoming clearer.
Aethelwold shifted uneasily within the saddle, his eyes nervously drifting back and forth between the siblings. "If the lord of war wants to talk, may I suggest we listen?"
"What do we do?" Freyja turned her chin in Uhtred's direction, gazing across as much of his profile as she could from where she sat. Her question was answered when Uhtred swung his legs over and slid from the saddle. Immediately, Freyja reflected his actions and got down from the horse, the palm of her hand smoothing across the mares neck.
Taking a step forward, her eyes locked with Leofric's. Freyja gave a single gesture of her head and the warrior was almost eager to follow.
Upon closer glance, the Dane's face was frightening, hardened by both sun and wind, his expression blank and eyes of those of a killer. A scar ran down the corner of his eye and across his cheek. The grin of his face matched the look in his eyes, a killer smile.
"Name yourself." The Dane eerily spoke, his voice like rocks against a blade — haunting — slicing across the small distance that separated them.
Uhtred became hesitant, weary of the Dane standing before him. If death came in a physical form — he was certain that it was this man. He reeked of death, of rot and something bitter — something bloody. It wasn't just the blood that stained his teeth with an eerie smile.
"I am Uhtred Ragnarson." He spoke carefully, cautiously. His eyes refused to stray, to even look away for a second as he wave a hand to the woman beside him. "This is my sister Freyja. Who are you?"
The Dane's eyes lingered on her longer than what either of them were comfortable with, as if he was sizing her up, as if he knew something that they were unaware of.
"Skorpa, of the white horse." He spoke defiantly as though they would know of his reputation. Not a word was spoken for a heartbeat. "You are the Uhtred Ragnarson who was at cynuit?"
"I am."
"The Saxon son of Earl Ragnar?"
"Yes."
Skorpa glanced across the army of British Savages armed with long spears and hides of armour. He sized them up, looking across the twenty Saxon men disguised as Dane's. "You will not defeat me. You know this."
Uhtred rolled his lips. He knew skorpa's words held truth. The only ones who stood a chance were his army of twenty men but that wouldn't be enough. In the end, it would be a fruitless endeavour against the forty or so more of skorpa's.
"Perhaps not, but I could kill half your men trying."
"Oh." Skorpa tilted his head somewhat in amused pity. He then grinned a crimson smile. "Yes. Yes, you could. Then it would be best for us both if you did not try."
"Uhtred Ragnarson." Peredur shouted. "What is happening here? They must leave my kingdom or die."
Skorpa gazed across the valley. "What is your battle price?"
"Silver. That he says is hidden in the fortress."
Skorpa looked back at the men flanking his sides with a scoff. He shook. "No. No, we have ripped the fortress apart. We found nothing."
Freyja hummed, her voice smoothing across the distance. "Perhaps you did not look well enough." She was stubborn to believe that peredur had nothing — even for a king that looked about as wealthy as a slave. He had to of had wealth, treasure, silver. Something of value. Uhtred was smarter to not fall into his trap. "He has to have something."
"Uhtred Ragnarson!"
Skorpa looked over her, the sight of his crimson teeth making her feel cold. "Whatever he has, I say we split. Half and half. We kill his men, we spare the king, he takes us to his wealth."
Slowly, Uhtred brought his eyes to Freyja as if seeking her word of opinion. "Half and half?"
Freyja pressed her lips thinly. She looked from skorpa, to Uhtred, peering between the two to gaze upon Leofric who in turn mirrored her reluctance. Her eyes fell back to her brother and she gave a subtle nod.
Skorpa took two steps closer to Uhtred which in turn brought Freyja inching closer. "I will advance, you will turn and we will attack together. Now, this is for the benefit of the king." He struck her brother hard, hard enough to create a resounding crack and Uhtred groaned. "You bastard piece of rassragr."
Freyja's hand flung to her dagger on her hip and an animal like growl came from somewhere in the depths of her chest. She pushed Uhtred back behind her, her eyes glowering like burning emeralds.
Leofric stepped forward and placed a warm palm against her stomach. He held her back from doing something that could potentially result in her death.
Blood dripped from his nose and spread across the palette of his mouth. Uhtred stormed forward, his chest pushing against the back of Freyja's shoulder. "I'll destroy you." He turned and stalked back to the others. "Be ready. We kill them all. Every last one of them dies."
He turned to Leofric quietly. "Tell the men we are with the Dane's."
"At the ready." Uhtred thrust his sword into the air, shouting across the vast clearing of hills and Thorne's bushes.
Leofric felt uneasy. "You trust this skorpa?"
"We have no choice but to trust him." With a battle cry, they began charging across the battlefield only to redirect the horses at the very last second. Quickly, they swarmed the British Savages, flanking their side, trapping them within the walls of their army.
"To the death." Peredur savagely shouted, grinning like a rabid creature, spit gathering in the corners of his lips. "You bastard Dane's. You'll cry for your stinking whore mother's."
It was of course, an easy slaughter.
It became a blur of bodies as the danes dove greedily into the battle, swords slicing across flesh, leaving peredurs men to ceremoniously drop to the quickly soaking earth where the soil would eagerly drink their blood like a man starved and deprived.
Freyja held her axe as if it were merely another limb attached to her body, her arm swinging at whatever close target she could reach from horseback.
She saw Aethelwold fall and had half the mind to let him meet his demise, to great the hand of death and join the army of the dead. But she didn't, instead, she pushed the mare forward, galloping across the way. Her leg stretched outwards, kicking the spine of peredurs man, causing him to become pierced by the blade of Aethelwold's sword.
Releasing the reins, she flung herself from the mares back, losing herself within the sea of battle and quickly spun to drag the blade of her axe across a british mans neck. She felt the warmth spray as she nicked the main artery, crimson raining across her skin.
She tasted the blood on her lips, felt it drip down her skin, smearing into the coal that darkened her eyes.
She ran without a sense as to where she was going, without a thought other than a simple word — Kill. Kill them all.
A man charged towards her, a scream leaving his lips. He held his spear ready to swing. Freyja ran towards him with her axe. She ducked at the last second, her body crashing to the ground where her knees slid through the pool of blood. She came through the other side without so much as a scratch and stood to drive her axe across another's chest.
Before she could strike, a sword sliced a clean path through the base of his neck, seperating the two parts in one swift swing. The tip of the blade would have cut Freyja's face had she not jumped back.
The body fell in two separate parts and skorpa stood before her, his killer smile possibly more crimson then before.
His darkened eyes traced along her face and he mocked a bow as if he hadn't near killed her with his attack. Her eyes watched him uneasily as he stalked to the side of her vision and dove back into the fold.
It was a massacre and peredur was left standing amongst the center of it, the bodies of his men creating obstacles across the crimson turf.
"You lying, thieving, bastard Dane's." He screeched savagely, his hateful eyes sweeping across the Dane's that surrounded him endlessly. "I could kill at least one more of you."
Freyja sheathed her axe and simply picked the blood that crusted her finger tips. "It seems to me the only lying, thieving bastard here is you, peredur. It is you who will die."
Uhtred came up behind the British Savage king and held serpent breath to his neck, forcing the man to his knees.
He backed away, allowing skorpa to carry his eyes across peredur. "It is over. Your wealth."
"My wealth for my life?"
"Your wealth and your shadow queen." Uhtred corrected.
"Useless bitch." Peredur spat. "She saw victory."
Skorpa took a threatening step closer, glaring lethally down at the fallen British king. "Where is the silver?"
Peredur met his weighing stare, a trembling smile curving at his sly face. "If I tell you, you'll kill me, and I would rather you remained poor."
"You have my word," Skorpa promised, "as a warlord, you will be spared. Where is the silver?" The silence was enough to fill a heartbeat. "Speak or you will die."
"It is buried. In the hall, beneath my throne." And just as quick as it took for him to cave, for the average man to blink, Skorpa's knife broke through cloth and flesh, burying deep into peredurs chest — he had broken his promise, his oath to spare peredurs life, leaving the promise nothing but shattered words across the blood soaked earth.
Freyja wanted to say that she was shocked, surprised, that she had expected something different, that she had almost believed that Skorpa would keep his word — but that would all be lies. He was a Dane as much she, if not more. Oaths and fruitless promises meant very little to them if it meant getting what they wanted.
Skorpa was not someone they should trust.
—— • ° ☽ ★ ☾ ° • ——
IT WAS AS IF
Iseult had been expecting them, had somehow foreseen the future and waited for their arrival. There was no fear, no surprise upon her youthful face, she even almost shed a smile the moment her eyes settled upon Uhtred.
As they strolled into the hall, the rest of peredurs kingdom ran in fear, clutching what they could to escape the greedy hands of danes.
Skorpa's eyes settled upon the shadow beauty awaiting patiently upon peredurs throne. "Do we split her too? You have the tits, I'll have the ass."
Uhtred slowed his eager pace and situated himself half in front of skorpa to cut off the lord of wars path. "She's mine." He spoke sternly, protectively, possessively. He was somewhat happy to split the silver, to share in their claim of peredurs wealth — when it came to Iseult, he was not as willing.
"You are here for the silver?" She was soft spoken as her eyes glanced between the two lords. Though, she already knew the answer and that was obvious enough. "It is beneath this seat." She stood, the trail of her dress brushing along the ground as she stepped towards the stairs.
She moved well out of the way and allowed for two Danes to replace the space. The throne was moved, carelessly tossed away and the blades of two axes were soon smacking down against the wood floor.
Each clatter of the axe shook the very ground beneath her feet, the steps she sat upon shaking and trembling against the assault.
Sparks lit like a gathering of fireflies in the night as she dragged the smooth edged stone across the axe, the scraping noise resounding from the very weapon within her grasp and whispering across the hall.
Her eyes would only occasionally flicker up to resume the process of reaching the wealth, to watch as Leofric boredly fiddled with a silver jug on the step above her, to her brother who's eyes and attention remained consumed by the dark haired beauty a mere feet away from him.
It was like he'd been possessed completely by Iseult's mere existence, obsessed with her very soul — it was clear that Mildrith had slipped into the back of his mind, possibly even his own son.
"I have a question." He whispered not so quietly. "Have you been waiting for us?"
Iseult slowly looked away, the movement of her warm brown eyes only alluring Uhtred all the more. "For you."
"Then you saw what would happen?" He wanted proof that assa's words were true, that there was a reason peredur and his men feared such a young beauty. But even if it was true, the gift of foresight, nothing inside of him could fear the woman.
"I knew that you would come — that is all."
Skorpa's dark eyes moved away from the working men as crossed room until his gaze found settlement on Uhtred. "Uhtred, what do you know of a church with a golden altar?"
Freyja lifted her head in surprise, the rock stilling within her grip.
"At cynuit." Skorpa strolled down the steps to join the circle of sand. "To celebrate the killing of Ubba, I hear they're building a church."
Leofric's eyes narrowed suspiciously. "Who's been telling you this?"
"Men," skorpa spun, the black furs of his cloak swaying around his feet. "Begging to live."
"Would say anything."
Uhtred turned away from Iseult. "That's where you'll go, to cynuit?"
"Well, I have ships to repair, the shoreline here had been murderous."
The planks of wood were kicked aside and a gaping hole in the floor was revealed. The men crouched down to heave the chest up, placing it upon the flat level ground.
Uhtred left Iseult's side and jogged up the ascending steps. Leofric rose to his feet and Freyja set the rock aside, stood and sheathed the axe within the belt wound around her hips.
Leofric glanced at Uhtred. "How do we do this? How do we share?"
Skorpa pressed the tip of his battle axe against Iseult's throat. "We don't share."
Uhtred's hand flung to serpent breath, Leofric reached for his sword, Freyja unsheathed her axe, staring lethally at the man who had dared to raise his own weapon against her.
"Oh, we can fight," Skorpa taunted, his hot breath fanning across Iseult's cheek. "And some of us will die, including your queen." He gripped an arm over Iseult's chest. Skorpa's men left the hall with the wealth.
"Uhtred Ragnarson." Skorpa's dark killer eyes settled on the Dane. "Keep your sword in its scabbard. Wise queen."
"She stays with me."
Skorpa dragged them both to the exit.
"She stays with me." Uhtred repeated as he reached the steps.
"Do nothing." Iseult choked, no amount of fear within her stare despite the axe held to her throat. Skorpa whispered into her ear before he shoved her away and rushed out of the hall.
Uhtred stormed down the steps and Leofric was quick to follow. "Uhtred, no. Uhtred."
"They have our treasure."
"I'll not fight these Dane's for silver. For king, yes. But not for silver."
Freyja gripped the handle of her axe, her jaw clenching in anger. Quickly, she raised the weapon above her shoulder and growled lowly in her chest. Glaring her eyes, she slammed the axe down onto the arm of the queen's throne, the wood splitting in half.
Her burst of anger surprised those who stood within the room. She was always so calm and collected, very rarely allowed her anger to show itself upon the surface, but here she was, abusing the throne while skorpa and his men got away.
Dangling her axe to her side, Freyja lifted her leg and kicked the chair with enough force to send it back. The foot of the bench slid across the edge, the weight unbalanced, causing it to topple over to the lower level.
The violence caused her anger to somewhat ease and she was left standing with a heavy breath that weighed her lungs.
Uhtred looked away from his sister and stepped towards the towering Saxon warrior. The vein in his neck bulged as if to show just how angry he was — with skorpa, with himself. "I need to raise an army and they get away further with every second."
Leofric gtook a hold on Uhtreds arm, pinning him in place. "I will not allow half these men or more to die."
"I can give you what you need." Iseult eased the tension building within the room, leaving it thick and hard to breathe. "There is more. Silver."
Freyja quickly crossed the room and approached the woman. "Where?"
A knowing smile hinted at Iseult's lips. She turned, wordlessly exiting the hall. The men followed eagerly in her steps despite their confusion. Iseult stopped before a pile of animal shit and rotting hay.
Soon enough, the shit was cleared and a large chest was revealed. The lid was thrown open almost impatiently and the silver within gleamed beneath a bright cloudy sky.
Hands dove into the chest, searching through the endless sea of silver. Freyja hovered beside her brother, a curious expression fixed within her features. She reached over, grasping a green gem into the palm of her hand.
Stepping back, she examined the jewel curiously, the deep green hues holding her own reflection. She rolled it in her palm, holding it between her fingers as she lifted it towards the sky.
"Matches your eyes." Leofric casually muttered from beside her, his gaze shifting from the emerald to her face.
Freyja lowered her arm and gave him a look. Rolling the jewel in her hand, she tossed it in the air , Leofric easily catching it with a thoughtful frown.
Uhtred stepped back with a large silver cross, coloured jewels flanking along its edges, the symbol of a man carved into its center. "This isn't part of the plunder. It's a holy cross. It goes back to the church. They'll be blessings, but the rest," he dragged a cloth from the pile. "It's all ours."
"Home?" Leofric eyed the side of Uhtred's profile as the young Dane carefully wrapped the cloth around the silver cross.
"Wessex. And our seperate ways. There's a bishop I must see."
Leofric nodded but nothing seemed to wipe the smile from his lips. It was physically impossible, as if he'd eaten a wild mushroom and was now caught in a forever high — his smile was contagious.
When he strolled towards the treasure and knelt to the earth, Uhtred's attention settled on his sister. He watched the side of her smile, the way her eyes lit up. He wanted to hold onto that memory forever, the sight of her joy.
"You should go with them." And just as he had expected, the smile on her face fell, dampening into a bitterness.
"Uhtred." Freyja was confused and that was clear within her expression. The way her brows pinched and furrowed, causing subtle dimples to appear above the fine hairs, they her lip curled into what could only be seen as a pout. Freyja faced her brother fully, already preparing herself to argue.
"You should." Uhtred repeated, a smile dazed across his lips. He too was caught in some form of high, the adrenaline still gushing through his veins — the question was, was it from the battle, or was it the silver. Maybe it was the result of some raven haired beauty. "I'll be alright, I swear."
His hand clutched her shoulder — that one that didn't hold a lengthy scar — and squeezed gently to the limb. "You don't have to be at my side forever, sister. You're not a prisoner."
Her hand reached up, touching to the one that enclosed around her shoulder. "But I want to be at your side."
"And you can be." Uhtred grinned. "When I get back."
—— • ° ☽ ★ ☾ ° • ——
EACH SNAP OF A TWIG
echoed through the lengthy forest, the wood splintering into the calloused skin of her hands. Freyja stared deep into the fire, as if the flames would flare and consume her very soul. As if they'd embrace her completely and swallow her into the mountain of ashes.
She felt, for the lack of better word, uneasy. Never once had she been so far from her brother, and with the distance that seperated them, she'd now come to realise just how much he meant to her. Uhtred was the anchor she clung onto, the one that stopped her mind and soul from drifting out to sea.
Without him there, physically safe and sound in front of her, Freyja could feel herself sinking, the rope that tethered the anchor and the boat tearing at the strings. She knew that she was too dependant on him, but it was habit when he was all she had left.
Leofric appeared through the scattering of trees, a bowl and cloth held within his grasps. He stepped over the obstacles that spread along the leaf covered ground, mindful to the peacefully sleeping bodies of his men.
No words escaped him as he plopped himself down onto the log, his legs flanking either side as he faced the Dane woman who's body was turned away from him.
He set the bowl down between them, dunked the cloth into the pool of water and squeezed the excess out. The water dripped, rippling across the surface, soaking into his skin. Carefully, he took Freyja's chin between his two fingers and guided her head to face him.
He could only hope that she hadn't noticed the way his breath caught within his throat the moment her big eyes reached his.
With a careful glide of his hand, he pressed the wet cloth to her skin, slowly wiping away the blood and coal that painted her milk-white flesh.
"The arseling will be fine." He assured in a whisper, his eyes unable to hold her gaze and therefore, focused on the space of her cheek that he wiped.
"I know." She whispered back, her eyes downcasting as best as she could between the little space that seperated them. She began to fiddle with her fingers.
Leofric's frowned thoughtfully, his movements pausing for a heartbeat before he resumed, adding little pressure to a space where the blood had dried and crusted. "Then why are you so uneasy if you know."
Freyja swallowed a bated breath. She shrugged. "I've never been this far from him since the fire."
Leofric sighed and switched the cloth from his left hand to his right. He dragged the fabric across her cheek bone, watching as her eyes fluttered. "Well, he'll be back before you even realise his absence. He always is."
"I know."
There was a wave of silence that settled between them as Leofric cleaned the rest of her skin. When he was done, he dropped the cloth to the ground along with the now dirty water. His eyes swept her face, almost as if he was searching for any last remaining splotches of dirt and grime — her face was clean.
His eyes found hers and hints of a smile traced his lips. He couldn't bring himself to admit that he'd watch her for most of the fight, that even while fighting, his eyes had a habit of searching for her amongst the dropping bodies.
The silence continued.
It wasn't the kind of silence that was awkward, where minds went into a panic in hopes of finding some form of conversation. It was a comforting kind of silence, the one where no words were needed, where minds were at ease, and everything was just silent.
Freyja's eye's seemed to drift with a mind of their own. She looked away from his eyes, down the slope of his nose, across the scars that overlapped his skin, each of them holding endless stories. And finally, her gaze settled on his lips.
The pad of her thumb brushed across them, her touch whispering along the skin. Leofric's breath trembled. His eyes fell shut.
She leaned in close and he could tell by the way her warmth pressed against him in ways so intimate. Her hand fell to the mail of his chest, a cold comparison to the heat that wrapped around her body and left her feeling feverish. Their breaths became one, lungs sharing the same air as if it was something needed to stay living.
The tip of her nose nudged with his before sliding alongside it as her head tilted, but just as the inch wide gap was about to close, before lips were met, Freyja's head turned almost reluctantly and she felt Leofric's lips connect with her cheek.
His eyes remained closed as he felt her skin instead and he breathed heavily against her. He pressed another featherlight kiss to her cheek, his eyes fluttering open to gaze across her face.
Leofric pulled away only an inch and touched the loose strand of her hair as if it physically pained him to do so and ever so lightly guided the strand back behind her ear. The tips of his fingers felt along the shell of Freyja's ear, his thumb kneading the soft tissue till they reached the space where her jaw and ear met.
He touched his fingers to her pulse, feeling it race beneath his skin. It was the only thing in that moment that assured him that she was alive, that he was alive and that this was real. Her heartbeat continued to pulse against him and he was almost afraid to part ways.
But he knew he couldn't sit there and feel her heartbeat forever.
Reluctantly, he lowered his hand to her chin, pinching gently to the soft flesh and guiding her head back to him. This time however, he didn't look her in the eyes and maybe that was his first mistake. He simply leaned forward and pressed a third kiss to the space between her brows, unknowing of the mark it left internally.
His eyes them fell shut once again and he pressed his nose against her forehead. "You should sleep." He whispered as if afraid he'd speak and somehow ruin everything.
Freyja's hand left his chest and the moment it settled within her lap, she wanted to reach out again. But there was something stopping her, something that didn't allow for her cave into her hopes and desires, something that held her back from simply touching him.
"I need to keep watch."
"I'll do it." Leofric spoke, his voice a little louder than a whisper. Shifting his weight, he swung both legs over to one side of the log, feeling the warmth of the fire completely melt against him — it was nothing to the warmth he felt moments ago.
"Beside," he began, eyes sweeping across the bodies splayed across the ground towards a sleeping Aethelwold curled beneath a tree directly across from them, his body mostly hidden beneath the fabric of his cloak. "Someone's ought to watch the bastard in case he decides to try anything."
Freyja chuffed as if holding back a laugh but the amusement had yet to reach the green of her eyes. A moment passed, a silence that echoed before she stood from the log. Her hand brushed lazily along Leofric's shoulder as she turned, and in that moment, her eyes finally found the strength to meet his stare.
Leofric was right — the emerald did match her eyes.
"Wake me in a few hours — you deserve some rest too." Leofric didn't answer in words, only a meager promising nod. His eyes followed her silhouette as she moved through the dim glow and disappeared into the edges of darkness where she quickly found herself a decent tree to climb and sleep in for the night.
"Would you grow some balls and just kiss her already?" Aethelwold's squeaky voice was the complete opposite of a whisper as the young man pried his eyes open from the darkness he hoped to keep.
Leofric glared across the fire, whatever softness he felt subduing into annoyance as he lifted a pebble from the ground and flung it in the man's direction.
Aethelwold quickly yanked his cloak across his face — the only thing he deemed worthy of protecting. The that didn't stop the stone from colliding with his arm, the rock thumping hard against him, sure enough to reveal a splotch of purple by morning.
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