CHAPTER THIRTY NINE
schemes

It felt strange for Bjorn to stride across the tent and wrap an arm around her waist with such ease, yet even still it felt familiar. Merida had to smile, as looked down at her, a grin on his young face. He was shaking his head in disbelief at something, and when she asked, he only said. "We could see the fire from here."

Merida pulled away, eyes accusing. "You were supposed to be resting."

"I'm done with that. I will rest when I'm dead."

She feared it would be true. The wounds on his body had not yet healed into scars, and already he was eager to rejoin the fight. His clothes were still torn, and speckled with blood, but his face was pale and taunt with apprehension. There would be no arguing with him, no convincing him of staying to lay dormant in bed. Even a kiss and a promise would not quieten his rage for battle when the war sang in his very blood.

But how could she complain? Merida had been such a way with him once, not so far off in Wessex.

'I will walk from here myself, even if it takes the whole damned day.'

Too stubborn she'd been to ever let herself admit she was too hurt. But Bjorn had never stopped her. He'd fetched her a branch to lean on and stood on her left.

'Then I will walk beside you,' he'd said, stirring something inside her that had felt foreign then but so familiar now.

"Then I walk beside you, Bjorn," she said, placing a hand against his cheek. His skin was warm, soft, and clean of the blood and dirt of battle. She wondered if he remembered the words she now held so dear. "My protector."

Bjorn smiled, the expression easing her worry, but it was his soothing hands, rough but soft in touch, moving across her back that eased the tension of her shoulders. Slowly, he leaned in, placing a kiss against her lips which soon turned hungry. Fate be damned, she kissed him back, hands wrapping around his neck, feeling the cool touch of his skin. It felt electrifying, something divine, yet something to keep secret.

The interruption came from outside as a loud burst of noise. Merida eventually pulled away, faces linger close before she nudged them toward the flap of the tent, leading to the commotion in the camp.

The soldiers came in upon horses, waving flags, foreign and blue. The Northmen rallied around them, weapons clanging against shields, voices carried loudly by the wind. It almost seemed to be the start of another battle scene, the shouts ranging long enough to sound like war cries. But as Merida and Bjorn stepped from the tent, the white flag came into view.

Bjorn pushed forward, a slight limp to his step but with shoulders widened and squared. Merida could do nothing but follow, hand clenching around the carved bear at her throat.

"Sinric. I am saddened to see you a prisoner," Ragnar shouted from where he lay beside a drenched fire. "After all, you're a wanderer."

The silver-haired man was pulled forward, hands bound in rope. The Frank beside him wore silver and chains, a thin red banner around his neck, embroidered in gold. He pushed the wanderer forward with a stern glare, standing as Sinric steadied himself.

"King Ragnar, the Franks want to discuss a way to end the siege."

"Why?" Bjorn asked, his stare level. At that moment he looked like his father. With the way she was looking at him, Lagertha seemed to agree.

"They believe it would be better for both sides," Sinric said, his own eyes flighty and unsure.

"Why would that be better for us?"

Rollo's stance, firm and tall, did not seem to help the wanderer's unease. He stared at him for a moment, curling in upon himself, before he finally answered.

"They don't believe you are capable of breaching the city walls."

"I say we are," Rollo shouted, eyes on fire with anger.

But Bjorn ignored his uncle and stepped forward, eyeing the Frank with malice. His head tilted as if trying to discern something from the man's face before he nodded to Sinric for a question to be answered.

"What will they give us if we lift the siege?"

Sinric looked to the floor, head bowed. "That would be decided at a meeting between you and the commander of the city, Count Odo."

Bjorn laughed flatly. "And where would we have this meeting? Because I know that if my father enters the city, he will be captured or killed."

"The Count suggested the meeting take place outside the city walls with no weapons."

"Tell them they'll have their answer tomorrow," Bjorn said, giving the enemy soldier one last withering look before he turned away, returning to Merida's side.

Before they could leave, Rollo lunged forward, grabbing the rope that kept Sinric on a leash. He ripped it with ease, pulling a knife from his belt. The Franks didn't argue, just turned to leave with added fervency.

It didn't game long for the discussions to begin. The usual group found their way to Ragnar's side.  Lagertha first went to stand in front of him, then, slowly, a circle began to form, leaving Ragnar central as always.

"Why should we make any kind of deal with them?" Lagertha said, hands on hips and eyebrows pulled downwards, darkening her stare.

Bjorn shook his head, arms crossing over his chest. "We've lost nearly a thousand men, we can't breach the city, and winter is coming. Do you need more reasons?"

"Why do they offer terms, if they are so sure we can't get into the city?"

It was a fair point made by Rollo. Lagertha seemed to nod along, but Merida stepped forward from where she was hidden by Bjorn's wide stature. Paris was cut off from the rest of their country, with the Northmen blocking any way out.

"They'll run out of food, soon enough," Merida said.

"Then we should let them starve."

"Ah, and then they will hate us even more."

Voices erupted into a cacophony of argumentative noise. Bjorn only turned, shaking his head in disbelief as they become louder and louder in an attempt to be heard. It only took Ragnar a moment more to stand, hand clutching his stomach before he took control of the situation.

"I have something to say," he said, and those his words were spoken evenly against the loud shouts, everyone turned to listen. "I did not become Earl because I aspired to be one. It came about because of other peoples' actions. And I did not become king out of ambition. But once again I had no choice, as a result of other peoples' actions."

For a moment, he remained in front of Lagertha, levelling her with an incomprehensible look. She seemed to see something in his eyes, turning her head away as she lifted her head defiantly. Merida could only watch. The quarrel was not hers. She had already accepted that Paris would not be defeated.

"But nonetheless, I am King. King Rangar! That is my name. King Ragnar!" His voice grew louder as he made his way around the circle. "What does a king do, Bjorn?"

"He rules."

"Yes! Good! He rules. And as a ruler, I have the last say. Me! Not you, and not you! Not you!" Ragnar's eyes were wild, his movements commanding attention just as strongly as his words did. "You have all had your ideas and they have all failed. I will not."

Even at that moment, hand clutched around his wounded body, he looked like a King. She thought of her father, his large girth and bear-shaped helm. They were not too dissimilar.

"Now, with no more discussion, we shall meet the Franks tomorrow."

With that, Ragnar turned towards his tent again, Sinric the wanderer being dragged on his heel.

Merida was buffing the wood of her bow when Ragnar found her in Bjorn's tent. His health had only seemed to worsen, since his speech only hours earlier, and when he finally made it to her side, he dropped with a rugged sigh to the healing bed Bjorn had rested on.

She smiled in greeting, waiting to open her mouth to speak, but Ragnar cut her off swiftly.

"Do you love my son?"

Ragnar's smile was all-knowing. He already knew of their love, and had believed in their destiny from the very beginning. All this time, he'd been waiting. A part of her wanted to deny it, to remain in secret for as long as Bjorn would allow. It felt wrong to admit the fates had been right, that she had not changed anything by leaving home. But hadn't she? In Dunbroch it would have been the son of one of her father's Lords that she would have married. Here with Ragnar and his men, it was his son she loved, and Bjorn just felt so... right.

"I do."

"Then fate does guide us in the right direction," he said, expression never moving, and she wondered if there was something else he knew. "The daughter of the bear King... the princess, has my trust."

The flap of the tent lifted candlelight flooding into the darkness of the night, blocked only by the tall figure that ducked beneath it. Bjorn stood proudly, lips pulled into a smug smile. If she wasn't so confused, Merida would have scoffed at such a haughty expression from him.

"What is going on?"

Bjorn shared a look with his father, who only nodded.

"We have a plan," Bjorn said, and Merida both hated and loved how excited he sounded by that fact.

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