I'm not certain of the timeline throughout the episode but according to the books I think it was, they were kept slaves for two years so this chapter is stretched along the course of two years.
[ TW; R*pe, abuse]
—— • ° ☽ ★ ☾ ° • ——
𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐒𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐄𝐍 –
ᴛʜᴇ ɴᴇᴠᴇʀᴇɴᴅɪɴɢ ᴘʀɪꜱᴏɴᴇʀ.
ᴀᴄᴛ ᴛᴡᴏ – ɢʟᴏʀʏ ᴀɴᴅ ɢᴏʀᴇ
—— • ° ☽ ★ ☾ ° • ——
THE WAVES ROCKED HEAVY,
slamming against the walls of the ship, causing the vessel to tip and sway from either side as the ocean raged around them. The riggings creaked, the men around her grunted as their arms stretched inwards to steer the oars, guiding the boat through the rocky current.
The waves rose up, high above and crashed over the walls of the ship, raining down on the slaves trapped down within the burrows, forced to use their strength into steering the boat.
Freyja shivered against the cold, her clothes soaked and clinging to her aching bones as the water pooled across the deck, leaving puddles at her bare, naked feet.
She did her best to curl into herself, to savour what warmth coaxed from within her body, but it hurt to move, a pain that spread through her spine and legs, that wrapped around her throat as the chains tugged tight around her neck, stopping her from so much as lifting her head from the post she was chained to.
Hakka's thundering steps paced back and forth taunting across the length of the ship, trailing from one end to the other as he glared across each of a slaves. "Pull, you bastards!" His deep voice rumbled and the crack of the whips clapped against the wet floor. "Pull!"
Freyja tensed at the sound of the sharp crack, her body instinctively turning away as best as she could with little to no room in hopes of somehow escaping it despite know that the hit was not aimed towards her.
Her face pinched, her eyes squeezing with a whispering hiss as the metal brace around her throat tightened, the steel digging into her skin and causing her to quickly shift back in hopes of finding that small amount of comfort once again.
Hakka gathered the whip in his hand and once again paced the deck, his feet kicking puddles of water beneath his steps as he clung onto the posts to keep himself balanced. "We need to fly! Pull!"
There was a retching noise that choked from Haligs throat, his stomach unsettled by the waves of the ocean. The way Freyja sat, the way she was positioned, she could only just catch a glimpse of his silhouette in her peripheral vision.
She caught his face looking up, staring widely at the clouded over sky. There was not a single trace of blue, only an overcast of heavy, darkening cloud.
Halig groaned loudly in displeasure. "It's like looking out of a grave."
Uhtred's face twisted as he used his strength into the steering a full circle of the oar, his jaw clenching tightly, firmly with the threat of cracking a few teeth.
"That will not be our fate." He sounded so promising, as if he believed the words spewing from his lips. He lifted his head only just, peering out from the burrow and gazing softly over his sister a mere feet away. "I swear to you." His words were directed to them both, but it was Freyja he most promised to, to free her of the torture she was forced to endure.
"D'you think these bastards will bother digging a hole for ya." Finan spoke, his eyes gazing past Uhtred's shoulder towards the back of Haligs skull. "We are destined to be tossed overboard, with the rest of the shite."
"I'll tell you Finan," Halig began, tilting his chin into his shoulder to glance as best as he could towards the Irishman. "It would be my own bad luck if I got tossed overboard alive. I can't swim."
Uhtred's arms ached something terrible as he pushed and pulled. "Never give up, Halig." He encouraged.
Hakka glanced over his shoulder at the sound of the voices, his Kohl rimmed eyes glaring accusing across the three. "Shut your mouth back there!"
"Never give in." Uhtred ignored the warning, heavy breaths escaping his lips.
Hakka thumped towards them, standing over the three and glaring sharply at Uhtred. "You do not speak, slave. You pull!"
Uhtred gave him a look, something menacing as an attempt to push the man's button, a show that he would not give in.
"Yes, man!" Finans eyes squeezed shut, grunts loosely tumbling from his lips as he repeated the man's order. "We pull! And pull!" A chorus of words fell from each of the slaves lips, repeating the order over and over and over like an endless echo.
Hakka glared across them, unable to tell them off for simply doing what he had ordered. Clenching his jaw, he turned away and faced where Freyja. "Get up." He spat, reaching down to unhook the chains from around the post.
Freyja breathed a sigh of relief when the pressure on her neck loosened, though it did not last long as she knew what awaited next, the only reason she was ever allowed to leave that post – it had only happened two other times but it was a quick routine that she had been forced to learn.
Slowly, she crawled onto her hands and knees, grunting as the chain was impatiently tugged, the chunk of steel pressing into the ring of bruises around her throat. "I said, get up!"
It was struggle to stand on shaky legs, but Freyja managed to stand to her feet. Her eyes briefly, for a short-lived moment, locked with her brother's. The menacing look was no longer on his face, rather a poisoning blend of anger, rage and guilt as if he had blamed himself for what had happened, what was about to happen.
She was the first to look away, to break the eye contact that seemed to be the only form of communication between her and Uhtred now. She didn't fight against the chains, she didn't struggle against Hakka practically dragging her to the front – she knew what would happen if she did.
They had quickly learnt that Uhtred was her weak point, that if she did not obey, than the whip would be cracking down on his back – Uhtred swore that he could take it, that he could handle the pain if it meant that she was left unscathed – but Freyja could not bare witness to that.
"One day, osbert." Finan dragged out his words, glaring from the burrow into sverri's silhouette towards the front of the ship. "I will kill that bastard and I will savor it."
She was met with the unwelcoming sight of Sverri's unnerving grin, his eyes immediately tracing along her like they had so many times already.
It left a prickle of discomfort to trace her skin, a sickness of shame to flare within her stomach.
The chain was dropped by her feet, the metal clattering in a pile against the wet, decaying wood.
Sverri took a large step towards her, almost with an act of greed the way he held himself. His rough hand took ahold of her arms, callouses scratching into her skin.
She accepted the way he handled her body, forcing her to turn and face the rest of the slaves as his fingers reached for the ties securing her gown.
The first time, was the most painful, the memory of scars it left. She had fought back, kicking, screaming, throwing punches left and right – until they brought the whip down on Uhtreds back and threatened to continue if she didn't open.
So she did, despite Uhtred's shouts, despite the cracking of the whip, she gave in again and again – if only to just save her brother from that pain.
She felt the ties loosen and the gown slid easily from her body, pooling at her feet. Their faces were knives, stabbing into her from every direction. She was left exposed, naked from head to toe – she didn't know which she was more ashamed of – the scars? Or the fact that she was standing bare in front of over a dozen men, her brother included.
She felt numb and sickly all at once, and she tried not to heave as she was tugged back. A hand smoothed across her spine and she bent forwards over the crate.
She didn't fight back. Her eyes squeezed shut as she felt his unforgiving touch, her cheek pressed against the cold, wet surface, she breathed in the stench of salt and decaying wood as her body was stained, marked by an unwelcomed touch.
When sverri had taken his fill, savoured his lustful hunger, she had been allowed to dress once more and her feet seemingly dragged slower across the deck.
Thankfully, the chain was not near as tight this time, allowing her the ability to move and reach for the bucket close to her.
She grasped it's rough edges, wood splinters chipping into her skin. She leaned over the bucket, pressed her forehead against the ledge and she heaved and heaved, coughing up what little food and water was inside her stomach.
—— • ° ☽ ★ ☾ ° • ——
SILENTLY, ONE BY ONE
in the infinite meadows of the sky, blossomed the lovely stars above. Twinkling speckles of dust, scattered in clusters across the black endless abyss. The heavy oblong clouds had cleared, revealing the moon in all its full glory.
The gentle rocking of waves caught it's pale reflection on the rippling surface, shining across her in a silvery glow and lighting the boat enough so she wasn't drowning in complete darkness.
She had kept head leaned back, her skull pressing against the post. For the most part, she had begun to forget about the brace wrapped around her neck, attached to a chain like the ones wound around the slave's ankles.
Her gaze ran across the tiny white dots splattered across the darkness like the freckles that scattered Thyra's sister's cheeks. She looked south of the sky towards the two parallel stars equally opposite to one another.
"Fiskikarlar." She whispered, like a secret ever so softly trembling from her lips. Her voice was a hoarse, barely their noise that cracked from her throat.
Her eyes then trailed towards the south-west region of the sky where three stars larger than the rest formed the line of an arrow — the open mouth of a wolf.
"Ulfs keptr." She spoke again, another whisper stretching from her lips, another secret told between only her and the stars.
There were days, days where the melancholy settled on her so deep like a sudden change of weather. The kind of sadness and pain that is intangible. The presence of an ache she can't pinpoint.
Everything seemed to ache, like a phantom ghost trailing her skin, touching to each sensitive point of her body, retracing the unwelcoming hands that had permanently scarred her skin.
"Asar bardagi." She breathed, swallowing the thick lump in her throat as she willed herself to not give in. She would not cry, she did not dare to – crying meant giving up, and giving up meant that she had accepted her fate. She had not, she would not end up like this, like the other slaves that surrounded her, weak and fatigued, fighting one another just for even a crumb of food – she would not become like them. "Kvennavagn."
"It's only a matter of time before you do." The moment his voice uttered into the air, Freyja stilled her voice. She had hoped, that he would speak, that he would just continue to stand there and watch her bath in the light of the moon – she had hoped that he would just go away and allow her mind to rest – but the gods seemed to not play on her side, they wanted to watch her suffer.
Slowly, her eyes trailed from the sky, down, down towards the end of the ship. Five feet away was where he stood, leaning against the ledge of the wall, watching her.
Freyja was aware of his presence long before he spoke. He was always there, watching her in silence, as if waiting for the exact moment she would break. There were times where he seemed himself, the him that seemed to shed a warmth across and bring a sense of comfort.
Other times he was less kind, his silence taunting her in the form of a mockery – hardly ever did he speak.
"I'm not going to break." She breathed, a struggle to simply utter the words from her lips. She tried to let her words not be heard, fully aware that there were still few awake even at this time of night – despite their weighing exhaustion, it was a difficult task to sleep while tucked away burrows and curled up in cold, awkward positions.
"You say that now." He chuffed, seemingly amused by her words. He pushed off the wall, sauntered towards her. Somehow, the floor creaked beneath his heavy shuffling steps and he crouched down in front of her, turning his head to glance over a sleeping Uhtred. "Arseling's already beginning to crack."
He wrung his hands together between his knees and gazed slowly across her face. "You'll break. I know you will, they always do." He reached out to brush her cheek, almost appearing as an act of softness – but she knew, she knew it was just a form of his mockery.
She flinched, jerking her head to the side to avade his touch but eventually, she had given in, welcoming the brush of his fingertips to trail down her cheek, smoothing against the bone. She did not feel a thing.
"I won't break." She whispered, softer, lighter, a barely there noise that pulled from the depths of her throat. It hurt to speak, but she would not give in, she would not accept his words – but his eyes, they looked so knowing, so promising, as if he held her entire written fate in the palms of his hands. "I won't break."
I won't break. I won't break.
"You will." His voice echoed like a haunt, spreading a uncomfortable coldness across her body, prickling her with unease. He stood, the boat creaking with his sudden shift. He stared down at her with his brown eyes, long and hard, so full of promise. "And I'll be there to say I told you so."
And then he vanished, disappearing from her sight with a turn of his body.
In the far distance, thunder cracked with an approaching cloud.
—— • ° ☽ ★ ☾ ° • ——
THE THUNDER WAS LIKE THE
strike of a whip, unleashing Thor's anger, echoing, shaking, trembling jagged bolts of lightning across the sea. The ocean was angry, full of rage as waves crash continuesly into the body, causing the floors to flood.
The slaves were each on their feet, heaving bucket after bucket of water and bailing it back out into sea.
Freyja clung desperately to the chains laid around her, grasping onto the post with a grip of fear. Never once had she been scared of storms, how much rage a sky could carry and release upon the earth – but the fear was different out on a boat in the middle of the sea – there was no telling whether it would sink or stay afloat.
Hakka clung to the riggings, stumbling on the spot to keep in balance as the ship heavily rocks. "Bail, you dogs!" He shouted against the storm.
Uhtred looked up, his face twisting in frustration. "Release our chains! We'll work faster!"
Hakka stood over him. "Bail out or you will go down with her! You wanna live? You bail!"
The whole night, Uhtred continued to bail, scooping bucket after bucket even well after the storm had settled, even when a metal haze of light lit the ocean, even when the other slaves had curled upon the cold, hard ground to rest their aching bodies.
He did not stop, not for a single moment, even when his movements became sluggish and dragged. He continued to bail.
Freyja watched him in hopeless worry, unable to do anything to ease his pain, to assist his movements. She kept her temple pressed against the post, her knees curled against her chest, fingertips trailing along the chains by her feet.
"Osbert." She croaked hoarsely, her eyes pooled with worry, with fear that her brother might break. It felt weird, foreign to him by anything else other Uhtred despite osbert being his birth name. "Osbert, you need to steady yourself, please."
"You should listen to your sister, osbert." Finan muttered, barely having the strength to lift his head from the beam seperating him and Uhtred.
But Uhtred ignored them both.
Sverri's heavy steps traced the wood, and neither Uhtred nore Finan missed they Freyja immediately tensed. But for once, sverri's attention was not focused on her, rather a tiring Uhtred. "Rest." He ordered in a tone that was near as harsh as his usual voice. "You will need your strength."
Uhtred panted heavily. "I am happy enough to bail." His voice was hoarse, weak, and the meare sound of it clenched around Freyja's heart.
Sverri gave a low, mocking nod and took a last, final bite of the apple in his hands. All that was left was the core and few edges to the fruity flesh, but still, he turned and gazed upon the slaves on the opposite side in thought. "Hey!" He called out, capturing their attention. He tossed the apple core to the floor, causing two men to stumble to their feet and fight eachother for it.
Sverri's eyes settled back on Uhtred who watched the two slaves in disbelief. He gave an unsettling laugh. "Oh? Oh, you think you're better than these men? They are property, as are you. As is your sister." He grinned glancing over the woman behind him. "You should let go of your pride, it will be the death of you. Rest."
"He's right." Finan reluctantly spoke, glancing towards sverri's direction once the man had walked away. "You should rest." Carefully, he rose to his feet and leaned against the wooden beam, his voice lowered into a whisper that only he, Uhtred and Freyja could hear. "We're wasting away, you and I. We should be saving what's left of our strength to run."
Uhtred leaned towards him. "But to run, we'll need skin on our feet and not rotting flesh."
Finan gave a nod. "Then we should bail." He glanced towards the front end of the ship, carried his eyes towards Freyja who was drifting in and out of a conscience state. He reached for the bucket by his feet, beginning to assist in bailing out the water.
—— • ° ☽ ★ ☾ ° • ——
THE SUN WAS NOTHING MORE
then a burning out campfire against the horizon, a violent orange glow wasting away as the minutes ticked along. The moon further rose with the sun's disappearance, shedding the sky in the shade of pale purple, somewhere between light and dark.
Freyja laid uncomfortably against the wood planks, her body curled up like a foetus, her hands fists against her chest. She shivered against cold, feeling the edges of a bent nail dig into her side – but she couldn't bring herself to move, to fully reach that level of satisfying comfort.
Her eyes drifted in and out focus, her chin buried into her chest to watch as she scrapped the blood from her palms to reveal the fresh pink crescents beneath, dried clumps of crimson crusting the underside her nails.
Then she heard a notice, a breath sharply passing through teeth. At first she didn't glance up to search for the noise, rather she continued to stare at the old, crusted wounds, picking at the scabs till they were forced to gather beads of blood once again.
In her peripheral vision, just passed the gaps of her fingers in a blur of colour, Finan lifted his head from the wall, he too hearing the faint noise against his ears.
"Psst, Freyja." Halig croaked, for once, his whisper low enough to not capture unwanted attention. Carefully, he shifted his position, making sure to not let the chain's rattle by his feet. "Lady."
"Shhh." Finan snapped lowly, glaring his eyes at the saxon in warning, cautiously stealing a look towards Hakka and sverri's towards the front of the ship. "You best shut your mouth."
Without lifting her temple from the ground, Freyja rolled her eyes upwards in search for Halig. She found him, standing on his feet and reaching towards her as best of he could. In his hand, was a small piece of bread, hardly enough to fill her shrinking stomach.
"Take it." He urged, gently waving the bread between he fingers. "You need to eat."
She wanted to say, so do you, but she couldn't bring herself to speak. It hurt to speak, as if the brace somehow tightened around her throat with every noise.
The hunger that rumbled deep in her belly consumed her, and her arm stretched out above her head as best as she could. The tips of her fingers stroked the bread and Halig shifted his hold, careful to not drop it.
It was almost a relief when she managed to take it, and eagerly, she brought it to her lips, scarfing the whole thing down.
—— • ° ☽ ★ ☾ ° • ——
FREYJA WATCHED THE BACK
of Uhtred's skull as he pressed his face against the wall, squinted his eyes through the hole and across the shore front where a number of new slaves carefully approached.
"It's east Anglia." He breathed, his hands flattening against the wall. "It could well be Frankia." Halig began to cough, his stomach unsettled by the sea. Uhtred reached over, placing his palm upon the Saxons head and easing him to the wall. "Drink water."
Halig spat on the ground between his parted legs and lifted his temple from the wall. He gaze around, his eyes wearily, full of strained fatigue. "I need land."
"Yes." Uhtred spoke, a whisper of a breath.
The panic began to settle in and Halig straightened up, his voice loudly stretching across the boat. "Lord, I need land. I need to get out." He clawed at walls, at his shirt as his began to feel feverish. He stumbled to his feet, shouting loudly. "I need land!"
"Halig!" Uhtred called out.
Hakka looked over, seemingly bored out of his find as he ate piece of bread. "Back at your place!"
"He is back at his place!" Freyja snap, glaring over at the man with plea. She grasped the chains by her feet, tugging on the slightly to allow her the room to move. She crawled across the floor, reached the edge where the deck dropped down into the pits. "Halig." She called out carefully, reaching a hand out for him.
Uhtred too set a hand upon his arm, gently tugging him back to the floor. Halig's face grew red with panic and he clawed at Uhtred's hands urgently. "Tell them who you are! Tell them you have silver!"
"You will be quiet!"
Hakka stood to his feet, a glare settled in his features as he gripped the whip. Seeing this, Finan lifted himself to his feet and gestured a thumb towards the Saxon. "He's sick with the fever."
But Hakka simply reached down, wrapping his fingers around the cold chain. With a harsh tug, he yanked the chain around Freyja's throat, dragging her body back.
Freyja coughed, sliding her finger beneath the metal brace as it dug into her tender skin. She fell to her back, wincing as the bruises were touched. She flinched as the whipped cracked sharply and she scattered urgently across the floor like a skittish mouse in an attempt to get away from the man.
Her body curled, coiling like a snake, limb bunching together. She buried her head into the floor, her eyes squeezing shut and she placed her palm of her ears, hoping to not hear her heart break.
Halig's cry was sharp, filled with pain as he received the assault of the whip. Hakka raised his arm again and Finans desperate eyes settled on the man. "We will hold him!"
The whip cracked down on Uhtred's back as he shielded himself over Halig.
"I said we will hold him!"
Hakka lowered his arm, a heavy breath on his lungs as he spat at the Irishman. "Worthless slaves."
Finan raised his hands in surrender, his eyes following the back of the man as he turned and stalked away. He focused on Freyja, her body trembling, shaking as she kept her face pressed into the ground.
He reached over, thankful to her being within arms length, and brushed the tips of his fingers across the back of her wrist. Bruises scattered her skin, hundreds of them marking her arms and shoulders, and he knew, from the times he was unable to stop himself from looking and glaring at sverri as he did what he did, that even more bruises ran beneath the surface of her clothes.
She flinched at the feeling of his touch, her body instinctively turning away.
"Hey, hey." Finan tore his arms away, gently allowing them to hover as he gazed across his face. "He's gone. It's alright." He assured, staring her dead in the eye. Carefully, his gaze fell towards the chuck of metal around her neck. It shifted allowing him to see the ring of purple, red and yellow spotted across the skin.
A heavy sigh weighed his lips.
Uhtred peeled himself off of Halig, hissing as the open wound on his back stung. "I can't." Halig whimpered, his lips trembling. Uhtred cradled his head carefully, chanting his name in a whisper. "Halig. Halig."
"I can't stay on this ship!"
"Halig." Uhtred pulled away, placing her hands on Haligs cheeks. "You are a warrior. You followed me into battle at ethandun. You fought bravely! Halig!" He clapped his cheek, snapping him from a daze. "You sace me from Kjartans spies in Cumbraland. Remember that?
Halig slowly drew in a breath. "I did."
"You did." Uhtred smiled. "We are warriors. And our time will come. Look at me, Halig. You have followed every order I've ever given you. I'm giving you one more. You will row. You will pull and you will wait and our time will come. And together we shall will win."
"Together." Halig took Uhtred's hand, grasping it tightly.
—— • ° ☽ ★ ☾ ° • ——
NATURE STRIPS DOWN TO
her bare bones for the onslaught of wild, wet and windy weather. The earth coated in a thick dust of snow and ice causing a chill to run deeply beneath her flesh, stabbing though the bones of her body.
The hand that grasped her arm was tight, finger's needing hatefully into the tender, marked flesh. She dragged her feet along the snow, stumbling along this wintery path between trees and the sky. She walked, boots crunching along icy, crystal dew, her feet soaked by the cold, her fingers turning pink to blue.
They approached the shed with quickly pacing steps, crossing through the cold where the breeze froze against her skin and created little to no viability of the pine trees that surrounded the small temporary village.
As the door keened open, she heard the last of Haligs words, calling Uhtred lord once again. Sverri's eyes snapped onto him, a glared fixed in his stare. Freyja continued to look at the ground, the snow that dusted her boots, the shame that curdled in her stomach.
Finan glanced over the Saxon, his body buried beneath the thin sheet of a blanket. "Call him osbert."
Sverri looked away, reached out his arm and unhooked the latch to the gate. "Get in!" He ordered in a growling tone of voice, his hand shifting from her arm to her back.
He gave her a shove and she stumbled into the pen. Her legs buckled, shaking beneath her weight, trembling with the need to crash. She dropped herself to the ground, shivering with an icy chill and crawled towards the other slaves.
Finan opened his blanket up, his left arm extended out in a silent welcoming gesture. She crawled towards him, pulled her knees towards her aching chest, allowed the Irishman to drape the blanket around her shoulders before pulling both his hands into his lap.
It was not enough to get rid of the cold feeling completely, but between the blankets and their limbs pressed to one another, it was enough to ease the chill just a bit.
The gate was shut and sverri turned away from the slaves and strolled towards the other pen. Reaching into the bag, he grasped handfuls of carrots and bread, tossing them into the pens that housed pigs.
He then moved back to where he stood moments ago and held the bag up, glaring across the slaves. "More than you deserve. Be grateful." He tossed the bag into the pen and stood back and watched in amusement as they all swarmed it.
Desperate, Freyja pushed through the bodies and the limbs, hoping to reach for even the smallest bit of food her hands could touch. The ones who managed to get their share quickly slumped back against the wall, hiding beneath their blankets for warmth.
Freyja wrapped her hands around a piece of bread, careful as if the very thing could shatter and turn to dust if she so much as looked at it wrong. Her stomach rumbled in response, screaming at her to eat.
She went to bring it to her lips, despite that dirt it had rolled around in, but a hand shot out, quickly snatching it from her palm. Time was slow at first as she rolled her eyes upwards to find the slaves face – she did not know his name. She did know any of their names apart from Uhtred, Halig the Finan.
And then her face twisted scornfully, and she could hear Uhtred's words against her ear, telling the slave to give back what he took. But she was much quicker.
Her hand shot outwards, grasping his ankle and ripping his body to the ground. She dragged him through the dirt, crawled herself along his body until her thighs straddled either side of his weight.
She wasn't aware of the loose rock discarded within the pen until her hands cradled around it, like an unconscious part of her had sought it out. She lifted her hand. Smack. The rock slammed against his face. Smack. Smack. Smack. Again and again. The flesh tore, ripped, squelched in a mess of matter and blood. The bones cracked, crimson warmth splattered her face, her hands, the bruises on her neck.
All she saw was red. Deep, deep red. Angry red. Blood red. It washed over her with something feverish, something wild and rabid and untamed. The slaves around her looked on with wide eyes, with fear that left their body's immobile.
Then the whip cracked.
A sharp sting opened up across her left eye, a white hot heat spreading across the flesh. She flinched back, dropped the bloody stone, her body twitching, jerking to the side where she crashed to the ground.
She reached up a shaky, trembling hand, placing it over her eye where she felt the torn open skin, the blood quickly seeping through her fingers.
Uhtred skidded across the ground, completely ignoring the now lifeless slave killed by his sister's hand. He knelt above her, calling her name desperately as he placed his hand over her own, attempting to place pressure upon the wound.
Sverri raised the whip again and Finan quickly placed himself in front of the siblings. He raised his hands in surrender, his eyes pleading. "She knows." He urgently spoke, eyes wide as he stared hard at the man's face. "She knows."
There was pause, a silence filled with Freyja's painful whimpers, with Uhtreds gently coos, the heavy breath that caught within Haligs throat. And then the whip was lowered and Finan felt as if he could breathe.
He watched the man turn, slugging out the door, leaving them with the lifeless corpse who's face was no longer recognisable.
Finan cautiously turned on his feet, crouching low to the ground, stepping around the body, over the piece of bread now ruined with blood. Uhtred eased Freyja into a half sitting position, and he carefully forced her to remove her hand to peer a closer look upon the wound.
Blood. There was so much of it, an ugly blend of hers and the slave's she had just beaten to death with a rock. There was a large cut across her face from the whip, beginning above her brow and trailing a straight line to the top of her lip.
The skin was open, torn, peeled back – it was wonder how the hit hadn't touched her eye – if it had, she surely would have been blinded. Blood dripped into her eye.
Finan tore a corner off the blanket and carefully, he reached out to replace Uhtred's hand, holding the fabric against her eye, quickly soaking it with a gushing stream of blood.
Freyja's good eye stared right passed him, her whimpers ceasing to silent hisses as the Irishman accidentally pressed a little too hard. She gaze upon the shadows lingering in the edges of the shed.
She knew he was there, she could feel him watching her – it was different to the way everyone else watch her, unsteady, weary of her presence. She wanted to call out to him, but when she parted her lips, silence.
Then he approached on his own, slinking out from the shadows, standing on the opposite side of the pen. There was that same look on his face, a look of knowing that seemed to forever haunt her.
"I told you so." He spoke, his voice loud and articulate, spreading a further cold across her limbs. "I told you, you'd break." He waved towards the body with no face. "You're just like the rest of these bastards – willing to kill your own to fill your stomach."
—— • ° ☽ ★ ☾ ° • ——
THE AXE SWUNG HARD,
echoing through the endless stretch of trees, the bark splintering beneath its abuse, chipping away at its wooden flesh.
Freyja's fingertips dug into the ground, the underside of her nails crusting with dirt. She formed fists of the earth, gathering old, dead and decayed leaves within her palms, clenching, listening to the satisfactory crush as they crumbled within her touch.
She stared ahead of her, somewhat in trance state between reality and somewhere else. She was aware of the axe but not who was using it. She was aware of the slightest drifts of breeze, cold against her feverish skin, but not the direction it was coming from. She was aware of the occasional eyes glancing over her in concern, but to who was the one looking was the question that lingered in her mind.
Her hands ached from her previous use of the axe, callouses forming blistering bubbles across her skin. She had only been able to swing twice before her arms grew to tire, before her movements became sluggish and she had ultimately given up.
She could faintly hear Finans words in her ear, a distant whisper in the back of her mind. Take a rest. I'll take over. She refused to give in at first, to be rendered in such a useless state. But he had insisted on it.
It was not because she was a woman. It was not because she was weak. She was simply tired. So, so tired.
With each swing, his arms ached, his shoulders brusied and the bones underneath his skin groaned together. Finan released a pant, his breath shuddering, wheezing from his aching lungs and his movements slowed, turning into sluggish beats.
He stopped, his palm resting against the base of the thin tree, his body arching forwards to allow the time to regain his lost breath. "Halig." He breathed hoarsely, a rasp of his words, a low whisper, barely heard as he extended the axe behind him.
Halig took a moment to move, to spring into action. Carefully, he released the rope bound to the tree, glancing towards Uhtred behind him before stepping out of line and taking the axe.
Finan, no longer having the strength to hold his body up, crashed to the ground with a heavy thump that surely ached his bones. He laid, sprawled across the dirt by Freyja's feet, his eyes trailing up towards the treetops forming a canopy around the sky.
Halig glanced behind him, well past the line towards where Hakka stood, twirling the knife in his hands, his eyes set on one of sverri's men. Turning back around, he collided the blade of the axe with the tree.
Freyja couldn't bring enough energy in her body to flinch as Hakka flung the knife at the man's head, the blade embedding itself into the tree. She simply could not bring herself to move.
Hakka sauntered towards the archer, wrapped his fingers around the knife and leaned towards the man. "Do not move." He tore the blade out and wandered back to his previous spot.
The axe cracked against the tree, Halig released a grunt. Finan shifted wearily across the ground, his cheek pressed to his fist, his eyes subtly flickering between Uhtred and Freyja – the latter refusing to meet his stare.
Hakka flung the knife again and the archer flinched, shifting to the side. Hakka repeated his actions in going to retrieve the knife. "I said – do not move."
As he walked back to his spot, Uhtred extended his foot and nudged Finans back. Quickly, Finan pretended to fall to the side, his body splaying across ground, the chain binding his feet falling upon the surface of a rock.
When the knife was flung, Halig turned and dropped the axe down against the chain.
The archer sprung into action, an arrow piercing into Haligs shoulder as the Saxon charged forward with a swing of the axe.
The next chain to break was the one between Finan and Freyja, though she could not bring herself to react, to simply lift herself from the ground.
She could hear Haligs screams as he took on Hakka, hear the blade as tore between flesh and blood.
Each of the chains broke, freeing the slaves.
A sword was tossed to Uhtred and he took it, fingers flexing as he held it up and stared straight at the last remaining of sverri's men.
He stilled, eyes widening and then he turned and ran for the trees.
Uhtred brought his eyes to Finan and the two let out a cry of joy, Finans body slumping with a laugh.
"Don't just stand there looking idle!" Halig shouted, his words choked as he became crushed beneath hakka's dead weight. "He has the weight of an ox!"
Finan laughed again, loudly, the noise blanketing the earth as he slowly pulled himself up. Uhtred strolled towards Halig, assisting him from beneath the corpse. The two turned to run but stop short when they were missing another.
"Freyja." Uhtred called out to his sister with a touch of worry, his eyes seeking her out to see her still form remained on the ground.
He released his arm from Halig, walked towards the woman who had yet to move. "Freyja." He called again, sharing a worrying look with Finan. Together, the two took each of her arms and carefully guided her to her feet. "Come on. It's time to go." He brushed a loose strand from her face and pressed a small kiss to her temple. "It's time to go."
She drew in an unsteady breath, hoping to bury the sickly unease curdling within her belly. She gave a sharp nod, acknowledging his words and pried her arms from their grip.
Together, they took off into a run, moving to escape the trees.
It didn't take long for the faint sound of barking dogs to reach their ears and Uhtred panted heavily to catch his breath. "We must divide, go seperate ways."
The cluster of slaves grew less and less, each veering into seperate directions. What was once just over a dozen quickly became four as Uhtred, freyja, Finan and Halig ran ahead.
They broke from the woods, the trees giving way to the shoreline of a beach, the ocean an ominous, looming crash of waves in the short distance.
Halig began to fall behind, clutching his wounded shoulder.
"Halig." Freyja called out, glancing back over her shoulder, her pace immediately beginning to slow. She turned to him, her hands finding his sides as she steadily guided him further out onto the beach.
Finan turned at the sound her voice, his eyes finding Halig and he too came to the wounded saxons side, his hand settling over his back. "Come on. Come on." He urged along.
The sand kicked up beneath her relentless steps, desperate and greedy to reach, the rocks and loose stones and tendrils of weed threatening to bring her down.
She could feel the pain, the burn of running already dragging on her limbs like a prisoner ball and chain, consuming her chest, lungs and stomach.
But of course, there was a looming cloud hanging over them, a herd of dogs led by sverri and his men chasing in their wake.
If they so much as dared to slow, then they would fall right into his grip and most definitely never be given the opportunity to escape once again.
Uhtred was the first to come crashing down, his feet stumbling across the rocks and stones washed up upon the beach. His body took a tumble to the sand, and Freyja and Finan were quick to assist him to his feet.
There was a surge of hope blossoming within her chest as she looked on ahead, upon the little brown boat left by the shore, abandoned and forgotten, as she ran across the beach, the seed of hope further sowing into her stomach.
"There's a boat." She called out with joy, her words tight and muffled by the ache in her throat. It had been so long since she had fully spoke, the world rendering her into silence.
"Blessed Jesus, there's a bastard boat!" Finan cheered after her, his face immediately lighting up beneath the layers of sweat and dirt that painted his frail face.
They reached the boat, Finan and Uhtred tossing their weapons into it and taking the back end closest to the water. Halig and Freyja joined together on the other side, and despite the aching pain of their souls and bodys, they leaned over and began to push it.
Freyja gave a grunt as her feet slipped upon the rocks, her jaw clenching with a sneer, teeth grinding together it was a wonder how they didn't crack. With all her might, with what little strength she had left, she pushed on the boat.
An arrow flung towards them, stabbing into Haligs thigh. He cried out, crashing to the ground, narrowly avoiding from bringing her down with them.
Freyja stopped for a short moment and turned towards the fallen Saxon but Uhtred was quicker to leave Finans side and stumble to Haligs.
"Freyja!" Finan shouted her name in fierce urgency, his eyes capturing her distraught face. "I need you to push the boat!"
Swallowing thick, she bent her knees, pressing her shoulder against the boat, her hands flat against it. She pushed, her legs trembling, threatening to collapse beneath her. But she would not give up. Not yet. She wouldn't break despite his words haunting in her mind.
She would not break.
"Get in the boat!" Finan called out, his eyes looking passed Freyja's side towards Uhtred dragging an immobile Halig.
But as they looked up, sverri and his men were quick to surround them, leaving no room for an escape.
Freyja fell to her knees, her will crumbling down with her. She felt a desperate need to scream. She wanted to scream so loud that the ground underneath her trembles and the tree tops above shake. There was so much anger within her, so much rage and fear and sorrow and grief that it had become near unrecognisable.
She felt as though she were slowly decaying from the inside out, organs shutting down, fleshy tissue becoming consumed with rot, and at this point, there was nothing that could save her.
She needed to scream. To scream for help. For relief, just to free the beast trapped within her cages, to release the feeling that so heavily weighed in her throat.
But when she parted her lips, silence.
—— • ° ☽ ★ ☾ ° • ——
HER ARMS STRAINED WITH
each tug and pull of the oar, dragging slowly through the water, weighing heavily in her grip.
She had been forced to take Haligs place, the Saxon having been strapped to the front of the boat, copping each slap of waves.
Freyja didn't understand which was worse, being strapped to a post with little room to move, a chain digging into her throat with every inch she shifted, or taking the place of a dear friend and forced to use what little was left of her strength into steering, the noise of his jagged, lessening cries forced brutally upon her ears.
Both seemed to bring an equal amount of agony, one tolling with a physical effect while the other weighed more emotionally.
"Pull!" A man shouted, his voice echoing, almost as cold as hakka's words. But it was not Hakka, Hakka was dead. He had been killed by Halig and perhaps that was why sverri chose him of all people to suffer. "Pull! Pull! Pull!"
A whip cracked, but Freyja could no longer flinch, she could no longer react to the slapping sound as it connected harshly with someone's skin.
Sverri loomed heavily overhead, shadowing the siblings with a dark evil cloud. He crouched above them, a sick smile twisted onto his lips. "Pull, lord! You are alive only because I am curious to know who you are and you'll fetch a good price. Pull!" Halig cried out. "Pull and save him the pain! Pull!"
Halig's cries carried, echoed beneath the crashing slap of waves hitting the front of the ship, salt water seeping into his lungs, drowning him from the outside in. "Pull and give him the peace of death! Pull! Pull!"
Pull. Pull. Pull.
Then everything fell silent and the world went along with it.
—— • ° ☽ ★ ☾ ° • ——
FREYJA SLUGGED UP
the side of the sandy hill, her steps weighing and heavy. There was a part of her that was grateful to be off of the boat and standing upon land, but even now, the earth shook and swayed, further unsettling her stomach as if she were still on the ship.
She and the remaining slaves began to gather beneath the eave of the tent, sverri shouting out to jonis who he was meant to meet – the man who sold Uhtred, Halig and herself to the slave master.
She was greeted, however, with a different voice, a familiar pinch in tone that hurt her ears. "You will deal with me today."
She turned her head ever so slightly, glancing a double take over Sven Kjartanson. Her shoulders stiffening, and as subtle as she could, she shifted to the side, placing herself behind Finan.
The Irishman did not question her actions as he watched her move within his peripheral vision, but he did shift his weight to further hide her figure behind his larger frame.
"You know the one-eyed bastard?" He whispered, low enough to not be heard by the aforementioned man as he stretched out his arm and grasped ahold of the post beside him.
"Who do you think left him with one eye?" She whispered back weakly. Breathing in a sharp, struggling breath, she instinctively tipped her head forward and pressed her forehead against the space between Finans shoulder blades, her eyes fluttering shut as exhaustion swept across her.
Finan chuffed, a weak attempt of showing his amusement as he gazed across the blonde Dane standing a little further away, more specifically, the fabric patch over his scarred eye socket. "Why does that not surprise me, woman?"
Sven crossed his arms, looking over sverri with a disinterested sweep. "You know who I am?"
"I do, lord." Sverri have a weary nod, watching the Dane closely.
Sven carried his eye towards the distance, gazing across the cluster of slaves, each worn, torn and on the verge of breaking if they had not already done so. "You have something that I want, master sverri."
"Yes, lord." Sverri hinted a smile and took a large step back. Stretching out his arm, he gestured for Sven to approach the tent.
Sven took a few short paces and stopped in front of the first slave. He crossed his arms in front of him, looking the man over. He followed down the line, further and further, looking upon each face. He stopped in front of Uhtred and tilted his head. "Uhtred Ragnarson, is that you?"
Uhtred didn't even acknowledge him, his eyes so focused on the ground he didn't seem to recognise the rest of the world. Sven inched closer. "Is it?" Pointing his finger, he straightened up. "What do you call this man?"
Sverri approached his side. "He calls himself osbert, but I heard another slave call him lord."
"It is him. Oh." Sven slowly grinned. "I have waited for this moment. Give him a sword." He paced a few steps backwards, waving at the man standing to his left. "A sword."
A sword was unsheathed and tossed to the ground in front of Uhtred's feet.
Uhtred slowly lifted his head, recognition sparking his weak and frail face. "Sven?" He whispered hoarsely, his face pinching in confusion, unsure if he bared a witness to seeing the man or if he had finally, finally tipped over that cliff of insanity.
"Yes," Sven gave a nod, the sword loose within his grip. He stretched out his arms, opening up his front completely in a gesture. "It is me, Sven the one eye – you should know, your sister was the one who took my eye." He trailed off with a bitter growl. "Where is she? Your sister? She should be close, you two are never far apart."
Freyja slowly lifted her hand, eyelids squeezing tight, lashed pressing to her cheeks. She carefully fisted a handful of Finans shirt, desperately telling herself to not step into view. She was weak, tired, Uhtred was weak and tired – they could not defeat Sven in such a state even if they tried.
Nobody spoke, nobody revealed the answer to Sven's curious, wandering stare and Sven gave a shrug. "No matter. One day I will find come face to face with her and in return, I shall have hers – an eye for an eye." He gestured towards the sword. "Pick it up!"
Uhtred slowly leaned towards the cold, wet earth, pinched his fingers ever so slightly around the hilt and lifted the sword into his grasp.
Finan gazed in plea. "He – he is too weak."
Uhtred mustered up a glare, his face souring bitterly. "I will kill you."
Amusement weaved onto Sven's face and he bowed his body slightly forward. "Uhtred, I am pleased that you will try."
Uhtred took a few quick steps, pointing the sword in anguish. But the exhaustion tugged at his bones, dragging his body to come crashing towards the ground.
Freyja released Finans shirt, lifted her head from his back and stepped into view. At the same time, Finan paced forward. "He is too weak!" He fell silent with a grunt as Sven's men punched into his stomach, shoving him back and causing the Irish to crash to the ground beneath the tent.
"Ah, there you are, Freyja." Sven let out a pleased him as his eyes settled on the woman, his gaze following her as she placed herself protectively in front of Uhtred. "I was wondering when you would show your face. Although it has changed." He reached out a hand, fingers stretching to brush along the fresh scar upon her cheek – Freyja flinched a step back, her jaw clenching tight.
Sven's eyes wandered with a glance towards sverri. "Was this you?"
Sverri quickly have a nod. "She was misbehaving, lord." He glared over the woman. "Behaving like a dog."
Sven gave a haunting laugh. "She has always behaved like a dog. But I am glad you left me the eye."
Freyja reached blindly behind her, her hand cradling over Uhtred's knuckles, her thumb smoothing along the calloused flesh and she gave a slight reassuring squeeze before she pried the sword from his grip.
She was weak. She knew the chances of her defeating Sven – the gods would have to surely be on her side for her to find that victory – but she would not allow her brother to fight, not in the state that he was in.
"Sven Kjartanson." She greeted bitterly, eyes a wide eyed glare, wild and evergreen, untamed. She lifted her arms and already, her muscles began to tremble and shake, screaming at her to drop the sword.
"I will forever be the man who killed the great vixon Freyja." Sven lifted his own sword, slowly as pools of its silvery reflection scintillated over Freyja's skin. He caught her gaze in the light of its reflection, finding that same wild, untamed, devilish stare.
Then a cry of battle echoed from neither of their lips, trailing across the sandy hills and dues speckled with wild weeds.
Sven looked away instinctively and Freyja took her moment to step forward. A scream hoarsely ripped from her lips and she found a newfound strength to swing the sword.
Steel collided with a screech as Sven lifted his sword in time to block the attack from reaching his face. He gave an easy shove, easily pushing the woman back.
Freyja lost her footing, her body tumbling, her back slamming against the ground. She groaned as pain shot through her spine, as the sword clattered from her grip.
Uhtred's hand reached out, weakly brushing over her fingertips. Finan was quick to pace over, his hands gripping her upper arm, dragging her back to avoid the thundering hooves of horses that suddenly breeched the camp.
Sven's and the others took off into a frantic run.
Screams cried out, arrows flung, swords clashed and tore into the flesh of sverri's men. One by one, they were torn down, rendered lifeless bloody corpses on the ground.
Freyja crawled to her knees, watching it all with a sick and twisted sense of satisfactory. She wrapped her arm around Uhtred's shoulders, holding the both of them up despite how desperately they wish to curled up on the ground and join sverri's men.
"Uhtred? Freyja?" A voice called wearily out into the open, a familiar voice that caused Freyja's brows to pinch in confusion. "Uhtred! Freyja!" Footsteps rushed towards them, thundering against the ground, kicking sand up beneath their feet.
Freyja lifted her chin, her eyes widely gazing across the face of her brother, across the face of young Ragnar.
Her eyes stung, water beginning to pool across her waterline.
Cautiously, he lowered himself to the space in front of them, his eyes gazing across both their scarred and battered faces. "Uhtred? Freyja? It's me, it's Ragnar."
"Ragnar?" Uhtred croaked weakly, barely leaving his lips before his body crashed forward into Ragnar's chest, desperately seeking his comfort.
Freyja was a little more hesitant, her arm stretching out, fingertips wearily brushing over his broad shoulder, unsure if he was real.
Young Ragnar cupped her left cheek within his palm, thumb smoothing across the bottom of the scar breeching the corner of her top lip. His eyes were so pained, pooled with worry, hints of fear tracing through the green of his irises.
Then his elbow bent, pulling Freyja into his arms, his head pressing between both Uhtred's and Freyja's. He landed a kiss to the side of her head, just inches behind her ear.
She clung onto him desperately, as if she'd entirely shatter if she let go. Tears finally traced her cheeks, plenty of them racing through the smeared layers of dirt and grime after so long of never shedding.
She broke.
—— • ° ☽ ★ ☾ ° • ——
TODAY, SHE WAS ALIVE.
That was all Freyja could manage to focus on. Today, she was alive and she was free which is far more than what she could say for yesterday, or the night before that – it was more than she could say for Halig.
So why did it still hurt?
Why it did it ache as she breathed in, the saltiness of the ocean air tangling, weaving together her senses. Why did it ache to feel the sandy grains beneath her feet, softening, burning beneath each footfall? It ached as she looked out across the shore, across the waves rippling, rising and falling with a back and forth motion across the shoreline, to see the ship parked upon the beach, left in an abandon, to be forgotten and slowly fall apart as the time passes.
It ached to be reminded of Halig, to know that Hild, Ragnar and the other man she did not know the name of, had pulled him down and buried him in place where he would never been seen again, in an unmarked grave alone in a world so large – beside an ocean he hated.
Everything ached.
She walked across the beach, slow, loitering steps as she carried herself across the miniscule sand dunes, between the reeds and wild, untamed grass.
Pigface grew at her feet, shades of white and purple petals blooming in the spring.
The sun was liquid gold, melting down into the horizon, dipping into the pool of its reflection. It's going down, down, shrinking, sinking further and further. She looked at the waves, the yellow glow mixes with a red sky – it all looked so orange.
The air is full of soft whispers, of the faintest chatter. It's not as cold as one would believe. It's warmth ebbs and flows like the waves.
She turned her head, to find a perfect point to sit and lay till hopefully the end of time itself, but she stilled, her shoulders tensed, her body heavy as if a weight had been placed upon her, as if a ball and chain clasped around her ankles.
In the short distance, no more than ten feet away, a bush of white roses bloomed in the hues of a setting sun.
They were not meant to be here, this was not a place to find roses, a place where they could grow. So why were they here?
She cautiously stepped towards the bush, footfalls slinging together, dragging through the sand.
She crashed to the ground in front of it, body feeling heavier than before and slowly, hesitantly, almost fearful, she brushed her hand across the petals, feeling the softness of their fragranted skin burn against the roughness of hers.
She stared at it, long and wistful, reminiscing the last time she had seen one. The day she pushed the rose off of the tower, breaking both the beating organs in their chest.
Something feverish sparked with her so suddenly, wild and untamed as many had described. She clenched her fingers, bruising the delicate skin and tore the single petal from the roots of its rose head. She dropped it, watching it fall to the sandy space where her knees pressed.
It was all a string of downfalls from there on. Her hands shot outwards, grasping the rosebuds and tearing it from the stem. Over and over, she ripped and tore, not caring for the thorns that sliced into her skin, not caring for the blood that beaded along the surface.
She tore and tore, tears tracking down her cheeks endlessly, until she knelt in the sand surrounded by bruised rose petals, white skin splattered with crimson. She wanted to make them feel what she felt – exhausted, pained, angry.
"Freyja." Hild called over the sound of her frustration, her body arching to set down the bucket of water and quickly crossing the short distance. She crashed to the ground beside the Dane, knee's pressing into fallen petals, her hands desperately grasping hold of Freyja's wrists.
"Freyja. Freyja." She repeated over and over in a gentle tone as the woman fought against her grip, wrists jerking back and forth to free herself. "Freyja, stop it. Stop."
Freyja's arms fell in Hild's grip, palms slapping against her tighs. Her head hung low, eyes fixed with a glare as she looked across her arms and hands, finally acknowledging the damage she'd brought upon herself.
"Why?" Hild's voice was a desperate cry, her body leaning downwards to gaze up at Freyja's tear-stricken face. Not once had she seen the girl so – broken. So tired and beaten down. Absentmindedly, her gaze began to trail, looking over the brusies and marks stained across Freyja's arm – the dark ring around her throat. "Why are destroying yourself? Leofric would not want this."
Hild regretted the words the moment they tumbled from her lips, but it was true. If Leofric were here, he would not want to see her in such pain, in such agony. He would not want to bear witness to her destroying herself.
If Leofric were here, neither she or Uhtred would have been sold into slavery in the first place.
In truth, Hild had waited for this moment, the moment that she would finally break, the moment she would finally acknowledge that Leofric was truly gone. The last couple of years since, she had been forced to watch as Freyja tore herself apart, distancing herself from others in hopes of forgetting that Leofric even existed.
Freyja tensed at the mention of his name, though she did not flinch as she had expected. Her entire body stiffened, froze. She ever so slowly glided her head up to reveal her watery gaze, a sharpness that laid further beyond the tears.
Dark shadows circled beneath her eyes, a scar cut across her face. Her cheek were sunken, lips cracked and dry, face smeared in a blend of dirt, sweat and blood.
She no longer looked like Freyja Ragnarsdóttir.
"I see him." She whispered, unable to stop herself from caving beneath Hild's pleading stare. She lowered eyes away from the woman's face, falling the the belt wrought around her waist. In one side, there was a sword, and on the other, the very same dagger that Freyja had given her all those years ago. She had kept it. "I see him everywhere. He is haunting me."
Hild didn't need to hear his name to know who. She breathed carefully, her thumbs needing softly into the sides of Freyja's wrists. She looked on with sorrow.
"Do you see him now? Is he here?"
Slowly, Freyja lifted her head, her eyes looking just passed the silhouette of Hild's face, the woman becoming a blur in her peripheral vision. She gazed upon the sand dunes, easily finding him standing in the distance as if she had somewhere felt where it was he stood.
He was small, but still, she could see the breeze whispering against him, through the short strands of his hair. She could make out the pattern of his scars because she had spent so long remembering the shape and length of each and every one.
"Yes."
Hild brushed back a strand of Freyja's hair. "He is not real, Freyja. Your mind is being cruel. Leofric – Leofric died at ethandun." She swallowed thick, a flash of memories overlaying her vision. The blood, the bodies. Iseult. "You helped bury him with his sword."
"I know." Freyja's eyelids fluttered, a sharp, desperate breath bellowed from her lips. "I know." So why was he here? Why was he so set on lingering within the corner of her eyes constantly, standing, waiting. He was haunting her.
She kept repeating the words in a whisper, a chant against her breath, even as Hild began to clean away her arms, dragging a wet cloth along her skin.
She kept her eyes on the ground, eyeing the bruised petals that wilted around her. When Hild shifted to a position behind her and undid the ties of her gown, Freyja rung her arms around her stomach as the fabric fell – not her breasts, not that space between her legs – her stomach.
Hild looked upon her face carefully then brought her gaze back down towards Freyja's arms. Something about it nagged at her, told her that something was not right. She reached forward, hesitantly, fingers carefully wringing around Freyja's elbow.
It did not take much fight to pull Freyja's arms away, and there it was, the faintest swell of her belly. She had half expected protruding ribs and skin clinging to bones like Uhtred – but that was not what was happening here.
Freyja did not outright say it, but Hild knew. "Does Uhtred know?"
"Just you." She replied hoarsely. At first, she had gathered the sickness was a form stress, of the lack of food and water in her system. Even now, she was not entirely certain.
"Freyja, you need to tell him."
"I will." But not yet.
—— • ° ☽ ★ ☾ ° • ——
SITTING ON THE GROUND
between Ragnar's legs, she had her arms wrapped around his leg, her temple pressed against his knee as she dozed into the fire crackling into front of her.
She was blissfully aware of her surroundings, the soft, cool breeze contrasting the heat of the fire pressed against her, the whispering of her brother's fingers combing through her hair, slowly untangling, working through the knots, the weary glances passing over her, Uhtred and Finan.
It was silent, an articulate kind of silence filled with what neither of them dared to say, dared to speak aloud. A storm of things unspoken, coiled, resevered, appointed. Ticking. Ticking. Ticking.
And then Uhtred spoke, a hoarse whisper tumbling from his dry, cracked lips, his cerulean eyes shattered, broken, exhausted as he stared longingly into the fire pit. "Halig." He called out in grief.
Ragnar's fingertips stilled in Freyja's hair, resting on the crown of her skull where he had absentmindedly began to braid – an act of soothing comfort that he had watched his mother do time and time again whenever a young Freyja was unsettled. His eyes flickered to his left, settling upon Uhtred. "He's been taken down, wrapped and buried with shield and sword."
Uhtred swallowed thick, his tone of voice deepening, becoming clearer than a rasp. "You will say words for him, Hild?"
"I have." The blonde woman gave a careful nod, her hands figiting in her lap. "I will, always."
Ragnar gazed between his two siblings, both merely shells of who they used to be, statues wearing their faces. "Northumbria is torn. Aelfric did not come to Guthred's side. Erik, Sigefrid and Kjartan, they do what they please."
Neither Uhtred or Freyja spoke, and a thick, heavy silence weighed overhead. Ragnar shared a look with, cautious and weary. "You haven't asked how I come to be here." Uhtred slowly turned his head, Ragnar released a chuffed noise. "Alfred. Alfred sent us. I believe the king of Wessex cares for you both."
Finan slowly shifted his gaze, looking from Uhtred to Freyja and Ragnar who sat at his left. "You're Uhtred's and Freyja's brother?"
"I am."
"You look nothing like eachother." Confusion swept Finans face but he was quick to gaze between freyja and Ragnar. "You two look more alike." He noticed, in the light of the fire, they shared the same eyes, the same shade of green.
Chuckles whispered through the silence.
Hild extended her plate of food towards Uhtred. "Uhtred, you should eat." But the man simply shook his head. With a sigh, Hild then looked towards Freyja, calling out her name – the woman stared ahead of her into the fire, eyes empty. With one last final attempt, Hild offered the plate to Finan. "Finan."
The Irishman looked up, a hint of a smile tracing his lips at her kindness. "Oh, we will eat, lady, but our tummies are small. And our feet have barely touched dry land. It'll take a little time to find them."
Ragnar looked thoughtfully between Finan and his siblings. "Are you their brother?"
"We are," Finan trailed off, unsure, uncertainty of the right word. His eyes flickered, dark irises shifting between Uhtred and Freyja, the latter refusing to meet his stare – to meet anyone's stare. "We are bound, I would say."
—— • ° ☽ ★ ☾ ° • ——
word count: 11,422