—— • ° ☽ ★ ☾ ° • ——

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐅𝐎𝐔𝐑 —
ᴘᴀʟᴍ ᴏꜰ ɢᴏᴅ.
ᴀᴄᴛ ᴏɴᴇ — ᴏᴍᴇɴꜱ

—— • ° ☽ ★ ☾ ° • ——

TRAVELING OBLONG CLOUDS COVERED
the sky a thick grey, obscuring the waxing moon that threatened to steal the sky as it's kingdom. Rain pattered heartlessly, bouncing off of the thatch roofs of Oxford and turning the dirt streets into mud, sloshed and trampled by endless footsteps.

Freyja didn't mind the cold that sunk into her skin and reached bones beneath flesh and blood. Her hair was almost as wet as her clothes, sticking to her face and neck, braids clamping together and a few strands curling.

She sat on the roof of the small homestead her brother had paid for the night, welcoming the rain to taint her natural warmth, to drown her in its wetness.

As a child, she'd sit in the rain for hours, days if she could before young Ragnar would wrestle her back into the house, just getting lost in the droplets that raced against time to hit the ground heavy and thick. She didn't care for the sickness she'd get afterwards, the fever that'd turn her skin a scorching fire - the rain was her comfort.

It was like a mother embrace that wrapped around her like vines of tree, the comforting kind that left her skin warm and her pulse to ease, that kind that brought hope into her caged chest.

Freyja squinted up at the sky, the silver that painted behind the canopy of clouds, the only sign that the moon was still there, still lingering although tucked away, hidden behind shadows as though afraid of the earth's gaze.

She gave a content sigh and rested her chin against the nest of her arms folding across bent knees.

A shuffling fell over her ears, breaking through the downpour of rain, but Freyja didn't even lift her head to see if the person was a threat, merely tilted her head and rested her temple against her arm.

"Want some company?" Uhtred's fingers dove in deep through the twigs of hay that made the roof and his head peered over the ledge with a soft look of concern buried within his stare.

He didn't wait for her to answer, although he caught her subtle shrug. He pulled himself up onto the roof, his heavy steps careful as he walked across, hoping to save himself of the embarrassment of falling through.

Uhtred lowered himself beside where she sat, legs dangling over the edge, feet swaying in the air. His hands folded in his lap and his cerulean eyes swept across sodden rooftops.

Neither of them spoke for a long moment, allowing the silence to soak in like the rain did their clothes before Uhtreds voice broke through the rain.

"I remember as child you liked to sit outside whenever it rained." He smiled fondly at the memory, as though experiencing it himself, but unlike her, Uhtred didn't share the same comfort for the cold, wet weather. "Mother would panic, fearing you'd gotten lost until she eventually figured out you liked the rain and let you be."

Freyja weakly smiled, her eyes falling shut against wet cheeks, making her lashes clump together. She listened to her brother's voice, smooth against a whisper.

"But young Ragnar never stopped." Uhtred laughed only slightly, his hand curling open to upright his palms, allowing for the rain to kiss his skin. "He'd spend hours looking for you, thinking one of the men had done something to hurt you but then he found you, hidden in a tree."

Freyja let a chuckle slip, unable to stop herself from burying the noise, and Uhtred smiled softly at the sound.

Lifting her head, emerald eyes taking in the sight of rain as it cascaded across the village, descending from the clouded sky above, she spoke. "I threw a seed at his head."

"I know." Uhtred turned his head towards her, eyes soft, smile weak — a drop of rain rolled down his cheek, catching on his jaw before falling to the roof. "Ragnar still talks about it to this day."

There was a pause as the rain slowly began to ease, the pelts growing lighter against their skin.

"He should be here." Freyja's expression fell along with her eyes, her gaze settling on the ground below where merely coloured puddles formed within the ground. "He should be here with us."

"I know." Uhtred nodded absentmindedly. "But he is not here. He is in Ireland."

Freyja slightly shifted, well aware of the roof creaking beneath her weight. She dropped her legs, dangling one over the edge while the other folded up underneath her. "Brida is right, Uhtred. We should go get him."

Hearing the words from her lips, he seemed to not argue. "I know. But without a boat, there is no way of getting to him, Freyja." He reached out, clasping his hand over hers, fingers gently squeezing the limb. "It is just us now."

The words hurt more than they should have and Freyja felt the pain of a knives slicing through her heart. She almost doubled over, but her hand squeezing Uhtreds tightly seemed to be the only thing keeping her upright.

A deep frown tugged at her lips and her eyes gazed a path through the rain that suddenly felt too heavy on her skin, the warm embrace that hugged her body giving way to the cold air.

She shivered and a blanket of silence rolled across them.

"Thank you." Uhtred whispered after a moment, as if he'd been so buried deep in his own mind he forgot to speak.

Freyja looked up, confused by his words, brows pinched together. "For what?"

Uhtred thought for a moment, racking his mind on how to properly string the words together. He breathed in, teeth sensitive to the cold, nose stinging against the breeze. "You only had one knife. You could have used it to free yourself from Guthrum but you didn't — you stopped that Dane from capturing me."

Freyja couldn't even bring herself to smile at his acknowledgement. She didn't want to be reminded, to even think of what she'd done. She'd killed a man, a Dane — someone who was supposed to be one of her own. But she wasn't a Dane anymore, at least not in their eyes.

She felt lost, confused, hurt.

Freyja gave a half shrug, trying to brush it off as if it didn't affect her as much as it did. "You sound surprised."

"I am." Uhtred nodded once, his eyes finding the side of her face. He squeezed her hand. "If it were Ragnar I wouldn't be as such — you and him were always closer." He paused for a shortly lived moment and a teasing smile slipped over his lips. "I always believed you didn't like me."

Freyja gave him a side-eyed look, shocked by his words but the feeling only displayed in a show of confusion. "You are my brother, Uhtred. I have to like you."

Uhtred laughed. "You don't. But still I thank you."

This time it was Freyja who squeezed his hand, almost scared he'd vanished into flames if she let go. As if he'd disappear like the rest of them. "It's just you and I now, brother, and I swear to stick by your side until my last breath."

And as time passed and what little was left of daylight slipped away, Uhtred disappeared from her side just as she had feared and she was left alone in the soaking rain, listening to the laughter pool from Brida and Uhtred's lips.

—— • ° ☽ ★ ☾ ° • ——

THE FIRST TIME
Freyja ever experienced rain she thought it was a dream, even now she still questions if the memory was real or if it were just something her mind had conjured up with her imagination.

It was so long ago that normally it would have eased from her mind, but somehow it lingered, trapped within a spiral of memories, buried deep into the core where only the most memorable remained.

Everything was hazy, every noise a distant echo. She stood by the open fire in the centre of the homestead, emerald eyes reflecting the dance of flames, the colour orange burning bright, flickering back and forth across the logs.

She stared so deeply into the fire, believing that the flames would open up and whisper her future. That everything that she would eventually come to know was written between the flames and burning coals.

In a way her future was written in the fire.

A butterfly, only just bigger than the palm of her tiny hand had flown through the open doors, fluttery wings as orange as the fire that warmed her skin, landing inches from where she stood.

Large eyes with a glint of an easily amused child settled on the insect, completely and utterly enamoured by it.

Young Ragnar who had been laying opposite of the fire, sprawled across furs and blankets, lifted his head from the ground, surprised to see the young child interested in something other than the flames.

She watched it in silence, curiosity gleaming in her three year old eyes and she reached out, small fingers wiggling eagerly through the air - and just like any insect that was approached by a human, it picked up off the ground with a flap of its wings, feeling as quickly as it could.

A cry of frustration left her lips and she wobbled after it, determination fueling her bones assl she stumbled for the doors.

Ragnar, who often spent most of his time just watching the little child, laughed and lifted himself from the ground, her name gently calling from his lips as he moved after her.

Her bare feet touched the dirt and no care was given as she followed her eyes with the creature.

She walked faster than she ever had before, trailing further and further into the village with Ragnar close on her heels.

Freyja had yet to properly speak so no words escaped into the open air as she chased the insect, arms above her head, a wide toothless grin curled at her lips.

Ragnar watched her in awe.

When the butterfly stopped suddenly in its path and hovered over the earth, Freyja pushed herself up on her toes to reach for it. She tried and tried, arms swinging, legs bouncing for even just a whisper of its wings.

Then the rain began all to suddenly, descending from the sky so heavily she instantly became soaked. Her attention was brought to the feeling of water as it rolled down her face, seeping into her pores and soaking deep into the blood beneath.

Silver streaked the air behind traveling clouds, Thor's hammer beating down on the anvil, the earth shaking from the echo.

Freyja giggled and arms scooped her from the ground and buried her into the warmth of arms, fingers tickling over her sides as she was carried back into the home.

She pulled away as fingers reached for her hair, eager to wrap through soaked strands. Her chin lifted along with her gaze that immediately settled on Brida's face — something unreadable flickering over her expression.

With a cloth in one hand and the other empty, hovering in the air inches from her hair, Brida frowned in confusion. "Your hair is wet."

A few moments ago she'd walked outside to find Freyja still up on the roof, the same place she was the day before — she felt guilty in thinking her and Uhtred were the reason why she didn't come down.

Wordlessly, Freyja reached out and took the cloth from Brida's hand, feeling the course fabric through her fingers before patting it against her hair.

Carefully, Brida lowered herself to the mattress, into the empty space beside Freyja, feeling the bed sink beneath her weight. She watched the woman in silence, listened to the water as it ran quickly to the floor as it was squeezed from the darkened strands.

"You used to always let me touch your hair." Brida had always been jealous of the long lightened locks that always was pulled back and braided and left to trail endlessly down Freyja back. She'd sit for however long it took, watching as Sigrid ran her fingers through the strands, braiding each little lock until her fingers ached.

Freyja didn't reply, Brida almost positive that the woman hadn't even heard her speak. But she knew, she knew that Freyja just didn't want to answer.

With a heavy sigh and an even heavier heart, Brida lifted from the mattress, leaving the woman to her silence as she walked across the room

The curtains to enter the room were pulled back and Uhtred stepped inside from the cold air, his face frantic. "Brida, Freyja, we should leave. There are men looking for us."

Instantly, Freyja was on her feet, cloth falling from her hand to the floor, her hair still partially wet. Her feet shuffled across the floor as she walked towards the single bed tucked into the corner, sheets still neatly made from haven't been slept in.

"From Ubba?" Brida turned towards her lover, fear flickering behind her stare.

"I don't know." The palm of his hand brushed along the post of the bed and Uhtred urgently approached the side table where he frantically stuffed his things into a bag. "Saxon and Danes are looking for us we seem to be collecting enemies as we go."

"I wonder why." Freyja sarcastically muttered to herself, looking back with a teasing grin as she felt her brother's glare. Her hands clasped the bow laid on the mattress alongside the quiver of arrows.

Shrugging the items over her shoulders, her hands moved down her clothes, counting each of her knives attached to her body — one dagger on each hip, two smaller knives on either side of her thighs, the one stuffed down her boot and finally, the blade hidden against her lower back.

Plucking the bag at foot of the bed, Freyja tossed it over her shoulder and turned to find her brother and Brida already approached the door.

For a moment, her eyes locked with Uhtreds, silent words passing through the passageway of their gaze before he gave a subtle tilt of his chin and they began moving.

Giving one last wandering glance of the room, Freyja followed the pair outside. She kept her head low to avoid anyone seeing her face, only stealing glances from the corner of her eyes, searching her surroundings for approaching danger.

She stopped when Uhtred's hand shot out, splaying around Brida's elbow. All three of them turned heads towards a path between two buildings. Two men stopped and looked at them and immediately, Uhtred's eyes grew in size and settled on Brida and Freyja.

"Get to the horses. Go, go. Go." He ushered them away with a wave of his hand, forcing them to go.

Reaching out, Freyja's fingers whispered across Brida's back, forcing her to run ahead. "Go, Brida." She forced the woman along, dropping her bag to the ground in the process allowing for her to move more quickly.

They fled through an alleyway between two buildings, briefing covering themselves within the shadows.

They came out on the other side where they were met with another street, buildings surrounding either side like an endless maze.

People cramped close together, practically walking on eachothers heels, stuffed into the path like herding sheep.

"Which way?" Brida panicked, her eyes drifting back and forth, searching, hoping, praying for an escape.

Two heads appeared over the crowd, eyes immediately settling on the two of them. One wore a helmet, the steel shining beneath the clouded sky, blinding those who looked upon it.

Freyja narrowed her eyes into a glare and quickly, her hand met Brida's back. "The roof. Go." She gave her a nudge, pushing her along.

They ran, pushing and shoving their way through the herd, stumbling and crashing shoulders with others. They reached the ladder on the other side and immediately, Brida began to climb.

Freyja turned in search for the men closing in on them, surrounding all exits except up.

The moment the pushed passed the ground and reached the small pasture of grass, Freyja snatched the bow from her back.

She could hear her name on Brida's lips, urgent in calling her name, but the moment the string of her bow pulled back, all noise fell deathly silent, like it had been washed away by one large wave that crashed and fell flat against the storms.

The racing of her heart was silenced by the steadiness of her breath and time dragged along, slow as her emerald eyes caught the approaching man.

Days before today, she had never killed a man. She knew that the day would come when another's blood stained her hands crimson. It was her destiny, to kill, to claim, it was her destiny as a Dane.

A sharp whistle ricocheted through the air and the arrow penetrated the man's shoulder.

His howl of pain brought Freyja to the surface of reality, the cry that ripped through the sky and startled those near. But he didn't die, she didn't kill him, merely injured his shoulder long enough to give them time to escape.

The other man was closing in, quick strides leaving marks in the ground he walked.

A tap landed on her shoulder, fingers whispering over her arm and forcing her attention on the task of escaping.

Lowering the bow, Freyja slung it back over her shoulders and turned to face the ladder. She grasped it tight, her knuckles wavering in colour as she climbed.

When she was close enough she took Brida's awaiting hand, allowing the woman to assist her up onto the roof.

Strings of twine and hay crunched beneath her boots, but she didn't stop to think of it potentially caving in beneath her as she knelt and grasped the ladder.

Freyja lifted it from the ground with the help of Brida, cutting off the access to them and set the ladder long ways across the roof.

Her eyes locked with the man who'd stop upon noticing he couldn't reach them and a smirk graced her lips, satisfied in his lack of capturing them.

With a subtle wink she was uncertain he'd seen, her and Brida began moving across the roof.

She hoped to catch a glimpse of Uhtred through the streets below as they made their escape, her eyes darting back and forth, searching every face, praying that her brother was still alive.

They were foolish to believe they'd be taken down so easily.

Reaching the edge of the roof, Brida was the first to jump down to the ground below. Freyja was close behind her, knees bending to break her fall, her boots hitting the earth with a thud.

Freyja rounded the corner and stopped as her eyes settled on Uhtred.

There were men on either side of him, eyes determined viciously, sick smiles twisted onto their lips thinking they had managed to capture him.

All that ran through their minds was the weight in silver they'd get for their troubles.

Within a blink, Brida had raised her arm and whirled her axe with the strength of a giant, the blade of the weapon burying deep into one's back.

He fell, painfully hard and paralyzed as the axe penetrated his spine and blood immediately rose to the surface.

Freyja's eyes locked with cerulean blue but it was only for a moment, a short span in time before fingers curled tightly around her wrist and she was tugged back.

Uhtred will find his own escape.

They ran without sense of where they were going, ran with the paranoia of someone following close in their steps, as aimless as an adventure with no sense of time.

They came to a stop and pressed their backs against a cold, hard wall. Freyja looked behind her, following the invisible trail of the path they'd come through and her eyes locked with a beady pair, aged and wrinkled at the corners.

Brida took off through a herd of sheep and goats, stumbling to get away as their startled cries voiced in shock.

Freyja pushed off the wall, watching him closely.

This is it — today is the day she took another life.

Stripping the bow from her back, she tossed it somewhere on the ground, the quiver of arrows following in its general direction. The daylight caught sight of her dagger as it was unsheathed from her belt, silver scintillating across parts of her face like water that captured the sun.

As if she could feel the changes in her body, her eyes dulled in colour and her expression seeped into the void, a place where nothing, not even her eyes held the very thoughts that crossed her mind.

He stopped feet in front of her, his eyes darting back and forth between her face and the dagger. He was unsure which was sharper.

He was about to find out.

Her accent, thick as smoke and smooth as a river floated through the air, a whisper of words on her lips that penetrated the man with a sense of reality. "You would have stood a better chance at night."

Perhaps one day her enemies would be smart enough to do so, but even during the midnight hours where the sun was hidden away and the sky was painted in shadows, she'd be ready.

Lips curled back to reveal baring teeth, an animal-like growl rumbling from his lips. A battle cry ripped from his chest and he barrelled towards her her, ducking low to avoid the swing of her knife.

It was unfair fight, dagger against fists, but Freyja couldn't bring herself to care as a shoulder slammed into her stomach and arms vines around her torso.

She crashed into the ground, winded, out of breath from the surprising pressure of hitting the earth. She groaned, gasping for the air that had escaped her, taken easily by the man who quickly made a move to straddle her body.

Freyja became pinned and all she could do was watch as he drew back his arm and landed a hard punch into her jaw.

The taste of copper filled her mouth, her tooth having cut into flesh from the pressure of the hit.

Freyja refused to back down, not without a fight, so with a taunting smile and bloodied teeth, she grinned up at the man through glaring eyes. "You punch like a little boy, yet you have the face of an old man."

He was angered by her words, face reddened like the blood she tasted on her tongue. He raised his arm again, fingers curled tight against his palm, knuckles fading to white.

But in the end, the gods had picked him to lose.

With quick, subtle movement, Freyja brought her arm between them and stabbed the blade the his stomach. At first, she wasn't sure she'd actually done it with the adrenaline rushing through her bloodstream, but his gasp for air echoed and his eyes faltered before settling between them.

Her hands became warm, sticky as something dripped down her skin, but she didn't look away from his eyes that faded, his very soul ripped from blood and bone, shredded from his skin.

Freyja didn't feel a thing.

When she ripped the knife out, the blood gushed, like she was hit with a crashing wave that washed over her like a tsunami, drowning her in it's embracing warmth.

And that was all she could focus on.

How warm it felt as he fell lifeless by her side, how hot the blood burned.

And then it all came crashing down.

Freyja gasped as the air was stolen from her lungs, long, invisible claws wrapping around her neck, constricting her ability to breathe.

She rolled across the ground, palms planting flat into the dirt, sticking to her skin with the blood. She stumbled, limbs trembling as she pulled herself to her feet.

Her gaze was wide as she found him, laying where he fell, eyes open, no sense of anything flickering within them. She had just killed a man — for the second time — and she didn't know what shocked her more — the blood physically on her hands, or the fact she didn't feel a thing.

Everything was so paralyzingly numb.

Freyja's back slammed against the wall, knees threatening to buckle beneath her. She just killed a man. Her hands lifted, palms open. Her eyes remained glued to the crimson that stained her skin.

Her mind raced, images glitching across her eyes. She had killed two men. Two lives she had stolen. She knew that it was in her destiny, she knew that this was what the gods had wanted her to do — but that didn't stop the guilt she felt.

And it was guilt, so deeply buried in her chest it hurt to breathe, it hurt to think. The reality had finally set in — her family was gone, her home had perished in the flames, everything she had known stolen within the blink of an eye.

As Kjartan crept into her mind, her heavy breath eased into a steady rhythm and her eyes trailed away aimlessly.

She felt the heat in her belly, flames roaring high against scorching coals, dwindling fire taking the shape of an angry god.

Her pain was replaced with anger and in that moment, she promised to get her revenge.

—— • ° ☽ ★ ☾ ° • ——

THE ADRENALINE HAD
left her racking in silence as she gripped the reins tightly between stained fingers, the cold air against her skin the only thing keeping her mind on the surface of reality.

The events played through her mind like something broken and left to repeat over and over as it stumbled across the crack.

Freyja glanced behind her, half expecting to see an army of thundering men storming towards - it sure felt as if the ground was shaking as though there was.

But the land was empty, nothing but open land and herded tree's between then and now, enough distance for their pace to slow.

"Whoever it was that sent them, Ubba or your uncle, they won't rest — there'll be others." Brida panted, breath heavy from the escape, heart racing much like the adrenaline that coursed through bloodstream.

She pulled her midnight black horse to a stop and slid down from its back, her legs shaking as she reached the earth, lifeless leaves crunching beneath her boots.

Much like Freyja, Uhtred too had fallen silent, unable to properly settle his mind long enough to string together words that made sense. His eyes, deep in colour, swept across the sleeping forest, trees naked as the leaves had fallen and blanketed the earth.

The sun was a hazy glare in the distance, painting the sky a deep orange as it slowly set into the horizon.

"I can't go home without help." His eyes rolled in annoyance, not so much with a beautiful woman opposite him, but more so in himself. He was annoyed at himself, for his uncle, for not being able to convince Ubba, for having no place for his sister to return to.

He blamed himself just as much as Freyja blamed herself, and perhaps that was the only thing they had in common — the ability to blame themselves when they felt utterly and eternally useless.

Freyja was still yet to speak as her eyes followed Uhtred down his horse and soon, her own feet were burying within the ground.

"Uhtred," Brida whispered his name, her voice gentle, eyes so soft Freyja felt as if she were imposing. "You should forget Bebbanburg."

Uhtred argued. "No. No, I won't vanish. Nothing changes." In that moment, his eyes wandered away from Brida, settling on his sister to find her already looking back.

There was a sense of understanding between them, something that Brida didn't have despite losing the same family. They were closer to Ragnar, more so than Brida as much as it hurt to say.

They needed this, they needed revenge, to put an ease to their pain and finally let the memory of their family move on.

Freyja was right — the gods kept them alive so that they could get justice for everything Kjartan had taken.

"Kjartan and my uncle will pay for Ragnar's death, and I will have those lands."

As she tied the ropes to a tree to keep her horse from wandering off, Freyja turned and rested her head against the creatures grey fur. Her eyes fell shut as she listened to her brother and Brida speak, sinking into the feeling of her fingers brushing through whispy midnight locks.

"How? With who's help? You said yourself, we only have Ubba."

Freyja lifted her head with open eyes, finally breaking through the bubble of silence. "Which is why I believe we should find Ragnar." Her eyes pleaded as she looked to her brother in desperation, knowing that at the end of the day, the decision was his to make. "With Ragnar, we will have an army to take on Kjartan, to defeat your uncle." She gestured with a broad wave of her hand.

"Freyja." When her name whispered from his lips, she knew that her brother was only going to let her down, but she was determined to fight and strode towards him in large steps.

"Uhtred, please." She took his hands into her and she watched as his eyes immediately fell to the crimson skin. He didn't dare ask what had happened to her back there, but he knew, he could see it in her eyes, the same look she shared on that roof.

His sister was slowly breaking with each life she took.

A look like never before crossed her expression, something softer, something a little more sadder. It made him flinch. "We need our brother. He needs to know the truth."

His hands cupped over hers, fingers gently rubbing the bloodied flesh. His eyes rose to her face, a frown deeply set into his lips until suddenly his expression lit up like a blazing fire, and Freyja almost believed he was going to agree with her.

"The english." And as if his touch had suddenly burnt, Freyja ripped herself back, fingers scorching beneath his touch. "If we're dead to the Dane's, we have no choice."

Brida laughed in disbelief. "There is no England. The Dane's have England."

Uhtred shook his head. "No, there is one place, south of here — it's Wessex."

Freyja scoffed, eyes hardening as she looked at her brother, fully convinced he had knocked his head. "So you plan to go to Saxons for help? The ones who quite literally abandoned you as a child?"

Uhtred attempted to speak, his gaze wavering on the edge of stern and sorrow. "You know that's not what happened —"

"They believe in one god, Uhtred." Her lips peeled back, expressing her clear distaste. She trusted the Saxons as far as she could throw them. "They'd take one look at you and I and kill us Dane's."

"Whereas Ubba will kill me as an Englishman and you a traitor." The words hurt, far more than they should have but it was the truth. The Dane's viewed her as a traitor. "With king Aethelred we have a chance of everything."

Freyja shook her head as something anguish soured her expression. Her hands, dried with blood and stained crimson, reached up and wove through the strands of her hair. She tugged and pulled, near ripping the hairs from her skalp in hopes of ease the building tension there.

She took a step back as the embers ignited flames in her stomach and her expression became hard — Uhtred was almost positive he could see the flames lapping at whatever remained of his sisters soul.

"I don't want everything." Freyja snapped and released her hair, hands slapping on the sides of her thighs. Uhtred was shocked and couldn't help but flinch at her sharp tone — Freyja was always so calm and collected about everything and in order for her to be anger, she needs to be deeply hurt. "Blood must have blood. I want to kill the man who murdered our family and stole everything from us. I want to kill Kjartan."

There was a pause as her tone grew softer, lower compared to the echo of her anger but still twice as sharp. "And the only way to do that is to find Ragnar."

But in the end, she had made her promise, she had sworn to stick by her brother's side, and in the end, Uhtred came out on top.

—— • ° ☽ ★ ☾ ° • ——

THEIR EYES ALMOST
felt like a thousand of poison arrows raining down over her skin, blistering the flesh red raw beneath their heavy stares, penetrating deep into the depths of her soul — or what little remained amongst the shattered pieces.

So many emotions and thoughts passed over their eyes it was like reading an open book - if Freyja knew how to read. She could see it all, tracing a line between uncertainty and curiosity, their mistrust taking on the image of fear.

And that was all she could think about, the fear in their eyes as she rode through the dirty, crowded streets.

"Why do they stare?" Uhtred was curious by the fear in their eyes — he didn't seem to understand that it was him they feared. He looked every bit of a Dane, furs bulked over broad shoulders, long, raven hair trailing down his back — the scars etched into his skin.

The people of Wessex parted like an ocean, swarming to either side to clear a path. Children clung to the skirts of their mothers, tiny hands curled into fists around the old fabric. Incoherent whispers murmured past lips.

No, there was no mistaking their fear.

Brida sniffled with a laugh, the noise indefinitely forced. "They think you're pretty — or they've never seen a Dane so close." Her eyes swept across the gathering of English villagers, herding into the corners like frightened sheep, staring at them as if they were the big bad wolves. For a brief moment, her eyes looked with those of a woman, her face aged quite beautifully despite the wrinkles tugging at her skin. "But they will."

"Jeg tror, de frygter os." Freyja muttered a whisper of her native tongue, eyes carefully observing each and every single face within the English sea.

"så de burde." Brida answered back, the woman shifting on the horses back to steal a glimpse of the woman trailing behind her.

Freyja didn't look at her, instead her eyes locked with a pair of deep brown, so dark the irises were nearly swallowed whole — it was hard to tell where blackness ended and colour began. She couldn't be any older than ten years of age, with raven strands of hair pulled back in a crown of braids similar to her own.

She held no ounce of fear on her face as she stared up at Freyja, no tremble in her hands, no mother to hide behind — all she did was stare, with a look that Freyja couldn't quite decipher.

She looked so familiar yet the little girl held no recognition to Freyja's mind.

Slowly, as if the mere sight of her bravery had only just managed to dull the anger and pain coursing through Freyja's blood, a small, subtle smile weighedthe corner of the Dane's lips.

But just as quickly as it came, it vanished and her eyes settled ahead of her.

The wave of people crashed behind them, following in their trail. The whispers turned into loud shouts of discouragement, echoing through the streets.

They were pushed towards a clearing in front of a large structure with a flight of stairs where many men blocked their path, armoured in chainmail and steel from head to toe.

They were surrounded.

The horse let out a panicked snort, ears flattening against its head. Freyja's hand gently eased across its neck, calming it's spooked nerves.

"Easy, pige." She cooed above a whisper, leaning her stomach and chest against the horses neck. It's ear flickered back and forth, searching through the noise for the sound of her calming voice.

Slowly, Freyja began to look up and lift herself into an upright position on the horses back, as she did so, her gaze was captured with another.

Surrounded by scars they were cold as they stared down at her from the steps, laced with distrust and hatred — hatred for her kind.

Freyja glared back twice as sharp.

Uhtred too had spotted the man, his glare not as prominent as the one that rested on Freyja face and merely disregarded him as if he were shit on his boot. "We have business with the king Aethelred."

His words weren't acknowledged — Uhtred being answered with silence. "I say we have business with the king. Do you not understand English?"

The man frowned his lips into a sneer, food flying from his mouth as he spoke. "Is that what you're speaking, arseling? You sound like a Dane."

Freyja mirrored his expression of uncertainty and mistrust. "I will say it again but with less kindness. Go get your king." Her brows rose as if daring the man to disobey her, a silent warning within her glaring eyes.

He met her gaze equally as sharp, almost nonchalant in the way he stood on the top step, looking down at her as if she were nothing in a bottomless pit, the lowest of the food chain.

"I don't take orders from you, girl." He sneered, looking at her as if her mere existence was a bother to the entire human race — a pest no one seemed to be able to rid of.

Freyja laughed, short and cold sounding as she swept her gaze around her. They all stood watching, waiting in anticipation as to what would happen next. She slid down from her horse, ignoring Brida's call for her name and simply moved passed towards the stairs.

The man was watching her closely, seemingly not threatened by her approach.

Freyja stopped on the fourth step below him, forcing herself to look up into his gaze. Her smile turned sharp. "Then find me someone who will." Perhaps it were anyone else they would have listened, caving into her order by the sheer amount of fear her voice had the power of bringing, but this man, stood tall before her now, didn't seemed frightened.

That only made her more determined.

"As I said," he paused, taking a bite of his apple. The crunch echoed and his eyes looked her up and down, once, then twice before finally settling on her emerald stare. "I don't take orders from you."

Another sharp chuckle whispered from her lips, sending chills down the spines of those who lingered near, feeling threatened by the sheer amount of force behind her amusement.

Dragging her tongue across her bottom lip then along her top row of teeth in thought, she watched the ground where she stepped and moved closer. She was now on the stair below him, looking up with a smirk and fire gleaming within her eyes.

"Tell me," she looked him up and down between what little distance seperated them, much like he had done her but instead, she only looked once before staring up into his eyes. "Do you wipe your king's ass after he shits too?"

Noises of shock slipped from the lips of those nearby but neither her or the man paid them mind as they continued their stare off, almost daring the other to look away first.

"That depends." He cleared his throat, spittle and juice dribbling from his mouth as he chewed loudly on the green fruit. Without looking away, he gestured his head towards Uhtred. "Do you wipe his ass when he commands?"

Freyja smirked, deciding that nothing in the world was going to make her like this man.

Uhtred, not agreeing in the way the man eyed his sister closely with so much hatred within his stare, cleared his throat. "Why do you dress as a warrior when you're clearly a farmer?"

He was the first to look away from Freyja, though that didn't mean he wasn't watching her closely as she backed away, her feet crossing over from the stairs to the path.

He scoffed a laugh, amused by the Dane's words. "Farmer, am I?" Letting his chin fall to his chest, he eyed himself up. "I'd wager this farmer against you at any time."

Freyja stopped in the small clearing between the horses and the stairs and turned to mirror the man's stance. Planting her feet firmly to the ground, she folded her arms behind her back, making the daggers on her hips more noticeable to the wandering eyes.

Brida looked between her lover and the man, eyes narrowed in warning as she glanced over the former. "We are here to see the king, peaceably."

Uhtred tugged on the reins, forcing his horse to stop it's stuttering movement.

Brida's eyes widened only slightly, as if reading his mind. "Uhtred, what are you doing?"

But her words were pointless as the challenge had already been set. Determined to not back down from the man's taunts, Uhtred released the reins quickly and slid himself down from the four-legged creatures back, his boots planting firmly on the ground. "What is it, farmer, first blood or to the death?"

He tossed his food to the side, moving down the steps. "I'll be splitting your skull, boy, so one follows the other." His hand reached for the sword on his hip.

Unlike Brida who's eyes stared on in worry, Freyja merely watched in amusement. She held no uncertainty that her brother would win - she'd seen him fight over and over — but she couldn't deny the way the tall man held himself - he clearly was not a farmer which confirmed her suspicions.

He was the king's sworn soldier.

A low, subtle smirk curled at the very corner of her lips but her eyes stared right through the man, staring deep into the place where his soul resided. "Then you'll have to face me."

"And I'll enjoy every second of it." The man smoothly taunted, sneering in annoyance as he glanced to his right where she stood patiently.

Brida got down from her horse and stood beside Freyja — the only place safe enough to not be harmed by either of the two men. She knew that once Uhtred set his mind on something, there was no changing it.

"Uhtred." At the sound of the familiar voice, Uhtred lifted his head with uncertainty, his eyes settling on the priest at the top of the stairs.

"Father Beocca." He lowered his hand in shock, eyes growing wide in size. Disbelief wavered over his expression, unsure if the man he once knew, the man who practically raised him as a child and protected him from his uncle's intentions — was really here.

His face then gleamed after a moment, lighting up like a sun within the sky, shining across dew soaked grass and blooming fields of wildflowers and he barrelled up the stairs, laughing in surprise.

Freyja watched the two carefully, her eyes narrowed, her head tilting with curiosity. It was weird to see her brother so happy at the sight of someone she didn't recognise — a Saxon no less.

"Oh my goodness." Whispered the priest, eyes filled with uncertainty and awe as he placed his palms on either side of Uhtred's cheeks, unsure if he was reaching out towards a dream or if he was really here before him.

The tall soldier stepped towards them, hands no longer on his sword but clasped behind his back. The way he stood reminded Freyja of a bear, shoulders broad, stance the length of a bear on his two hind feet. The scars etched into his skin screamed of untold stories.

Freyja watched him for a moment out of pure, utter curiosity. It seemed almost easy for him, to take on the position of a soldier, as if it were oxygen he needed to breath. She watched as his jaw clenched and his eyes turned hard.

"You know this arseling, father?" There it was again, that word. It was so clearly an insult directed at her brother, one Freyja couldn't stopped herself from feeling amused by. It sounded funny against her ears.

Beocca could barely look away, his eyes batting towards the man before just as quickly focusing on Uhtred. He gave a stuttering nod. "I do. Yes, I do." He dropped his hands and looked Uhtred up and down, no longer seeing a little boy but a full grown man that took place. "Uhtred, you're — you're fully grown."

Uhtred searched for words. "And you're old."

Beocca couldn't disagree. Over the years since he'd last seen Uhtred, he'd grown older, wiser. His hair more grey than ever. He knew a lot more now than he did back then, and his knowledge was written in the wrinkles on his face.

He laughed quietly between them and looked over the man once more, unable to tear his eyes away before he eagerly pulled Uhtred into his arms, greedy hands gripping the back of his shirt.

"Oh, you're a man." He spoke in awe, squeezing Uhtred tight, laughing as he was lifted off of the ground.

The soldier was still uncertain, unsure whether or not to trust the three Danes despite Beocca's knowledge of Uhtred. "He claims business with the king."

Beocca pulled away from the embrace, reluctant to release his touch in case Uhtred would vanish. He placed his hands on Uhtreds shoulder, feeling the build up of muscle and strength from his years as a Dane. "Yes. Yes, that's true. But not with the king, it must be with Alfred."

"You vouch for him?"

Beocca gave a distracted nod. "I vouch for him. Yes, I will vouch for him." His eyes didn't stray far from Uhtred's face. "God has sent, surely. You're a man."

Freyja rolled her eyes, muttering amongst her and Brida. "It certainly wasn't god who sent us."

Brida masked her amusement with a soft smile and walked up the steps towards Uhtred's gesturing hand.

Bergrugingly, Freyja followed in her wake, her steps a little slower, each foot hitting the ground a little more meaningful. She was taunting the soldier, having spotted his glare aimed at Brida as she approached.

She stopped in front of him, reaching around to clasp her wrist behind her as she felt his glare on her back, darting up and down between her skull and the knife tucked against her spine.

"Father." Uhtred stepped away from the priest and took Brida's hand to assist her up the stairs. "This is Brida. My greatest friend."

Beocca cast her a surprised look, his gaze fleeting as he looked between her and Uhtred. "A woman?"

Brida's expression pinched.

"Yes." Uhtred grinned, not understanding the faltering of Beocca's expression as his eyes looked to his lover in blissful awe.

Brida's eyes locked with Beocca's once more. "I am." She spoke firmly with a frown, brows pulled together, confused — offended. When all she earned was silence, she further argued her point. "I have tits."

Beocca's eyes descended down to her chest, as if surprised by the fact she actually had breasts, or that she was a woman in the company of Uhtred. "I see." He stammered out, trying not to choke on his nervous words before he looked back up with a forced smile that looked more grim.

His eyes then strayed, drifting slowly between the space of Brida and Uhtred towards the silent woman three feet behind them. "And who is this, Uhtred, another woman?"

She was tall, at least compared to him she was, with porcelain skin and a slim build. His gaze danced over the braids he could see beginning from her hairline, pulled back and disappearing behind her head.

But her eyes were what captured him the most and he was startled by her Dane-like appearance that he silently muttered a prayer within his mind, hoping that God's will was strong enough to grant him some form of protection.

Uhtreds soft look of awe turned into a grin and he shifted his weight to create further space between him and Brida. Extending a hand, he waited for Freyja to approach, and rested his palm against her shoulder. "This is my sister, Freyja."

"Sister?" Beocca tested the word, shock evident on his face.

"Yes." Uhtred laughed with a firm nod and settled his attention on Freyja. "Freyja, this is the man I told you about, father Beocca."

Freyja looked him up and down, closely observing him from head to toe. She pressed her lips together with an absent-minded nod. "The man who almost drowned you during the washing?"

Beocca's confused expression nearly made Uhtred burst from amusement. The Dane nodded, unable to fight the smile from his lips. "The baptism? Yes." He laughed again, but Beocca didn't seem to find any amusement in his words.

Beocca forced himself to smile, nodding along without so much a noise slipping from his lips. His gaze wandered aimlessly towards his right. "Have their horses fed and watered." His eyes locked with Uhtreds. "And I will inform Alfred that you're here with me, both."

"We need their weapons, father." The soldier peered around Freyja to lock eyes with the priest, his words lingering as he shot a warning stare to the Dane woman who seemed to get on his nerves the most.

Freyja scoffed. "If you think you're getting a single one of my weapons, then you are more dull-minded then you look, ass wiper."

He almost smiled - almost. Nothing but a subtle twitch of his lips as his arms folded in front of him. "Fine by me, Dane. But as long as you have your weapons, you don't step foot inside those walls."

"Freyja." Uhtred cooed her name in warning, his words merely met with a stern glare of her eyes. Leaving no room for her to argue, Uhtred arched a brow in Beocca's direction. "Why not inform the king?"

Smiling, the priest leaned closer. "The king is busy. But you will like Alfred, he is an impressive man."

"Too busy sitting on his golden throne to greet his guests?"

"Freyja."

Beocca wasn't afraid to spare her a glare at her prominent display of disrespect but nonetheless, he bit his tongue to keep from snapping, to pray to God for her sanity.

Turning away from her, the priest began walking through the endless sheltered corridor. "Come."

They reached a small courtyard in a matter of seconds, where the roof open up towards the sky, clouded by the threat of approaching rain. Patches of grass laid between the pavement where flowers and bushes grew, stone slab benches creating a sense of peace.

They had only just managed to reach the centre of the courtyard before the soldier and the priest abruptly stopped and turned to them.

Smiling in content, Beocca raised his hand as a sign of peace. "Just wait here and Alfred will come greet you." Just as the words left his lips, he spun back around with the excitement of a child and rushed up a flight of stairs and disappeared into the darkness of another endless corridor.

"Your weapons." The soldier's voice was far less greeting, lack of any warmth or excitement unlike the vanishing priest — if anything, he seemed rather bored by their presence.

With hesitant movement, Uhtred and Brida began to shed the weapons from their body, and even more hesitant as they placed it in the hands of another guard.

Freyja however, didn't move, and when she looked up, she found the soldier's eyes set firmly on her. "What are you waiting for, Dane? Go on, hand 'em over."

She wanted to snap, to argue back, to repeat his own world's back to him and throw them in his face. I don't take orders from you - but she could already feel Uhtreds eyes piercing into her back with warning. She sighed, not wanting to go against her brother.

Wordlessly, she slipped the bow and quiver of arrows from her back, slowly, reluctantly, passing them off to the soldier who was quick to pass them onto another nearby guard.

She then reached for her thighs, making a show of unsheathing each of the four knives - two on either side. They were slightly smaller than the rest of her dagger, making it either to throw and hit it's target from a distance.

When Freyja reached for the two daggers on either side of her hips, she missed the flicker of faltering amusement that flashed through the soldier stare.

He was amused, something he wasn't going to deny as she shed each and every knife from her body — he found it even more so as he caught a glimpse of shock rendering the other guards expression.

Lastly, she reached for the dagger pressing into her back, her hands slowly curling around the hilt. Her skin whispered against engraved steel, feeling the twists and swirls beneath her touch as she pulled it into view.

She hesitated a little longer, her eyes lingering on the knife. Her emerald eyes stared back through her reflection, a mirror image of her features.

The soldier snatched it from her grip, his long fingers feeling along the handle. He hummed as if impressed by the sight of the danger, holding it up in the air, allowing for the light to catch on the blade.

"A fine dagger you got here." He hummed slowly as if to taunt her, brows arching in curiosity as he eyed the knife closely. "Might have to keep it for myself."

Freyja stepped closer, jaw clenched, lips curling back into a sneer. "You do that, you best be prepared for me to kill you with it in your sleep."

The soldier laughed, bitter and loud. "You don't scare me, Dane."

That's your mistake. She thought bitterly, glaring up at him through blazing eyes, emeralds lit with the flames of fire.

With one last parting glare, the soldier turned his back on her and stalked away.

It was silent for a few minutes before Uhtred spoke, his attention settled in Brida. "Do you like it?"

Brida was reluctant to answer, to speak the words she hated herself for thinking, but not even she was able to deny the serene tranquility of the courtyard blanketed in peaceful silence. "I do." She turned to her lover. "It's beautiful. You could rest here, it's so quiet."

"Peaceful." Another voice corrected, adding to the endless, evergreen words that could be used to describe it. Freyja was the first to turn in search for the noise, followed shortly by Uhtred and Brida who approached where she stood in the centre.

A man stood halfway between the courtyard and the walkway, a large gown practically drowning his entire figure. The expression on his face was one Freyja couldn't quite decipher - curiosity, intrigue, awe?

He looked at them as if he was seeing them for the first time, confirming Brida's beliefs that these people hadn't seen a Dane so close.

He continued to speak. "The — the Romans, they built this courtyard for just that purpose, tranquillity."

Realisation dawned on Uhtred. "You're Alfred?"

A small, subtle curve of a grin twitched at the man's lips and a touch of arrogance wavered around him. He was glad that these Dane's had heard of him even if in brief mention. "I am."

He took the moment to observe them as a silence washed across the yard, making the noise of English people seem far louder than it was.

Something in Uhtred's expression pinched before he inclined his body forward. "My lord."

Freyja frowned at his display of greeting, her gaze partially glaring at her brother from the very corner of her eye.

Alfred smiles, pleased. "You are Uhtred." He stated, trailing the Dane from head to toe. "I hear word you are a considerable warrior."

Uhtred chuckled to himself and took a small step towards Alfred. "Not been tested, Lord, not yet, and I've been lucky." He gave a knowing glance behind him to his silent sister, knowing that he wouldn't be alive if it weren't for her - perhaps if he lost her in the fire, he'd drive himself mad from the loneliness he'd be forced to suffer.

Alfred thought for a moment. "Well, luck is good. Or so my warriors say." He gave a slight gesture towards the tall soldier towering at his side. "Now I haven't quite worked out the theology of luck. Can there be luck if god disposes?"

Freyja's eyes swept his face, narrowed with a curious glare as she attempt to pull him apart, to open him up like a book and read the page's laid within. She thought for a moment before speaking, her tone just above a whisper, the curl of her accent seperating her from the rest.

"If your god is with you, you're a lucky man." She spoke the words clearly, staring deep into his slow, dragging him into a bottomless pit where he couldn't look away. "Even fate picks its favourites."

Alfred smiled slowly as her words sunk in deep, burying into his pores and burning beneath the surface of skin and blood where they carved themselves into the ivory cages of his ribs. He looked at her face as if taking in every feature presented to him, afraid to forget the face a mere arms length away.

"I suppose you are right." He blinked, forcing himself to look away from her. Pressing his lips firmly together, he gave a nod as the words continued to repeat through his mind. Even fate picks its favourites. "Simply put but you are right."

He looked at her again, catching a glimpse of the startling shade of green. "What is your name?"

Freyja became hesitant with distrust, her gaze glancing towards her brother who's eyes softened in reassurance. She focused back on the lord and folded her hands behind her, shoulders broad, back straight, chin held high. "My name is Freyja."

"Freyja." He tested the name, a whisper against his tongue that somehow carried through the air. He gave another nod, as if pleased or satisfied and turned with a gesture of his arm. "With me, we shall talk inside, briefly."

He led them through endless corridors and never-ending spirals of hallways. Just when Freyja believed it ended, there was another door leading to more endless, maze-like corridors.

She found herself so easily getting lost, despite mapping out every detail, every number of doors, each window that varied spurts of light into the dark hallway basking in the golden glows of candlelight.

The place was a labrinth — a bottomless pit with no easy escape.

They came to a set of closed doors in what was possible one of the more darker corners of the palace, and Freyja grew weary, hesitant to approach even further.

She wanted to turn back, believing that another long corridor laid behind closed doors, but when they opened to reveal a room, she had no other choice but to continue forward.

She stepped into the room, eyes immediately dragging across the endless shelves overflowing with scrolls of parchment paper.

There was someone else in the room, a lone man hunched over a desk, an inked feather held between fingertips.

Curious, she approached, making a beeline as she cut across the room to the opposite side of the door. She stopped beside him and looked closely over his shoulder — not noticing the way he suddenly tensed as her shadow clouded the sheet of paper.

Her eyes narrowed into a squint as she watched his hand glide across the parchment, ink following the trail of his quil, scribbling out words she didn't have the ability to make sense of.

As the three Danes scattered across the room in search of a fix for their curiosity, Alfred made his way towards a desk in the left corner. "I spend most of my time in here." Leaning over the table, the palms of his hands smoothed out the crinkles in the paper and he tilted his head to rest his eyes upon Uhtred. "Do you read, Uhtred?"

"I was schooled as a child by father Beocca," he took the place his sister once stood once she moved away, peering over his shoulder towards the doors as the aforementioned priest approached the room. "But I was not a good student."

Freyja gave a half smile, absentmindedly trailing the tips of her fingers along shelves, removing the build of dust in her path. "Somethings never change, Uhtred."

Brida, lingering close to the woman, aimlessly walked around the room and turned to glance at the lord from over her shoulder. "There's much to know outside of letters."

"Oh, I am certain there is." Alfred trailed off and stood straight to wring his hands together. "But do not underestimate the power of the written word. When a man does, if nothing is written, he is soon forgotten. For instance, who is remembering Earl Ragnar?"

At the mention of him, a stiffening silence washed over the room and shoulders grew tense. Freyja's hand grew tight and the crumbling of paper was heard before she released the parchment and peered around the shelf.

Her eyes found Alfred and a glare made its way into her stare.

Uhtred gave her a careful look, knowing that since the loss of their parents, she had yet to speak of them, to properly mention their names let alone hear them from another's lips.

Slowly, he looked away from her. "You know of Ragnar?"

"Father Beocca has talked much about you, Uhtred. He believed you a prisoner, a slave to Earl Ragnar." Alfred moved away from the table and met the Dane's halfway. "Is that the case?"

"You mind your tongue." Freyja's lips curled into a sneer and she stepped towards the man.

The moment she moved, the soldier stepped from his guided position by the door and immediately settled in the distance seperating her and Alfred.

"Permission to beat her, lord?" He glared into her eyes with hatred — hatred for her kind, for the words she'd spoken, for her stubbornness.

Alfred raised one hand in the air, his palm open. "That will not be necessary, Leofric. Afterall, her feelings are valid." His eyes remained glued to the woman, the angry fire burning within her stare as her gaze followed Leofric back to his post.

He clicked his tongue and stepped towards her, his attention solely focused on her alone as he disregarded Uhtred to the side. "You said your name was Freyja, correct?" He left her no room to answer. "Which makes you Earl Ragnar's daughter. Then the rumours are false, Uhtred did not kill Ragnar, otherwise you wouldn't be here with him, am I correct?"

Freyja trembled angrily, hands clenching into fists by her side as she spoke through teeth. "You are correct."

"They say you perished in the flames, but yet here you are before me now." Alfred trailed off, brows pinching in thought, but other than the subtle telltale sign, his expression was calm, much like hers save for the anger in her eyes. "Fate does pick it's favourites."

He let the words sink in, seemingly proud of himself for, in a way, using her own words against her. His eyes roamed her face that reflected the image of calm waters within an angry storm.

A droplet of something wet hit the ground, echoing through the silence.

Alfred's eyes fell, settling on her clenched fists - crimson seeped through fingers. Bringing his gaze back to her face, he stared deeply into her eyes. "Leofric." He called for the soldier without looking away.

"Yes, lord?" The tall man stepped forward from his post, arms in front, fingers wrung around his wrist.

"Fetch a cloth for our guest." Leofric was hesitant to obey the order but after a few pondering seconds, he bergrugingly reached into the pocket of his trousers and retrieved the cloth he'd early on used to hold bread.

His heavy boots thumped against the hard ground and once he was within arm's length of the Dane, he held out the old, worn fabric.

Freyja swallowed thick, her pride going along with it and snatched the cloth from his fingers. Turning away from the other, she uncurled her fingers to examine the damage.

The old scars had been healed and ripped open over and over again, a continuous repeat of habit whenever she needed to grab ahold of her emotions, to ground herself to reality and not burst.

Blood spilled out across her palms from the crescent shaped wounds, crimson soaking into the lines of her skin from where her nails pierced the flesh. Raising the cloth, she pressed it into the palm of her right hand, holding the material tight and allowing it to absorb the coppery liquid.

Tearing his eyes away from his sister's back, the concern wavering as his stare hardened on the lord, Uhtred defended the man who raised him. "Ragnar was a father to me. I loved him." He made a move to step forward, but immediately a hand pushed him back and he met with Leofric's stern eyes.

"Yet, in eoferwic, they are saying that you killed him." Alfred trailed off. Particles of dust danced through the air, carried through the golden beams of light and moved around him as he walked back to the desk.

"They lie." Brida argued from the opposite side of the room, still in the midst of satisfying her curiosity.

Alfred leaned over the desk, seemingly reading words from a parchment of paper. "Karjartan." He tested the foreign name, his eyes searching Uhtreds face for confirmation. "Karjartan, is that how you pronounce it?"

Uhtred's grew confused. "Kjartan?"

"Kjartan." Alfred loomed over the paper. "Has benefitted most from Ragnars death, he has taken his place and is Earl Kjartan now. A great Lord with ships."

Freyja gripped the cloth tighter with a hiss and pressed her back against the table. Her eyes squeezed shut at the mention of her family's killer, her words from days ago repeating through her mind.

Blood must have blood. I want to kill the man who murdered our family and stole everything from us. I want to kill Kjartan.

Uhtred tested the waters by stepping closer to steal a glance of the parchment. "That's written down?"

"Whatever I discover about my enemies is written." Alfred trailed off, his eyes searching Uhtreds expression. "It is in Kjartan's interest to kill you, is it not? He would not want Ragnar's son to hear a different tale." His eyes glanced to the side of Uhtred's head, wandering aimlessly towards the silent dane an arms length away from her brother. "He would not want your brother to hear the truth?"

Freyja opened her eyes and lifted her chin, but instead of looking at Alfred, her gaze was set on Uhtred. She stilled stood by her beliefs in searching for Ragnar, and Alfred was only now just proving the words by voicing them.

She thought of her brother, wondered if maybe he was looking for her — it is said that she died along with her family, so perhaps that wasn't the case. Was he close? Did he blame her as much as she blamed herself?

"He would not wish him to hear the truth, no."
Uhtred's expression fell, wavering from the edge of somberness to realisation. He avoided Freyja's pointed eyes at all costs and turned to further venture through the room, his hand raising up to brush along scrolls.

"No." Alfred repeated and shook his head. "And the chieftain Ubba — although, he himself has now travelled north — he has sent men to Mercia asking for your whereabouts, but not your welfare, I surmise?"

Freyja lifted her head, looking away from the blood that had dribbled into the cloth and stared at the lord feet across from her. "How do you come by all of this?"

Alfred gave her a half smile. "I have eyes and ears in each of the kingdoms." Looking away from her, he stalked back over to the desk and settled himself in the chair. "One day, it is my hope that all kingdom's will become one united under one god."

Freyja just looked at him, brows pinched, eyes narrowed as she tried to make out the way he thought. Alfred was a puzzle with a missing piece, a book without words — he was hard to understand. But she couldn't help to admire his sense of determination, the way he hoped for something so impossible.

Uhtred mirrored his sister's expression. "One king?"

"If all men can agree, yes." Alfred's gaze trailed absentmindedly across the floor in trailing thought before he looked up. "All that remains of England, is Wessex. The birth of an England, the idea of a single kingdom — called England has to begin here. There is nowhere else."

Brida hesitantly approached. "But for how long will Wessex remain?"

Alfred let his gaze fall to the edge of the desk. "The fate of Wessex will be determined by Englishmen, all Englishmen. He emphasized the word, giving a pointed stare between each of the Dane's standing within the room. "Only by joining together and saving Wessex can we have England. Only by saving can we have a — a Northumbria, a Bebbanburg."

Loosening her grip on the bloodied cloth, Freyja pressed it into her other hand and lifted her chin. Her eyes swept across the room, from the shelves overflowing with scrolls of parchment, to the doors where Beocca and Leofric stood and finally, her gaze settled on Alfred.

"As much as I admire your goals," she breathed a sigh, hating herself for uttering the words. "What if Wessex cannot be saved, what then?"

Alfred stared at her, eyes piercing into her skin, staring deep into her soul. "Then we are all no more."

There was a pause, a silence that rolled across the room before the echo of ringing bell's ricocheted outside of the walls.

"Prayers." Alfred pushed himself from the chair a little too quickly and doubled over as if in pain, his arm grasping at his mid-section. "And a little discomfort.

He inhaled a sharp breath, swiping the pad of his thumb across his top lips. "I will summarise. The Danes are gathering a great army, they have, in fact gathered an army."

Uhtred stepped closer. "They gather where?"

Alfred searched his face. "They have moved up river from Lundene to Readingum. They are settling as we speak."

Uhtred leaned against the table next to Freyja, shoulders brushing together and his gaze glued to his feet. "But you say Ubba is in the north, so who leads them?"

"The Earl Guthrum leads them." Alfred informed.

Freyja wasn't able to hide her noise of distaste as she shook her head. "We know Guthrum." She scoffed, internally shivering at the ghostly overlay of his touch on her body.

"We will need every advantage and father Beocca considers you, Uhtred of Bebbanburg, to be an advantage, whereas I believe you are here solely to hide, to save yourself." Advancing forward, Alfred stopped inches in front of the siblings, his eyes boring between them. "I look at you both and I see Dane's. I see Uhtred of nowhere, who cares for no one but himself."

There was a pause as he let the words sink before he inhaled a breath of air and spoke. "Now, I must got to prayers. You will join me?"

Uhtred forced a laugh from his lips, gazing across the room. "If my lord will excuse me?"

"All of us." Brida corrected.

"Of course.i expected as much." Alfred gave a trailing nod and settled his gaze on the quiet priest. "Father Beocca."

The aforementioned man straightened his position and allowed for the lord to pass by him. "Lord?"

"Take your guests for refreshments. They may remain in Winchester, but I hold you responsible." His words wavered thin the further he walked into the corridor, nothing but a distant echo as Leofric followed in tow.

"Yes, lord."

—— • ° ☽ ★ ☾ ° • ——

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