—— • ° ☽ ★ ☾ ° • ——
𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐄𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓𝐄𝐄𝐍 —
ᴀɴɢᴇʟ ᴏꜰ ᴅᴇᴀᴛʜ.
ᴀᴄᴛ ᴛᴡᴏ – ɢʟᴏʀʏ ᴀɴᴅ ɢᴏʀᴇ
—— • ° ☽ ★ ☾ ° • ——

THE CHURCH DOORS
cracked open with a high pitched creak, shedding a pale light across the dim, dark entrance and revealing the gathering of Eadred, brother Trew and a few unrecognisable others standing by the altar. They held Gisela in their grip, their hold tight, stopping her from escaping, from tearing away and sinking into Uhtred's arms like she so desperately wanted.

"Uhtred." She muttered in disbelief, a tremble of an unsettled breath tumbling from her lips. She fought and fought, tugging at the hands gripping ahold of her - but their grip refused to give.

Uhtred heavily stomped the ground, his feet dragging across the wooden floors pocked with age. He lifted his arm, pointing straight at the Abbott with a glare nestled into his appearance. "You will let her go."

Freyja cautiously trailed in his steps, her footfalls stalking behind him like those of a predator sneaking through the night, her glare permanently fixed on the Abbott.

Eadred met them both half way, a sick, Cheshire grin balanced across his lips. There was a spark of amusement in his stare, something dark and vile. "You are too late." He dragged out. "She is married now. She belongs to aelfric."

"It is a lie, Uhtred." Gisela spoke, glaring at the back of Eadred's head. She swallowed thickly as the sword dug further against her throat.

"Where is aelfric?" Uhtred gazed around the church, his arms waving at his sides. "If he is not here then he cannot married."

"By proxy, you fool." Eadred's face twisted bitterly, eyes squinting at the Dane and gesturing his head towards the man standing off a little towards the distance. "This man stood beside her in place of aelfric."

Freyja casually leaned her side against the post, her arms folding in front of her as she gazed towards the man standing beside Gisela. "Then perhaps we should kill the proxy and get this over with."

The man shifted wearily beneath her unnerving stare, his head immediately giving a shake to show that he did not agree with her suggestion.

Brother Trew looked away from her, ignoring her words, her glare and settled his eyes on Uhtred. "Uhtred, in the eyes of god, she is married."

Uhtred clenched his jaw, teeth threatening to crack. He waved angrily towards the proxy. "Did you hump her for aelfric?"

"He did not." Gisela spoke bitterly, her gaze lowering towards the ground.

"Then there is no marriage, it's a lie." Uhtred growled.

"She is married and it cannot be undone."

Ragnar stood beside Freyja, his hands resting over his hips. He gave a tilt of his head, glancing between Gisela and the proxy. "Make her a widow."

"No!" The man's eyes grew wide with fear and his hand shot out in desperate surrender.

"Gisela is married to aelfric, not to Aidan." Eadred pointed out. Ragnar began to chuckle in amusement, Freyja giving a hint of a smirk.

"I have a wife already." Aidan spoke, his eyes quickly glancing towards Gisela. "A different wife."

"Uhtred, I am bored with this." Ragnar sighed, inching away from Freyja and approaching his brother. His hands fell to his belt and a smile traced his expression. "Kill them all."

Eadred raised his hand, his palm facing outwards behind him, stopping his men from stepping into action. The grip on Gisela was loosened and the woman gasped in relief. She tore herself away instantly, crossing the room and stepping to Uhtred's side.

The Dane glanced over her face, his eyes wide with a crazed look as he slowly looked back to Eadred. The Abbott raised his hands as Uhtred stepped towards him and Gisela fought to pull him back.

The lovers faces neared eachother,their lips connected.. Eadred dropped his hands. "Do as you wish. In sight of god she's married."

"You just had to open your mouth." Freyja rolled her eyes, pushing off of the post as she turned to glance back at her brother.

Uhtred slowly spun around, glaring at the Abbott. "Say she's married again."

"She's married!"

Uhtred stalked towards his, grasping the elderly man by the back of the neck. "She's what?"

"She's married." Uhtred raised his hand with a growl, slapping his palm against the Abbott's face.

"Uhtred!" Hild cried out, attempting to walk towards him, however, Ragnar quickly took ahold of her elbow, keeping her in place.

A sneer folded across Uhtred's lips. "Is she married?"

"Yes!" The Abbott stubbornly replied, his voice muffled against the Dane's palm. Uhtred ripped his hand away and flung his head forward, colliding it against the Abbott's face.

Hild tugged against Ragnar's grip. "He is a man of God!"

"All he is, is an old man who's dimwitted brain moves slower than his mouth." Freyja retorted, her bored expression sweeping across the Abbott. Readjusting her stance, she shifted her hand towards the emerald of her sword, cold and shining against her hip.

"Say it one more time, priest, and I swear the devil will take you." Uhtred stood over him, his grip a bruising tightness that caused the man's knee's to bend beneath him.

"You're nothing but a heathen and the bitch is married!"

Uhtred tore his dagger out so suddenly, wedging it up between the gabs of the Abbott's ribs. Eadred's lips parted with a silent scream, the air leaving his lungs in a sharp desperate gasp.

Noises of shock echoed across the room, and Freyja accidentally let a giggle slip.

Uhtred tore out the crimson, soaked by the Abbott's blood. He released his grip, Eadred crumbling to the ground with a heavy thud, his blood slowly seeping out, gushing, pooling across the church floor.

Freyja tilted her head curiously, intrigued as she watched the life slowly tear away from Eadred's body.

Selfishly, she had wished she were the one to take his life, to kill him without a single thought. She would have done so, it had been her plan the moment he began feeding his whispers into Guthred's ear.

She would have killed him, not for Gisela, not for Halig or Uhtred, but for herself, for the monster inside her that was begging for a taste of his blood.

But now, he lay in a growing pool of his own blood, dead by the hands of her brother.

—— • ° ☽ ★ ☾ ° • ——

THE FLAME FLICKERED
beneath her fingertips, following the gentle movements of her hands. She felt the heat of the fire as she fiddled about with the flame, the scent of wax melting against her nostrils, spreading out across the room where dozens of lit candles sat upon each surface.

It felt foreign to her, to stand in the room where Alfred kept all his scrolls and parchment paper - where he kept all his secrets and stories of history. It had been a long while since she had been there.

Standing to the side, halfway between the shadows lingering in the corners and the golden glow that painted the room in a warm haze, she held her hand above the lit candle, heat dressing her skin as if she were actually holding the flame in her palm.

Her eyes followed Alfred as he stalked back and forth, wandering between each and every candle, bending over to examine it.

"I trust that you are both well." He spoke in a monotonous voice, his eyes flickering up to stare just over the wisps of flames towards the wall with his desk.

"I improve with each passing day." Uhtred replied, gazing across the man's back. He turned his head, a tilt of his chin as he drew his eyes towards his sister, a silent order for her to answer next.

Freyja remained silent, her eyes briefly sweeping over him as she gazed her surroundings, taking the time to spare a glare at steapa - she had no reason for it, other then a silent hatred curdling in her stomach whenever she so much as looked at him.

"And you, Freyja?" Alfred inquired, tilting his chin to spare a glance in her direction. His eyes ran across her, so different from the last time he'd seen her. She was sharper now, colder - something he didn't even believe was possible. But now he remembered, the light he once saw in her eyes - it had demolished, extinguished like the flame of a candle.

He wandered if that was before or after her time as a slave.

Freyja reluctantly brought her eyes back to him and moved her fingers away from the flames. She looked him over, his daunt, sunken appearance. She folded her arms behind her. "As my brother said, we improve each day." She drew in a breath, thinking to herself for a short brief moment before she spoke again. "And you?"

"God afflicts me." He muttered with a pinch of his brows, the orange hues of fire flickering across his clammy skin. "But there is purpose in that, so I must be glad of it." Lifting up a smaller candle, he blew out the flame with a gush of hair. Grey smoke coiled a stream from the crisp wick.

"Earl Ragnar. He is a good man." Alfred breathed in acknowledgement. "I should like to free both him and Brida."

Freyja gave a weary look, uncertain whether to trust his word. But her face softened just a touch, the hooks keeping her bones stiff beginning to loosen. A hint of relief traced ever so subtly across her face.

Uhtred gave an appreciative smile. "Thank you, lord, for all you have done."

Alfred stood completely, his palms scraping off of the edges of the table. "What do you think of my candles?" He turned, arms folding behind him as he stalked the length of the room, not even acknowledging Uhtred's thanks.

Freyja's brows deepened with a furrow, her lips folding into a weary sneer.

Uhtred gazed over the room, glancing to each surface that held another five or six candle's. "I find them to be more effective at night."

Alfred looked over his shoulder towards the Dane and a huff left his amused lips, the corner of his mouth twitching. "I have missed your childish insolence." He turned his head back ahead of him, dragging his lingering eyes over Freyja's face. "And I hate to admit it, but your sharp wit has been too silent, Freyja."

"And all this time, I thought you hated it." She replied, slowly dragging out her words. A smirk twitched at her lips, her shoulders shrugging as if she didn't expect anything less. "You have grown fond of me, lord."

"Fond is such a strong word." Alfred teased lightly, gazing across her from the side of his vision, a small, nonchalant smile tracing along his lips. Giving a firm nod, he approached the table of candle's beside Freyja, leaning over the examine the burning wick. "I am trying to measure the passing of time. I'm hoping to find a candle that burns from midday to midday." Reaching into the centre of the candles, he lifted the tallest tower of wax and held it in the air.

Uhtred faced him completely, his arms folding across his chest. "Lord, why did you have us rescued? Why have you brought us here?"

Alfred cut him off. "I had you rescued firstly because I was able and secondly because, it is no more than you deserve." Slowly, he turned, gazing over the Dane from over his shoulder. "Though, I admit, I - would like you in my service once again." He folded his arms behind him and faced Uhtred completely.

Behind him, Freyja immediately began to deni, her head shaking from left to right. Her eyes found Uhtred's over Alfred's shoulder, her glare giving a warning look.

Uhtred looked away from her, focusing his attention on the king. "I am grateful, of course." He spoke softly, "but I have my own path to follow."

"Destiny."

"Destiny, lord."

Alfred drew in a breath. "You killed the Abbott Eadred." Uhtred shifted uncomfortably. "According to the words of brother Trew and other's." He flicked the small scroll of a letter between his fingers.

"He was a weasel, lord." Uhtred defended sharing a weary look with his sister across the room. Freyja glared with uncertainty at the back of Alfred's head.

"A weasel without a sword, a holy weasel."

"Who deserved to die." Freyja spoke nonchalantly, stalking passed the king, her steps silent as a feather, and stood beside her brother. "He was a liar and it dawns on me that lying is your religion's greatest sin. If anything, we were doing you and king Guthred a favour."

"You killed him on blessed ground." Alfred sneered. "He was an Abbot."

"A lying Abbot."

"However," Alfred continued, shooting her a look of warning. "You were in the company of Earl Ragnar, in charge of Earl Ragnar, who under my orders and whom I hold responsible for the killing of abbot Eadred."

"As far as im aware, your man was also present." Freyja spat, sneering her lips as she glared in steapa's direction. He stood there, silent, his eyes focused solely on her as she spoke. "And he too was under your orders - does that not make him an accomplice to murder?"

Uhtred shook his head as the king ignored Freyja's words. "No, lord, it was me and me alone."

"Why did he not stop you?"

"Lord, you cannot blame Ragnar for the abbot's death." Uhtred spoke in desperate plea, his eyes carefully following the back of the king.

"Yes, I can and I do."

"That is unfair." Uhtred dropped his hands to hover at his sides. He took a step and another and another, stalking across the room and closer to the king.

Alfred turned. "He will stand trial."

"No." Freyja snapped, her teeth clenching with the threat of cracking a tooth. She took a slow, threatening step towards the king and steapa quickly left his post to stand on guard. She turned to face the man, glaring up at his face, showing not a single trace of fear.

A silent pressed to all corners of the room and Alfred lowered himself into his seat. "You are great warriors, Uhtred, Freyja. Uhtred, you are a Saxon who is also a dane. The very embodiment of the England that must emerge. Freyja," his eyes found hers as she cautiously turned back around. "Your loyalty is something I admire greatly and something that all men should take the time to learn - I request that you both enter my service."

A pained expression came across Uhtreds face. "Lord, I have been a slave. I wish to remain a free man."

"What is it that you wish for Earl Ragnar?"

"Lord, please." Uhtred's voice cracked.

"A man of God was slaughtered. That cannot be ignored. Someone must answer. It will be you or it will be Earl Ragnar. You may choose." His face darkened with an expression that Freyja had not ever seen on the king's face. "Your sword, Uhtred, Freyja. You both can be free within my service."

Uhtred glared sceptically. "Ragnar goes free?"

"He has earned it." Alfred gave a nod. "Swear."

Uhtred looked away, his cerulean eyes reaching Freyja's pools of green. Freyja shook her head, silently begging, pleading - they would find another way. They always do.

Uhtred released a deep sigh, unable to look upon her face any longer for fear that his heart would crack. "I, Uhtred of beb-"

Alfred cut him off. "It is the custom to kneel."

Freyja's jaw clenched, her face souring in disgust. "You are just like the others - selfish people who hide behind their god." She was right - she had always been right. The first time she said it, Leofric did not believe her, but this just proved it. They only chose to hide behind their Christian god in order to mask just how wrong they were deep down.

"And what does that make you, Freyja?" Alfred's eyes sharply found hers. "You lie and deceive, provoke fear in your favour, kill in extremities where it is not needed - and all because of your claim as a dane. I see that makes you a monster."

"That's enough!" Uhtred snapped, glaring between the king and his sister. He gave a great sigh that weighed his lungs heavily and dropped to a single knee.

The king gazed across Freyja expectantly.

Freyja shook her head. "No! No, I will not kneel. Uhtred, we can find another way." For the longest time, her freedom had been stolen from her, ripped away from her fingers, shattered and torn as if it had meant nothing, and once again, the same thing was about to occur.

"There is no other way." Uhtred shook his head. He turned, shifting his weight across the floor and urgently grasped her hand - as she tried to pull away, his given only tightened, keeping her in place. "Freyja, please. I cannot do this without you - without my sister."

She continued to shake her head, her wrist jerking back and forth in Uhtred's tight grip. But his hand kept of gripping, his eyes widening with plea, his body shifting closer. "Please, we cannot allow Ragnar to suffer because of our doing." His expression darkened, his face hardening sternly with his next words. "You swore to me. Do not break your oath."

Her hand stilled as his words swept against her, realisation dawning on her appearance. She remembered her oath - she remembered her oath every day. Part of her had hoped that because of it, Uhtred would for once not allow people to steer his choices, to write his path along rather than guide it - which would inevitably lead to her steering the wheel of his choices.

She hated it, she loathed every second he held onto her hand, pleading with her, every second she breathed the very same air as Alfred. It was clear that only she could see it - that the king was manipulating Uhtred, twisting his words amd deceiving, forcing him to use her own words against her just so that he could have control.

Freyja swallowed thick, her jaw began a subtle tremble, her eyes looked everywhere but the faces that pointed at her in every direction, stabbing into her like knives.

She drew in a breath, finding it to ache her chest. Smearing the pad of her thumb against the side of Uhtreds hand, she reluctantly gave in and crumbled to a single knee.

Uhtred's grip loosened but did not let go completely, the weight of his hand unintentionally keeping her in place. He drew in a breath. "I, Uhtred of bebbanburg, pledge my sword to you, Alfred of Wessex."

A heavy, weighing silence spread across the room - a sharp breath through parted lips, a thump of a heavy heart - a single, pleased nod from the king before he stood and walked away, once again leaving the siblings in invisible chains.

Her quick steps carted across the stone ground, boots scraping heavily with no attempt to keep silent. It was clear that her movements were fuelled by the anger coursing through the rivers of her veins, causing her fists to clench at her sides, nails piercing the scarred skin.

"Freyja." Uhtred called out, urgently, desperately, his steps quick in an attempt to reach her. "Freyja, wait."

"For fanden, Uhtred!" She hissed, continuing her consistent pace, not daring to look back. "Du er så forbandet blind, at du ikke kan se, han leger med dig."

"Jeg kan se, Freyja. Jeg er ikke så blind, som du tror." He called after her, his steps heavily following in her trail. "Freyja, just let me explain."

She continued to walk, storming through the courtyard, ignoring the stares that moved between her and Uhtred. She burst through the open arch, not even taking the time to spare a glance at where Ragnar and Finan sat on the steps, waiting for their presence.

"Freyja!" He called her name more sternly, jogging to match her pace. He reached out, grasping her right wrist and forcing her to stop.

Instinctively, Freyja tore out her long bladed dagger and spun around to face him. She tore her arm back to her side, shoving him harshly against his chest and held the blade up in front of her with a glare.

"Hey!" Ragnar fussed, quickly standing to his feet and moving towards them. He stopped just between the siblings, his eyes moving back and forth between them. Confusion painted his expression, his eyes pooling with uncertain worry.

Finan stepped to Freyja's left, his palms cautiously grasping her shoulders to pull her back a step. "Take it easy." He breathed, a weary whisper tumbling from his lips. Risking it, he slowly, carefully reached out, fingers winding around her wrist, forcing her arm to lower with the dagger. "Drop the knife, Freyja. You don't want to do this."

Freyja glare held on Uhtred, ignored the twinge of pain in her chest from the aching expression that flickered over his face. Her grip on the knife loosened and it clattered to the ground by hers and Finan's feet.

"You have no idea what I want." She spat, sparing the Irish a brief glare before she focused back on Uhtred.

"What is all this about?" Ragnar dared to ask, his weight shifting from foot to foot as he looked back and forth between them. "What has happened? Why the anger?"

Neither gave an answer, but it was clear, by the sharp anger in her eyes and guilt pooling in Uhtred's, who was to blame. In synchronisation, Ragnar and Finan both turned their eyes towards Uhtred, both waiting for his explanation.

Freyja took the moment to pull herself away, her head giving a low disappointed shake before she turned around and dispersed into the streets of wessex.

Uhtred went to follow her, but he was stopped by both Ragnar and Finan pushing on his shoulders, not quite as harsh as Freyja's original shove. "I think it best you let her be, Uhtred."

—— • ° ☽ ★ ☾ ° • ——

THE FLAT OF HER HAND
smoothed down along grey dappled fur, a soft caress of affection against the mares neck before fingers weaved in through midnight strands of wirey hairs, slowly brushing through, untangling the knots as she mapped out her path.

Freyja had her eyes closed as she savoured the silence, her forehead pressed against the blaze of the mares face - the white dripping down the bridge of her nose like paint.

A gentle breath escaped her, a whisper of air coaxing from the soft, ever so subtle parting of her lips, a sigh that carried like a secret between the two of them.

Freyja had lost track of time as to how long she had been there, minutes, hours, or perhaps it had reached almost a whole day - she was uncertain, unsure of just how long she had buried herself in the peacefulness, a rare moment of comfort between just her and the four legged creature breathing air against her chest.

All that she knew, was that it was the most relaxed she had been in a long time, the most quiet, the most at peace.

She could feel the tension as it left her, as it unhooked it's fingers from her bones and allowed for her muscles to soften, for her shoulders to loosen up from where they so often bunched up around her neck.

But then, as if time was just waiting, ticking, ticking, ticking, till it reached that perfect moment, her peace was demolished, her silence shattering by the crunch of hay twigs beneath a person's feet.

Freyja gave a weighing sigh, one that left her lungs feeling heavy, as if they were sponges left to soak in water for too long. Her shoulders immediately tensed and her eyes fluttered open and her lifted from the mares face, her lips pressing a quick kiss to her about before she peered around the horse towards the entrance of the stable.

Her glaring eyes settled on Ragnar and her gaze softened.

The tall, broad man approached with unsettled caution, his eyes sceptically tracing over her as he approached the white horse in the next stall. He noted her appearance, the ghastly expression that appeared on her face - she looked, unwell to say the least.

"Brida." Freyja began, beating her brother to a conversation before he had the chance to part his lips. "She has left?"

"She has." Ragnar gave a firm nod as he gathered a bundle of straw within his hands and began dragging it along the horses fur, brushing away the clusters of dirt.

"Without a goodbye?" Freyja tried not to let the thought sting, to not reveal the twist in her expression as she voiced her thoughts. It was no surprise - for the longest time, her and Brida's friendship had been strained.

She had made her choice - Brida or Uhtred - she happened to choose her brother.

Ragnar gave a sigh, unsure of how to answer. Things would be so much easier if the women weren't so stubborn - if Brida wasn't so stubborn.
He turned his head slightly, glancing towards her in hindsight. "You look unwell. Did you sleep?"

Freyja drew in a breath, her palm dragging along the mares spine. "I've yet to settle on land, Ragnar. I was on a ship for two years."

"Yes, but that was days ago, Freyja." He gave her a weary look, concern pooled within his green irises. "Almost a week."

"I'm fine." She stubbornly spoke, her words firm on her tongue, sparing him a sharp glare from the corner of her eye.

Another wave of silence trembled between them, a tension growing thick - it was clear, that the both of them had changed inside and out - from the loss of battle, the loss of loved ones, to Ragnar's and Brida's imprisonment, to Freyja's enslavement.

Neither of them were the same anymore, merely shell's that shared the same skin.

Ragnar glanced around him, around the stable, through the dusty yellow haze. The sun shines down across the dirt path outside of the stables, few people scattered, strolling along the path. His eyes settled on someone specific and a smile hinted his lips. "He follows you like a lost pup."

Freyja arched her brow, her eyes glancing to him before following the invisible trail of his eyesight. She found the Irishman, a few feet outside of the stable, leaning casually against the post as if he were waiting for something - or someone.

"Irish means well." She hummed, looking away and brushing the hay along the mares stomach. Splinters dug into her skin, wedging beneath thin layers of flesh and finding permanent residence within her fingers.

"He cares for you," Ragnar trailed off, gauging her expression. "And Uhtred."

"Speak of the devil." Freyja muttered, her eyes narrowing with a subtle glare as she stared down the path towards where Uhtred could be seen approaching. She turned away the moment he got close, her back turning on him as she dragged her hand along the mares neck.

"What's this?" Uhtred's voice carried on in curiosity, his cerulean eyes looking over Ragnar, slowly drawing towards Freyja where his gaze lingered for a moment longer before snapping back to Ragnar. "You are leaving without me?"

Ragnar gave a haphazard shrug. "Brida has gone already. She is gathering my men. Whatever is left of them."

Uhtred pushed off of the fence and strolled around it, his body stepping into the stable, twigs of hay crunching beneath his feet. "You will meet them where?"

"Loidis." Ragnar gave a sharp response, hesitancy laced within his tone. Tilting his head, he glanced backwards towards Freyja, eyeing the back of her skull closely - his resentment did not like with her. He knew that she had no choice, that her hand had been forced. "I'd ask you to come with me, but I hear you have been making more of your oaths."

Uhtred turned his head, looking knowingly at Freyja, knowing that she must have been the one to tell him after she had stormed off. He brought his attention back to Ragnar, his appearance laced with promise. "I will be with you. Our plan doesn't change."

"You belong to Alfred."

"Our plan doesn't change. Alfred sends me to kill Erik and Sigefrid. If I succeed, then Guthred will be in my debt. And I will demand the use of his men."

"Do you really believe we can trust the shithead?" Freyja scoffed, spinning around on her heel to settle her sharpening gaze on her brother. She shook her head in disbelief, a sharp smile cutting across her lips. "After all he has done?"

Uhtred looked at her, finally able to catch her gaze. The anger in her eyes pained him to know it was directed at him. His eyes swelled with plea. "We have to, Freyja."

She tossed the hay to the ground. "No, we don't. We can find another way." She was met with a look, one that spoke in obvious words. She breathed sharply through clenched teeth and raised her hand, pointing a single finger at the Saxon born Dane. "I will not be there to save your stupid ass if the same thing happens. I won't."

There was some truth to her words, a promise that subtly trailed beneath her tone of voice - but in the end, they both knew that it was a lie. She would be there every single time to rescue her brother, no matter how stupid he was.

You swore to me. Do not break your oath.

Ragnar gazed across her face in pity. "I have men. And we have our own war, we do not need Guthreds."

Uhtred frowned knowingly. "How many men? Enough to take Dunholm?"

"Guthred made you and Freyja slaves." Ragnar sneered bitterly. "And by swearing to Alfred, you both remain slaves." His voice cracked. "Why?"

Uhtred looked away shamefully. "I have my reasons."

Rolling her eyes, Freyja shifted her weight, beginning to make her way out of the stable. Her wrist was taken, grabbed by another, Uhtred stopping her in place.

"Freyja, please." He muttered, whispered, desperately seeking out her forgiveness. He was the one who a locked her in ball and chain - he could not take it back, but he would do almost anything to have her forgiveness.

She stilled at the tone of his voice, her eyes glaring down at where he held her wrist in place. Slowly, she raised her glare, focusing her eyes upon his. "I would like to hear those reasons."

Uhtred drew in a breath and gave her a look. "I did not forget what Guthred did to me - to us. But if it means we have a greater chance of killing Kjartan, if it means we find our sister, then I will do what Alfred asks."

She looked at him, stared into his cerulean gaze, so full of promise, fuelled by something so desperate. She breathed in, slowly drawing in a breath through her nose only to let it escape her parted lips. She shifted her hand, angled her wrist upwards and grasped a grip of his. "Kjartan falls at my sword. He is mine to kill - that is all I ask."

"He will, little fox. He will."

—— • ° ☽ ★ ☾ ° • ——

THE GREY MARE SHIFTED
from beneath her hips, legs striding back and forth across the uneven slopes of the earth. Freyja's gripped tightened on the reins only to loosen, a nausea bubbling, coiling within her stomach.

Behind her, Aethelwold breathed heavily, a pant weighing his chest. His beady eyes looked around, urgently, desperately and he leaned forward in his saddle. "When will we have sight of Eoferwic? I have never ridden for so long nor so far."

"When you lay eyes upon it." Freyja retorted lowly, sarcasm dripping within her words as she stared idly ahead.

Amusement smeared onto steapa's face and he grinned broadly at the back of Aethelwolds skull. "Have you a sore ass, lord?"

Aethelwold tilted his head, his chin meeting his shoulder as he glanced in hindsight. "I have a sore everything." Facing back ahead, his eyes ran along Freyja back, sizing up the width of her hips. "I need a woman to rub and bathe me."

Without even looking, Freyja felt the boys eyes run across her. She sneered sharply, a glare settling in her features as she gazed longingly ahead. "Look away, snake, or I won't be held responsible for rubbing daggers into your eyes."

Aethelwold chuffed, a smile gracing his lips as he grinned. "Have I mentioned just how much I missed that sharp tongue of yours, Freyja? I've grown quite fond of it."

"And I won't be held responsible for cutting out your tongue if you do not shut your mouth." Finan seethed, glaring through the corner of his eye towards the young man who rode alongside him.

An uneasy chuckle tumbled from Aethelwold's lips and he forced himself to look away from the Irishman and the Dane woman.

Uhtred smiled ahead, amused by the bickering. "We will be stopping soon enough."

Beoccas furrowed his brows curiously. "At Eoferwic?"

Uhtred didn't reach the priest's stare, merely gazed his eyes upon the ground speckled with wild grass. "We ride first for loidis."

Aethelwold lifted his chin, his expression crumbling with weary. "What awaits us at loidis?"

The siblings each shared a look, three pairs of eyes slowly drawing towards one another. A grin matched to each of their expressions and Ragnar gave a clueless shrug. "We will see."

"Need I remind you that first and foremost our purpose here is the king's business." Beocca began, urging his steed a few paces ahead as he glanced between each of the siblings.

"Nothing has changed but our path, Beocca."

"We shall see."

The doors to the tavern creeked, and one by one, they followed in Brida's steps to trail into the building. Daylight escaped them, the edges of it stilling at the entrance as they coaxed in by the scintillating shadows of the room.

Tables scattered, stretched from one end to the other end of the tavern. So many Dane's crowded in clusters, the thick stench of ale heavy on their lips.

The moment the men's eyes settled upon them, they each stood from their seats with wallops of cheer screaming from their lungs, echoing, arms heaving up in rowdy celebration.

Ragnar leaned into Brida's side, bewildered by the sight before him. "I didn't think so many would come." He fell silent, gazed fondly across Brida's face and pressed a kiss to her cheek.

A dark haired dane with long strands of hair that trailed down his back and chest, beads weaved around the locks, pulled the mug of ale from his lips in order to shout. "Ragnar!"

The room fell silent, and the seat creaked as the man stood. His eyes were firmly set on Ragnar, enticing, waiting, as he strolled down the isle between the tables.

"Rollo." Ragnar breathed a response, his eyes looking over the man once as weary pooled his expression.

The man - Rollo - shrugging, his eyes glancing over the room, his arm waving at his side. "What makes you think we're here for you?"

Ragnar approached, hands on his hips, eyes firmly locked on the Dane. He stalked down the isle, meeting Rollo face to face, nearly chest to chest, towering over him.

And then a scream of cheer fell loosely from boths lips and they crashed into one another, arms grasping tightly in celebration.

Finan arched a single brow at the interaction, his eyes pooled with confusion as he leaned towards Freyja's without taking his eyes off the scene. His chin closely hovered over her shoulder as his spoke, his temple nearing the shell of her left ear. "Is that how all you Dane's greet each other?"

Freyja looked away, her chin tilting, her eyes settling upon his face that slowly inched away. For the briefest of seconds, their eyes managed to lock, but Freyja did not give an audible answer, merely focused back on the scene ahead.

The flame of a single lit candle glistened in a flickering back and forth motion, forcing the shadows of the tavern to recede and linger at their backs as they all hunched around the table. It revealed a softening glow, a subtle orange hue to dress the room and paint across their faces.

Freyja kept her eyes on it, firmly, as if she and the candle were the only things trapped in a dark room. Its light reflected off of the silver blade in her hand, the tip pressed into the table, chipping away at the wood as she idly twirled it with her fingers.

"Guthred is seen as weak and friendless." Brida began, his eyes glancing over each of the faces surrounding her. "These men wont fight the brothers for a turd."

Uhtred gave a weighing sigh, his shoulders slugging with the movement of his breath. He lifted his eyes from the blade in Freyja's hand, his thumb scratching his chin thoughtfully as he eyed Brida. "We need the turds army to take Dunholm."

Brida shook her head, confusion lacing her impish appearance. "So why not kill the Northmen, then kill the turd, take Eoferwic and it's army for yourself."

Freyja's eyes narrowed, eyelids pinching with a glare as she glanced towards her brother. "Believe me, I have asked the same thing myself." She muttered, giving her brother a look before taking a bit from the slice of bread in her hand.

Finan shrugged at the idea, his body half slouched in his seat, his chin lifting from his fingers as he gazed across Freyja, Brida and Uhtred. "The woman's got a point."

"No, she does not have a point." Beocca spoke, his words dragging from his lips with a subtle snap. "Those are the words of a traitor."

Brida released an amused giggle.

The sound of a knife dragging against wood echoed and Freyja lifted her gaze to find the priest sitting behind Finan and Aethelwold. "It is hard to be a traitor when you were never of them to begin with, priest."

Beocca gave her a look. "You are one of us, are you not?"

Freyja did not reply, her eyes glaring, an annoyed smirk twisting at the very corner of her sharpened lips. Her fingers flexed around the hilt of the dagger, splotches of milk-white speckling along the bony ridges of her knuckles.

Glancing from his sister to the priest, Ragnar quickly spoke before the tension could grow thicker. "I do not want Eoferwic. All I want is to see Kjartan dead and to see my sister."

Uhtred focused his attention on Ragnar. "We will need Guthreds army."

"I promised these men silver." Brida spoke, waving a gesture towards the surrounding room crowded with Ragnar's men, her eyes following up towards the face of her lover. "And the glory of avenging your father. Don't dishonour them by getting them killed for Guthred, the turd." Placing her hands upon the table, she heaved herself up from her seat and fled into the remaining of the tavern.

Finan bit back a grin in amusement, his eyes flickering from Brida to Ragnar. "Oh Ragnar, your woman's got the balls of a bear. I like her."

Uhtred's eyes fell to the table. "She's right."

An accusing frown graced Beoccas lips. "What do you mean she's right?"

Uhtred let his hand fall against the table and he shifted his weight to lean his ribs against the edge. His eyes pressed into the priest as he spoke. "Beocca, she's right. These men are here for Ragnar. We can't ask them to die for the like of Guthred."

Aethelwold tapped his fingertips along the wooden table. "Isn't that what Dane's do, fight? We cannot face the brothers alone."

"For once, I agree with the shithead." Freyja rolled her eyes, setting down the knife flatly and waving towards the king's nephew. She tore a piece of bread, shoving it between her teeth.

"Why not?" Finan thought aloud, his hand clamping down upon his thigh as he gazed across the table.

Aethelwold sighed. "Finan, there is bravery and then there is stupidity."

The Irishman held up a hand to stop him from speaking further, his dark irises shifting between Freyja and Uhtred. "The Northmen have a camp, do they not? Not a fortress but an open camp. If it is Sigefrid and Erik we must kill, then let us do just that. We kill them while they're sleeping."

"You have a more wicked mind then I thought, Irish." Freyja voiced, a hint of a smirk tracing along her lips as rolled her shoulders with a stretch.

Finan smiled widely as he looked at her, eyes lingering upon her face. He watched as she reached out an arm, stealing her third slice of bread from her brother's plate. "Its a skill, lady."

Uhtred and Ragnar locked eyes, the former greeting with a smirk. "Shadow-walkers."

—— • ° ☽ ★ ☾ ° • ——

RAIN HAMMERED DOWN
from the thick stretch of dark clouds, thundering pelts of water slapping against the cold, wet earth. The thickness of the rain caused the visibility to be subtle, a greyish haze shedding across the campsite.

Freyja's eyes pinched, her back pressed against the post, her hip jutting into the bales of hay as she swept her eyes across the outline of tents between the thinning trees. Breathing in the cold, frozen air, she glanced sideways at her brothers. "I see three on watch. The rest will be huddled inside their furs."

Finan tilted his head to peer around the hay bales, his eyes scanning through what little he could see of the campsite. "There could be more, behind the tents, sitting low."

Brida shook her head, her expression desperate with uncertainty. "I don't have a good feeling about this. Which tents are full, which are empty."

Ragnar drew in a sceptical breath. "And in which tent is Sigefrid and which is Erik? We are blind."

"Tafl." Aethelwold grinned from behind the them, his eyes bright with knowing as he earned himself a scattering of looks. "The game, tafl." He took a step, inching closer to the others. "The king is positioned at the centre of the pieces. I would say that tent there is the king." He stretched an arm, pointing between Brida and Ragnar towards the largest tent in middle, surrounded by all the other smaller tents.

Freyja smirked and folded her arms, her eyes dragging away from the young man. "See what happens when you think before you speak? You have the chance of saying something useful."

Finan chuffed, his head turning away the king's nephew, glancing briefly over Freyja and Uhtred as he stared back into the depths of camp. "From any other mouth it would make perfect sense."

"It is perfect sense." Aethelwold gritted his teeth.

"I will go in alone." Uhtred spoke.

"Maybe you should think before you speak." Freyja glared at the side of her brother's head, her lips pinching with an annoyed snear. "Going in alone is just asking for Valhalla."

Ragnar turned his head, his eyes burning into the other side of Uhtreds face. "We go in as agreed. Together."

"We cannot risk the three of us being killed."

"Yes, we can." Ragnar shook his head, his eyes narrowed with concern as he glanced towards the tents.

"This is for Alfred." Uhtred stated and turned his head to look upon his sister. "You must save your sword for Kjartan." He then met Ragnar's gaze. "And you must be at her side when she does it."

Steapa shifted from one foot to the other. "If it is for Alfred, I will go with you."

"And me." Finan spoke, giving the soldier a look and leaning towards Uhtred. "It was my bastard plan."

"And I shall wish you all the best of luck." Aethelwold voiced, not sounding the least bit concerned as he bid his farewells.

Brida arched a brow. "And if you get caught?"

"Do nothing." Ragnar and Freyja shared a scoff. Uhtred reached across, clapping a hand down on Ragnar's shoulder. "Ragnar, think only of our blood fued and of Thyra." Releasing his hold on his brother, Uhtred spun around on his heel and approached where the shelter ended.

Freyja pushed off of the post, her arms falling at her sides as she began to follow. Feeling her movement, Finan stopped short in his trail and spun around to face her. He gave a firm look, his hand reaching up between them, his finger pointing to stop her in her tracks.

"Sorry, lady." He spoke, not sounding the least bit sincere as he blocked her path. "You heard your brother. You must save your strength."

"The only thing I'll be saving my strength for is to strangle him."

Finan chuckled, an impish grin masking his lips. He dropped his hand back to his side, eyes gleaming in amusement. "You can strangle the bastard when he comes back - and he will come back." Letting his eyes linger for a moment longer, he inched a few steps backwards before turning to follow in Uhtred's steps.

He stopped, quickly backtracking and settling his attention on steapa. "I hope you're light on your feet, big man." He clapped steapa's chainmail chest and quickly dispersed from the shelter.

-- • ° ☽ ★ ☾ ° • --

THE GATES OF EOFERWIC
stood tall before her, the silhouette of its shadow casting across her and the path she walked. Something twisted within her stomach, licked at her insides with curdling nausea, hooked claws into her lungs, dragging further and further, cutting off her ease to breathe.

She sealed her lips tight to swallow the feeling, to shove away the memories that tainted this place, looming overhead like a great dark cloud. Her hatred for Guthred rose in anguish flames, sparking within her belly, her lips folded into a sneer.

Sensing her wave of emotions like a fly on her rump, the horse beneath her grew unsettled, ears keening back in her direction, flattening around her head. The mares steps became tangled and shifty, a sharp noise reaching from her lips and she felt her riders unease. She took a step back, avoided Freyja's orders and refusing to step further, to close in on the gates. To walk that path of Eoferwic.

"Let, pige. Afregne." Freyja muttered, tightening her grip of the reins, flexing the leather strap between her fingers as she urge the horse along. "Let." Gently, she nudged the heel of her boot into the mares side, forcing her to follow along the path.

Riding through Eoferwic, she looked over her surroundings. Eyes, they pressed into her at all directions, pointing at her like knives stabbing into her skin, watching her with expressions of weary.

She slid off her horse when Uhtred had, Finan and the others following in pursuit.

"We are here at the request of Alfred of Wessex!" Beocca announced, his words shouting across the clearing, following up the stairs - the very stairs where Guthred stood, watching as Freyja, Uhtred and Halig were taken away. "The king will wish to see us!"

"Open the doors." Uhtred ordered, glaring ahead of him where two soldiers stood on guard, barring the doors that lead into the hall.

"Uhtred, I will speak first."

"You will say nothing, priest." Freyja sneered, sparing the older man a sideways glare of warning as she stormed up to steps in stride with her brother. "Not a single word."

The wooden doors keened open, allowing a clear path for the cluster of both Dane and Saxon. Guthred tensed in his chair, his eyes swelling with bewilderment as his gaze quickly snapped between the Dane siblings.

So many thoughts passed his expression, so many emotions swimming across his face it was hard to differentiate between each of them. He stood, scattering backwards, kicking the chair with his heel.

Behind them, the doors were shut and Finan and Rollo withdrew their swords, giving a look of warning to the two of Guthred's men who stood forward protectively.

"Uhtred. Freyja." Guthred choked in disbelief, frantically blinking his eyes as he stared cautiously between the two. Swallowing thickly, his gaze flickered to the priest standing behind the two. "Father Beocca, I - I had heard that you were close. I - I had not realised how close."

Freyja gave a mocking tilt of her head, her eyes pinching in anger. Waving her hand across herself, she spoke. "Is this close enough for you?" Her sultry voice trailed, echoed across the room with a menacing undertone. With a roll of her shoulders, she took a step closer and another and another till she reached the table a few feet down from where the king stood. "How about this?"

Without taking her eyes off of him, she leaned her side against the table's edge and drummed her fingertips along the wooden surface.

Beocca nervously set his eyes upon king Guthred and folded his hands in front of him. "Lord, king Alfred has sent us here -"

"Father Beocca." Uhtred snapped with a turn of his head. "You will allow king Guthred to speak first."

Guthred swallowed harshly once again. "I had also heard that you had been recovered, Uhtred." He glanced towards the woman closest to him. "Freyja. I am glad, believe me -" a crash splintered across the room as a plate food was shoved, clattering to the ground.

"Oops." Freyja spoke, not a trace of sincerity in her tone as she took a step back from the food scattered across the ground by her feet. Idly, she paced down the length off the table, curiously lifting a silver jug into her hands, eyeing it with forced interest before heaving it carelessly over her shoulder.

Guthred flinched at the loud clatter. Sniffling in fear, he forced his eyes to tear away and focused back on Uhtred. "Well, if you are here to kill me I don't blame you, I would kill me too." He gave at unsettled laugh.

"Now there's a thought." Freyja hummed, twirling a fork between her fingertips and gazing towards the others. For a brief moment, her eyes settled on Finan - the irish struggling to keep a straight face as he found amusement in her careless actions.

"But it would be a mistake, another mistake."

"Lord, Guthred." Aethelwold inclined his upper body forward in greeting and inched out from behind the priest. "I am lord Aethelwold. I come in king Alfred's stead. We have gifts -"

Uhtred's arm stretched like a tree branch, his palm slapping against Aethelwold's chest, stopping him in his place. He shoved him back, withdrew the Sigefrids cut off hand from the bag, and tossed it across the room.

The severed limb landed on Guthred's plate with a thud, the plate and cutlery rattling against the table.

"Sigefrids sword hand." Uhtred informed calmly. "The brothers won't trouble you again."

Guthred breathed heavily, uncertainty as his gaze flickered back a d forth from the hand to Uhtred. A wave of silence swept the room before his spoke, his voice weak, his words low, barely loud enough to be heard. "They are... dead?

"In return you will give me your army. You will ready them to march."

"But -"

"You will do as we ask." Freyja slammed her palm against the table, played rattling beneath the pressure of her slap. Her eyes stared lethally at the king. "Or we will great pleasure in killing you."

Beocca raised a surrendered hand. "She does not know what she is saying, lord."

"I know exactly what I am saying, priest." Freyja snapped and pushed off of the table. Stalking around it, she approached where Guthred stood. At the same time, Uhtred clenched his jaw and shot across the room, his heavy steps thumping against the floor. He stood up onto the table and stepped down on the other side, forcing Guthred to fall into his chair.

Steapa prepared himself to move forward and Finans hand flew to the hilt of his sword. "Steapa, no."

Freyja appeared behind Guthred's chair, her face peering over the backing, her hands clamping onto his shoulders, forcing him in place as she held the blade of her dagger to his through. Leaning closer, her breath whispered against his ear. "Am I close enough now, lord?"

"I will kill you and take every consequence." Uhtred sneered, spit flying past his lips as he glared down at the king. "What you did to me - to my sister." He leaned in close, trapping Guthred further within the chair. "What you did to Halig, I could never forget. I shall never forget." He pulled away with a parting glare and carried himself back over the table. "You will ready your men to march."

The moment Freyja released her grip, Guthred felt as if he could finally breathe. She stepped in front of him, giving him a glowering look and mockingly patting his cheek.

Spinning around, she stepped up onto the table, taking a few steps across the length of it, kicking plates and cups to the ground, adding to the mess she had already created. Stepping off the other side, she stalked a line towards the others.

Guthred pushed himself from the chair, doing his best to maintain a fearless face. "How do I know that the brothers are gone? How do I know that this hand belongs to Sigefrid?" He threw his hands at his sides. "Like your uncle, I would have preferred a head, two heads."

"Another word, lord," Ragnar warned, slowly turning back around to glare at the king. "And it will be your own head." He began to walk, slow, stalking, taunting steps approaching the king. "You will do as my brother and sister asks or I will take Eoferwic and the army for myself. Beocca!" He snapped glaring his eyes at the priest who had been trailing alongside him. Slowly, he focused back on Guthred. "The king has a decision to make. He's either with us or against us."

—— • ° ☽ ★ ☾ ° • ——

NIGHT FELL UPON THE EARTH,
dressing it in darkening hues and whispy silhouettes of shadows. The tables were lit with candles and small bundles of flames, scintillating across faces.

Finan and Sihtric's laughter ripped through the night, bellowing from their chests, tangling from drunken lips, pressing against the holes of her ears, drowning, drowning, drowning.

It was too much yet too little all the same, the noise that pooled around her, and she could only manage a small nonchalant smile in return as she nursed the cup of ale in her hand, occasionally taking small miniscule sips of the sweetened liquid until the bottom was bone dry.

Half of her, was in one conversation, listening to her brother's, occasionally piping up with a remark, the other half - she was listening to Finan as he spoke with sihtric and clapa.

"Would you take it?" Ragnar turned his attention away from his brother, his green pools of irises settling on Freyja across from him. There was an expression of curiosity within his face, a small wondering smile tracing his lips. "Dunholm?"

"It is not in my wish to become Earl nor Queen." Freyja muttered in response, something humourous passing over her expression at the mere thought of it. "My wish is to simply see Kjartan dead."

Ragnar's brows furrowed in concern and he took a sip from his cup before setting it to the table with a soft click. "Why not? You already have men willing to bend the knee for you." Without looking, he waved towards the Irishman beside her at the next table over, to the Dane across from him.

Freyja arched a brow and forced herself to grin as she raised her cup in mocked salute. "It is too much responsibility for the likes of me, Ragnar. I am my own person, I do not see fit in asking others to fight for me when I can very well fight for myself."

"But what of the men who choose to fight for you?" Ragnar lowered his voice a mumble that stretched a short distance across the table. He leaned inwards, his arms folding across the wooden surface, his expression curious.

Freyja gazed through the corner of her eye, across Uhtred who spoke with Hild and Brida, towards Finan and Sihtric. She swallowed thick, a bitterness filling her mouth. "Then that is their choice - the wrong choice. But their choice nonetheless."

Before Ragnar had the chance to speak, Freyja's attention shifted behind his shoulder. Guthred approached with caution, his steps slow, miniscule.

"Well, if it isn't king shithead." Freyja bitterly remarked, her words a little louder than intended. She refused to glance in his direction despite feeling his eyes steadily on her - instead, she reached towards the other table, snatching the apple from sihtric's hand and peeling a shard of flesh with her dagger.

"Freyja." Guthred swallowed thick, his eyes leaving her reluctantly and seeking out Uhtred. "Uhtred." The tables fell silent, and people shifted around in their seats to settle their eyes upon the king. "Uhtred, Freyja, will you join me, please?" In return, Uhtred stared. "Please?"

With an air of reluctance, Uhtred pushed himself from the table, rose to his feet and slid between the seperated tables to approach the king.

"Freyja?" Guthred watched the woman, a mixture of fear and guilt pooled within his irises. It was clear, that whatever he felt was sincere, but Freyja did not care. "Freyja, please."

Finan tilted his head to gaze curiously over the Dane, wondering if she would have beneath the king's guilt ridden stare. She did not and her eyes were left staring at the apple in her palm, her movements stilled from peeling the light green flesh.

With a sigh, the irish took the jug of ale and leaned over the distance seperating them. Wordlessly, he refilled her cup, a silent order for her to drink her suffering away.

Guthred turned away with a heavy breath and focused on Uhtred - the less stubborn of the two - willing to hear his words and hopefully accept his sincere apology.

Whatever he said was unheard, but Freyja watched closely through her peripheral vision. She calculated each expression, ever shift and twist of a position. Uhtred's arm suddenly swung out, slapping Guthred across the face.

"Uhtred, no!" Beocca stood with such ferosity, his eyes firmly set upon the Dane.

Finan's loud roar of amusement blanketed the air, followed by sihtric, clapa and Rollo. A smirk twitched at Freyja's lips - though she believed he did not hit hard enough.

The silence stretched a moment longer before Guthred shifted away from Uhtred, his eyes, although skittish, settling on her amongst the table of Danes and Saxon. She noted, the way his palms brushed down his side's almost nervously, the way eyes scattered, back and forth, back and forth across Ragnar, Finan, sihtric, Rollo and clapa - even Brida he seemed cautious off. He tiptoed, stepping between stones, inching closer to the tables.

"That is close enough." Ragnar warned with a steady look, his side pressed against the tables edge as he turned on his seat.

Guthred gave a trembling nod and cleared his throat, his eyes finding Freyja's deep pools of emerald green as she popped a flesh of apple between her teeth. He found himself losing within her stare.

"Freyja." He spoke her name, pausing with hesitancy on what to say. "As I have said to your brother - you were a great friend, one of the greatest. I have my reasons for what I did - why I did it. And looking back, I have come to realise that my reasons are foolish." He drew in a breath, sincerity trembling within his words. "I am asking you to forgive me, and though I hope you do, I understand if you can not find it within yourself for what I did, for the pain and suffering I had brought upon you."

There was a moment, where silence slipped over them, where Freyja held his stare and his words echoed. She could see, that he had meant what he had said, that his words and apologies were nothing but honesty.

But then she remembered, she would always remember, the pain she had been forced to endure, the abuse her brother had taken - Halig was now dead, buried in the cold earth, abandoned.

Her body now carried scars she could not bear to touch.

All she did was stare, holding his gaze with her own, forcing him to stop in place. She gave no recollection if she had heard his words, if she had accepted them or not - she simply looked on, no expression, no shift or twitch.

Then, she drew in an easy breath, freeing the king from her stare and sliced her dagger across the apple, slicing it's flesh from its bones.

Guthred accepted her silence, taking it as painful as a grain of salt in an open wound and carried himself towards his hall where he would spend forever alone in darkness.

Ragnar was the first to move, to stand from his seat and move towards Uhtred.

Something bitter filled her mouth, something wrong curdling within her stomach. Her face pinched with gringe and she inwardly groaned before quickly standing to her feet.

She didn't follow after Ragnar, she didn't move towards Uhtred, instead, she went her own way, staggering past the table where Beocca, Aethelwold and steapa clustered around, disappearing into the shadows and mapping a path around the side of a building.

Her body bent forward immediately once she had reached privacy, her left palm slapping against the wall to stabilise herself. Her chest hurt as she heaved, as acidic taste pooling through the walls of her mouth, burning her throat as it came up and spilt across the earth by her feet.

Over the sound of her heaves and gags, she did not hear the urgency of feet until hands were pulling her hair from her face - she did not like how easily they were able to sneak upon her.

"That's it." Finan cooed gently, wincing at the sound that ripped through her chest as he moved a hand from her hair to her back, rubbing soothing circles between her shoulder blades in an attempt to settle her stomach - beneath the thin fabric of her tunic, he could feel the scars that mirrored his own. "Take is easy, lass."

For a moment longer, the noise carried until finally, Freyja let out a trembling whimper of agony, the sound foreign against her own ears as it forcefully ripped from her lips - she sounded weak.

Righting herself up, her hand left the wall to cradle her stomach, he other arm lifting up towards her face, her sleeve wiping against her mouth.

"It's that darn ale." Finan mused, his eyes sparking with a mixture of amusement and concern as he watched her face. She was pale, more pale then before as if her face had suddenly been struck with green. "It's fun drinking the shite - it's the afterwards that kicks our asses."

"I'm with child." Freyja whispered, so quietly she was unsure if he had heard. Her hand almost flexed, growing stiff around her stomach when the realisation finally dawned on her. She had spoken into the air, but through the bottom of her vision, she was able to see the Irishman tense - the only sign that he had in fact heard her words.

Finan watched her for a moment longer, unsure if she was playing tricks. But her words seemed so certain, her face so sure as she stared up at the nights sky - so full of stars. His stare faltered, his eyes snapping towards where her hand pressed against her stomach. With the angle that her shirt held against her, he could see the subtle swell of her belly.

He let out a heavy breath and attempted to find light in the painful situation. He arched a brow as he spoke. "Is this a bad time to ask who the father is?"

Freyja gave him a glare and her hand shot outwards, shoving against his chest. The Irishman stumbled back, failing to catch his feet and crumbled onto the cold, hard ground like a sack of potatoes. A chuckle fell from his lips.

—— • ° ☽ ★ ☾ ° • ——

A DAY HAD PASSED AND

once more, night cradled the earth in its palm and the moon had stolen the kingdom of the sky, blanketing it with clusters of twinkling stars.

An army marched through the shadows, creeping around the edges of Dunholm, remaining unseen to the men who resided within.

They carried themselves through the uneven terrain, steps laced with heavy intent. They breeched the bottom of the hill that the kingdom sat upon, like a crown upon a king head.

Ragnar held out a hand, halting the seemingly endless line of warriors, both Saxon's and Dane's. "Oh, oh. Shh." His eyes followed towards his brother and sister. "This is where we part. We will show ourselves only when we know the east door has been opened. We will attack. Then it is up to you to save us. We will be theirs to slaughter."

"Lord, lady. May the gods be with you." Clapa raised his axe in salute, his eyes treading the space from Uhtred to Freyja.

"Er," Beocca shifted from one foot to the other and took a single step closer, his shorter frame peering from around the large Dane. "God. May God be with them, us."

Uhtred chuffed, his humourous eyes swimming over the priest as he acknowledged clapa's words. "You just watch over Ragnar, hmm?" He turned towards his brother, clapping a hand against his shoulder - Ragnar grasping his arm. Uhtred's expression crumbled when Ragnar refused to let go.

"Good luck, little brother." Ragnar breathed, staring at Uhtred with a lock that could well possibly be the last every time before they set into battle.

Uhtred stepped forward and pressed his forehead against Ragnar's. The brothers shared a silent smile before pulling apart.

Ragnar turned to spare his last goodbye, saving the best for last. He reached out, his hands grasping Freyja's shoulders, forcing her body close enough to wrap his arms entirely around her.

"Make sure you swing your sword, little fox." He spoke against her ear, his cheek pressed against her as he gave a grieving smile.

Freyja laughed pathetically, unable to stop the tears from watering the edges of her eyes. Her arms squeezed tight, afraid to let go. "In a few moments we will have our justice, brother. After, we will celebrate."

He squeezed her shoulders in response, wanting to hold onto what could possibly be their last moments together. He pressed a kiss to the space behind her ear, holding her there until he unfortunately had to let go.

Uhtred carried his eyes towards the others. "See you all in Dunholm."

Stepping completely from Ragnar's reach, Freyja turned on her heel amd darted up the side of the mountain in Uhtred's steps.

They climbed the steep hill, weaving through the trees, sneaking through the night around the side of the kingdom.

Uhtred slowed his pace, look back towards the others who trailed behind. "We move quickly. We must be in place before dawn."

They approached a narrower path between uneven ground, sharp slopes and large rocks. Freyja easily pulled herself up, followed by Hild. Sihtric panted heavily. "This path is fit for goats only."

Beocca glared at the Dane's iron wrought skull. "You be quiet and watch where you're placing your feet." The priest grunted as he slipped, his body slamming against the ground.

Steapa stopped to assist him to his feet.

"Bless you." The priest thanked.

They reached a clearing, where the trees gave way into a field of green and further on, the large stone walls of Dunholm towered. They ducked behind a hedge of bushes, their eyes racking up the wall towards the balcony where an orange glow erupted.

"We cannot see from here." Hild whispered in worry, her eyes widening in concern as she glanced towards Uhtred and Freyja.

Freyja tiptoed across the grass, silently making her way towards the tree. She stood from her crouching position and grasped the upper branches. Carefully, she used the strength in her arms to lift herself up, planting her feet firmly against the bark.

With ease, she swung her leg, hooking it around the branch and completely pulling her body up to straddle the wood between her thighs. She glanced briefly towards the ground to see Uhtred watching her in amusement before carefully shifting her weight onto her feet.

She turned, climbing further into the tree, weaving between the branches like a snake. Firmly placing her position, she reached out and carefully pried apart the branches, allowing the way to clear and for her eyes to settle upon the warriors standing guard.

She waited, and waited and waited, and the moment they turned their backs on her, she stretched out an arm, waving her fingers through the air.

Taking her signal, Uhtred and Hild rushed out from the bushes and quickly crossed he clearing, their back pressing against the wall on the other side.

She made the signal again with her hands and Sihtric and Beocca stood, rushing across the grass. The dane lost coordination of his feet and crashed to the ground. The air tensed – sihtric stood, quickly finding his path and ducking against the wall.

Freyja opened up her hand with a stopping gesture, her body leaning back into the leaves of the tree, camouflaging herself within its branches.

She waited a few seconds before risking herself and peering up through the branches. She made the signal again.

Steapa stood, quickly crossing the distance. Aethelwold hesitated only to earn himself a shove from the Irishman. "Go on. Now!" Finan whispered bitterly, glaring at the king nephew. Aethelwold stood, joining the other side.

Carefully easing herself down from the tree, she crouched low to the ground and ducked back behind the hedge of bushes.

Finan gave her look. "You should not be here–

"Shush."

"Lady, in your condition, you should not be fighting–"

"Shut your mouth." She snapped in a whisper, glaring lethally at the Irishman as she stopped in front of him. "You will shut your mouth, understood?"

Finan's eyes widened with realisation. "Uhtred doesn't know–"

Silver sliced the air as she drew out her dagger and held it between them, the tip pointing at the space between her ribs. "I said, you will shut your mouth, Irish. Or the only thing coming out of it will be your tongue."

Finan knew that he would be stupid to question her otherwise, especially with the dagger so close from touching him. He swallowed thickly, gazed across her face, pinpointing what little he could see through the night and gave an weary nod.

Freyja sheathed her dagger and shifted on her feet.

Finan continued to watch her closely. "The least you could do is rest – you need it the most if you are to kill Kjartan." His eyes didn't stray even when she glared. "Lady, I swear to you, I will wake you at dawn."

"You swear?"

"I swear." Finan promised, his palm resting over his beating heart, sealing the organ with a promise.

With an air of reluctance, Freyja stepped around him and lowered herself completely to the ground at the base of a tree. She curled onto her side, hand steadily laying upon her dagger and allowed for her eyes to shut.

Dawn rose upon the earth quicker than they would have liked, the night's sky giving way to a metal grey hue, illuminating the edges of a forest, forcing the shadows to slink back.

The sun was an orange ball in the distance, creeping upon the horizon, and with it, a sea of pink and shades of red.

Finan had thought about not waking her, to allow her rest that further more – but he knew she'd make good on her threat, and that it would not be fair of him to go back on his oath, to rid her of the opportunity of killing Kjartan.

And so, like he had sworn, he turned towards her at the strike of dawn and gently shook her awake.  He reminded himself to lean back and avoid the swipe of her dagger that he was positive would follow in pursuit and raised his hands in mocking surrender. "Easy, lady. The battle has not yet begun."

Breathing in, Freyja lifted herself up into a crouching position and rubbed the heels of her palms into her eyes, surprised that she had managed to somewhat earn some sleep.

She looked to her surroundings, seeing the dawn stricken sky that surrounded her, creating a clear visibility of their path.

On the other side, opposite to where they hid, Uhtred and the others still stood in their last night's position.

Uhtred gave a signal, a simple nod of his head and Freyja reached for the bow in the nameless warriors hand. Taking it from him, she readied the arrow in her grip, brought the sharp point to the flame, waiting for it to take light.

Stretching out her arms, she bent her elbow back and aimed for the sky. Drawing in a breath, she waited a second before releasing it, and along with it, the string.

It snapped against the bow and the arrow flung up towards the sky, treading across it, high above the tree tops, hopefully within Ragnar's sight.

Uhtred unsheathed his dagger and hopped down into the spring. Hild followed in pursuit, who was then followed by the others. Screams filled the air, sounding the like a song against the obscene tear of blades cutting into flesh.

Finan Freyja, and a few of the others ran across the clearing and jumped down into the hole. There was a thud beneath her feet as she landed and she only briefly glanced to the scattering of corpses bleeding out across the earth.

Making her way through the door, she launched into battle.

The sword ripped from her scabbard and swung across the air, the green jewel embedded into the hilt capturing the sun with its glare. Skin tore, the blade burying through flesh, inching towards bone as blood sprayed and splattered around her.

The was seemingly no end to the bodies that fell in her wake.

She grew lost in the thick of battle, in the midst of blood and dirt, victory being the only thing in the forefront of her mind. It was glory or it was Valhalla.

The clashes of swords sang chaotically around her, drowning her amidst the cry of its sound, deafening, harmonies crying out for Death which she gladly gifted, a chorus articulating its final spiral.  

She met every opponent, every opportunity with one of her own, a brutal force enough to steal a life. Her arms swayed, tore and ripped as she gripped the hilt of her sword and her dagger tighter within her palms, the leather straps burning into her skin. She kept moving, tiptoeing, reciting a routine that only her body and soul seemed to know, as if the steps had encrusted themselves within her mind, pulling at the strings that tied to each of her limbs, walking a path alongside the angel of death.

"Steapa! The gate!" Uhtred shouted, looking behind him through the haze of dirt, tainted by the crimson fall of blood that spluttered out from wounds. The large warrior barreled across the clearing for the gate, his heavy steps thumping beneath him.

On the other side, Kjartan's men crowded behind a wall of shields, pushing and shoving against them.

Sheathing her sword, Freyja gripped her dagger in her right hand. She grasped the edge of her shield, ripping it downwards and stabbing her blade through her opponent's face.

The gates keened open behind her and Ragnar and his men swarmed around them, filling the courtyard with more warriors.

"Pull back! Pull back!" She heard the alarm of Kjartans order beneath the chorus of battle and she stretched her body to peer through the shields of her opponents, hoping to catch a glimpse of his face – to see the exact moment he realised that he was losing.

Ragnar's cry echoed, tearing from his lips. He ran, shoving past Freyja, knocking her to the side and into sihtric who was quick to steady her. Her brother broke through the shield wall, splitting it through the centre and drove his sword through his target's throat.

"Ah! Kjartan! Where are you!?" Carelessly, he swung, blindly striking hos sword in all directions, unleashing his anger upon his enemies.

"Shield! Wall!" Freyja shouted, her voice stretching, falling upon over a dozen ears and immediately, the warriors fell into position.

Low whoops tumbled from lips in sync with their heavy steps. With each sound, they grew closer and closer, closing in on Kjartans men, forcing them to back away and lose more ground.

"Pull back! Come on!" They fell further back, and then suddenly, Kjartans pained, agonising scream ripped across the earth. "Sven!"

"Kjartan, you are beaten." Ragnar taunted, playing in on the man's grief. "Either you die alone or together with all your men. What is it to be?"

Kjartan glared and shoved past the shields of his men, stepping into the small, narrow clearing. "You wish to fight me, baby Ragnar?"

"No." Ragnar answered, a hint of a smirk tracing his lips as he nodded his  head in the direction of his sister. "But she does."

Freyja stepped forward, appearing from behind the shields. She took her sword into hand, sparing a glowering smile that shared a likeness to a snarling wolf. She tilted her head in a mocking manner, eyes glaring through the Kohl that smeared her face. "Hello, Kjartan."

Kjartan looked into the depths of her eyes and tossed his spare weapon to the ground. "Drop your swords. It is over." His arm then stretched outwards. "Shield!"

Grinning wickedly, Freyja took the shield extended towards her and pointed her sword with promise. "Blood must have blood."

"Move!" Uhtred shouted, stalking across the sidelines. "We make the square!"

Righting her position, she raised her sword arm and his behind the shield. Kjartan stalked a few slow steps towards her, hoping to come across as intimidating.

"You sister made a good whore." He trailed off harshly and shoved his shield against Freyja's, forcing her to step back.

"Are those your last words?" She spoke through clenched teeth, her eyes refusing to stray as she stalked around Kjartan.

"She still does!" He stepped forward, shoving his shield against and swinging his sword in a downwards motion. She raised her own blade of steel, jarring it against his. "Only now we have to tie her down to keep her from scratching, when we hump her all night."

A yell rumbled from her chest and she surged forward, striking against him only to connect with his shield. His foot kicked out, she stumbled back from the pressure and swung. Her body jerked as the shield slammed against her shoulder.

Hit after hit, she fought with all that she could, with all her might, ignoring the ache that settled deep into her muscles and bones as she skillfully avoided each of Kjartan's incoming strikes, tiredness encrusting itself into every inch of her limbs.

There was no space for her to properly think, no control as the way of battle took over, consumed, pulling the strings of her soul like a puppet, playing on her will to seek justice and avengence, blurring the lines between their differences.

To her, there was no difference, no good or evil – just her and Kjartan and what he had done, the pain and loss he had caused and the spiral of events that followed in the wake of his actions.

Around her, warriors sang, chanting out a chorus of her name, encouraging her to win as if she had no other choice.

Kjartan swung widely, his sword cutting in a downwards motion. She raised the shield to block it and his leg shot outwards, kicking against her stomach.

She had no time to consider the consequences of his attack, what events could possibly follow through as the pressure slammed harshly against her stomach.

The harsh impact sent her tumbling back and she met the ground, landing on her back. The air escaped her in surprise and it took a lingering moment for her to regain a sense of reality.

"Freyja." She heard Uhtred's shout her name desperately, a cry that tumbled from his lip in urgency, shouting at her to rise to her feet, to lift herself up off the ground, to dust herself off and fight.

But she couldn't move.

"I killed your father!" Kjartan screamed, hoping to draw out her deep seeded resentment, to encourage the anger coursing beneath her skin. He stalked towards her, coming to stand over her body. "Any last words?"

"Your fate is fixed." She spoke and raised both her empty hands as he struck down his sword. She captured the blade in her palms, her teeth gritting as the steel sliced open her skin. Blood pooled from the wounds, trailing thick, crimson rivers down her wrists.

Curling her body into itself, she bent her knees and kicked her legs outwards. Her feet slammed against Kjartans chest and he stumbled backwards, gasping for his escaped breath.

She rolled to the side to avoid the strike of his sword and stumbled to her feet with an arm cradling across her stomach. Her sword was beyond reach, tossed to the ground closest to Kjartan.

She ducked as he charged towards her, a yell ripping from his lips, his sword swinging widely. She shifted to the side, stepped around him and kicked the back of his knee.

He fell to the ground, crashing his knees to the blood soaked earth.

"I cannot stop thinking about death. It intrigues me. The death of children, of friends. But my own death continues to elude me." She stepped behind him, her fingertips pressing into the pressure point of his wrist, forcing his grip to loosen around the sword. She kicked it away with her foot the moment it clattered with the ground. "In our world, it is believed that the day of your death is fated." Her fingers clawed through his hair, ripping his head backwards, forcing his eyes to stare up at her. "Would you like to know the day of your death?"

Then she saw it, the exact moment that Kjartan realised that he had lost, that all that he knew, all that he had, had been ripped directly out from under him – just had he had done to her.

"Give me my sword!" He snapped, sneering his lips in anguish as he glared up at her. "Give me my sword!"

"You are not going to Valhalla." She spoke clearly, words articulating from her lips, floating like a promise against his ears. "You do not deserve to feast with the gods."

Then, within the blink of an eye, she lost all control, as if something had possessed her to leaned downwards and sink her teeth into the base of Kjartans throat.

Copper melted against her tongue, pooled through the walls of her mouth, flooding her from the inside. His choked screams sang against her ears only to fade away into the silence as she tore away.

She turned her head to the side, spitting skin from her teeth – but it was of no use, the blood laid thick, clinging to her like a second skin. It stained her disheveled braids, splattered across her face, gathered most around her mouth and chin, dripping, dripping, dripping, as it ran down the base of her own throat.

She convinced herself that the bewildered silence that surrounded her was due to the deafening ring of her ears and not due to the surprise of her appearance, the devilish glint gleaming in her eyes, or how she had just taken a man's life merely by her teeth.

In their eyes, she became a praying mantis who devoured her opponents – a desperate hunger coiling within her soul. In their eyes, she became the angel of death.

—— • ° ☽ ★ ☾ ° • ——

word count: 14,036

Freyja just casually having her Rick Grimes moment.