—— • ° ☽ ★ ☾ ° • ——

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐅𝐎𝐔𝐑𝐓𝐄𝐄𝐍 –
ʀᴇᴅ ʀɪɢʜᴛ ʜᴀɴᴅ.
ᴀᴄᴛ ᴏɴᴇ – ᴏᴍᴇɴꜱ

—— • ° ☽ ★ ☾ ° • ——

FREYJA WAS AWAKENED
by the whispering of calloused fingertips trailing down the slope of her back. For a short moment, she tensed, her entire body, every muscle and limb tightening until she remembered the events of last night, became familiar with the ache between her thighs - a good kind of ache.

With her eyes still shut, a breath escaped the narrow parting of her lips. She buried her face further into the pillow, her body giving the physical reaction of a shiver as the fingers dipped lower along her spine.

A humourous smile softly traced Leofric's lips as he felt her body shift beside him. He didn't need to look at her face to know she was awake, and perhaps he should have felt guilty for startling her, but he couldn't help himself - he was far too fascinated by the ink markings trailing down the length of her spine.

It looked like runes, words that he could not understand, like a spell of some sorts, connecting in a steady line across her back.

"You mumble in your sleep." He whispered into the silence of dusk, daylight a silver slither across the marshlands. His fingers tiptoed across the skin, his eyes watching the path he created over and over and over like an obsession.

Freyja groaned sleepily, lifting her head inches from the pillow and pressing her cheek against it. She blinked wearily at the warrior, lips subtly twitching in amusement. "Don't lie."

Leofric let out a hearty chuckle, the noise vibrating against his chest and her skin, creating a tingling sensation to spread across her. "I don't lie." Reluctantly, he tore his eyes away from the tattoo and met the shy of her sleepy gaze, half buried into the pillow. "You were saying how much you love me."

Now, she was certain that Leofric was lying.

Rolling her eyes, Freyja rolled partially to her side in order to free her arm from beneath her. "Are you sure I wasn't saying how much I loathe you?" She whacked her hand against his chest, listening to the music of his laughter as he caught her wrist and cradled it within his palm.

"Perhaps." He pressed a kiss to the ridges of her knuckles, his thumb swooping along the topside of her wrist. He watched her for a moment longer as she buried her face back into the pillow and he couldn't help but ponder if this was the longest she had slept.

After last night's events, Freyja had fallen asleep quicker than it took for him to blink. But he didn't mind one bit - he believed she needed at least one good night's rest.

His curiosity didn't linger long as his gaze fell back to the tattoo on her spine. This time, he didn't reach out to touch it despite how desperately he needed to - he didn't want to let go of her wrist.

"What does it mean?" He questioned ever so softly, unsure if Freyja had actually heard him due to how quiet his voice had come out.

Freyja's brows pinched and her eyelids fluttered open to find his face. In that moment, she noticed how little exhaustion plagued his features and she wondered how long he had been awake.

She was confused at first, as to what he was talking about, but then she searched the direction of his gaze and realised he was staring at her back.

Closing her eyes once again, she spoke. "The gods - not all but few of them."

Intrigued, Leofric shifted his position on the bedding, careful to not let the blankets slip below his hips. He switched his hold on her wrist, holding it in his left and his right hand fell back to her body.

The tip of his index finger began at the point of the tattoo, the starting point in the center of her neck. Slowly, he began to trace the first rune, the first symbol. A single straight line trailed all the way down, but he didn't follow it, merely curving his finger along the black trail in the shape of a diamond - or maybe it was an o.

Freyja didn't answer right away, merely allowing his touch to spell out the pattern of the first symbol. The moment she felt him press against the starting point of the next tattoo, she whispered the answer. "Odin."

Silently, Leofric began the next. His finger followed the ink, this path a little more simpler with triangle shapes marking the sides of the line connecting them all together.

"Thor."

Leofric seemed to pause before he began the next, his eyes sweeping across the ink with a squint of his eyes as he attempted to make out what it said. But he was a Saxon, he did not know the names of her gods.

Looking closely, he could have sworn the first letter was an f. He followed the shape of the letter, drawing out the next in the shape of an r. From then on, he followed blindly, unable to differentiate which letter was what.

His hand slowed to a stop at the bottom of her spine, the tattoo finishing a mere inches from where the lower half of her body curved outwards.

Freyja hesitated before speaking, her eyes zeroing in on his scarred cheek. "Freyja." She whispered, the softest hints of a smile tracing her lips.

Leofric's eyes drew away from her back, finding the shy of her face still half pressed into the pillow. Flattening his hand, he smoothed it up along her spine, over her shoulder, brushing along the tattoo inking her upper right arm - it held a likeness to the one on her back, with symbolic runes and lines and patterns that trailed over the skin - but the one on her back caught his interest the most for he was almost sure that it was words, that they spelled out something like a secret message.

Ever since he'd first seen it within the walls of his tent, an accident where he happened to glance over and caught an eye full of her back, he was curious.

Now he knew.

He leaned down, pressing his lips to her temple, her cheek, forcing himself to angle in an awkward position to capture her lips.

Freyja instinctively smiled into the kiss, and Leofric swore his heart could practically burst from his chest at the feeling of it.

Shifting onto her side, Freyja raised her arm, not even glancing at the fabric bound around it as she slipped it over his. She reached behind him, coming back over his shoulder and brushing her fingers though his disarray of hair.

"We should get up."

Leofric groaned in complaint against her lips and he kissed her and he kissed her and he kissed her and once again for good measure, as if the action alone was enough to convince that they should in fact, not move within an inch of this bed - or rather the messy pile of blankets on the hardwood floor. "No, we should not."

"We should." Freyja mumbled against his lips, pulling away as he threatened to kiss her once more. His lips chased hers through the air, but he failed in kissing her again. "We have to. I need to check on Uhtred."

She knew, that if Iseult's spell did not work, the guilt would be eating at her brother just as hard.

Freeing herself from his arms, Freyja stood from the ground and allowed the blanket to fall from her body. Her eyes searched the floor, gathering clothes as she walked, aimlessly tossing Leofric his shirt and landing it over his head.

Ripping the shirt off of his head, Leofric's eyes trailed over her behind and he sighed heavily. "The arseling is a grown man."

"With the mentality of a toddler." Freyja finished, grinning to herself at the realisation that Uhtred wasn't here to deny her words. He could deny all he wanted - it was the truth.

Fingering the fabric of her pants, Freyja slipped them over her thighs and fastened the ropes to hold the material over her hips. Slipping the long sleeved grey shirt over her torso, she turned to see that Leofric had still in fact, not moved an inch from the bed. A deep frown rested upon his lips, as if he had been wounded by her leaving.

Freyja arched a brow. "And it appears, so do you." Strolling a few paces closer, she extended an arm to assist him to his feet, but just as their fingers wound together, she was tugged down onto his lap.

Freyja scoffed a laugh as her hands caught on his chest, her legs straddling the side of his hips. She looked him in the eye, almost teasingly. "Do you need assistance getting dressed, Leofric?"

He mirrored her expression, holding her stare as he nudged the top of his nose with hers. "You need assistance getting undressed." A testing pinch to her thigh followed his words before he closed the space between them with his lips.

He pulled away only after allowing the kiss to linger. His eyes swept across her features, noting the foreign glow held within her eyes. "You seem happy."

The smile on Freyja's face fell in an instant, realisation dawning upon her. She in fact did seem a lot happier, a lot more smiley. She felt as if she'd been wrapped in a blissful daze and she knew that had everything to do with the man before her now.

Leofric lifted his hand, softly pinching her bottom lip between his thumb and the side of his index finger. "You're allowed to be happy." He reassured, softly gazing into her eyes before following the shape of her lips. "You don't need to wear a frown all the time."

The silence lingered between them for the length of a heartbeat before Freyja carefully pried herself away. She stood wordlessly, reaching for her boots and slipping them over her feet. Leofric simply watched her, with a frown on his lips, with a furrow of his brows. Reluctantly, he gave in and slowly proceeded to dress.

Fastening the ropes of her brown leather vest, Freyja reached for her belt and wrapped it around her hips. She slid the knife in place, grasping her sword with a careful touch and placing it within its scabbard.

Glancing once over her shoulder, she captured Leofric's gaze one last time, attempting somewhat of a half smile and strolled out onto the dock.

"You seem happier today." Uhtred chimed lightly in amusement as he strolled along the thin dirt trail. There was a slight skip in his step as he leaped over a puddle that softened a section of the path.

Freyja rolled her eyes at the words that had been spoken for the second time that morning and she two stepped largely across the puddle, the heels of her boot trampling the edges of the water.

"You sound like Leofric."she mumbled, forcing her face to sour and her eyes to screw into a glare.

Uhtred arched a brow in curiosity and glanced over his shoulder with a knowing smile. "Is your happiness anything to do with the warrior?" Stepping over another puddle, he didn't allow room for argument and continued to speak. "It is about time - I was beginning to tire from your longing looks and blushing cheeks."

"I don't blush." Freyja sneered in annoyance, her happiness beginning to fade with her brother's consistent pestering. She earned herself a look of arched brows and disbelieving eyes. Her gaze sharpened in warning. "I don't blush."

Uhtred shrugged and faced ahead. He knew his sister well enough to know that she in fact, never blushed. The men around her did, whether it be in fear, embarrassment or her beauty alone that was enough to make any man fall to his knees - Leofric was not the first.

"Leofric does." Uhtred grinned, knowing that if the aforementioned warrior was here in this moment, he would have already been face down in a puddle. "You breath air and his cheeks flush red."

Freyja huffed humourously and rolled her lips together as she surveyed her shortsighted surroundings. "As do you with your women."

"I'm not hiding the fact." Uhtred hummed, trailing his words off with a chuckle. He stopped short of where the path submerged into a section of the creek and shifted his weight from one foot to the other, turning around to face her with a genuine smile. "I'm happy my little sister has found someone to care for her."

Traces of a heartbeat thumped steadily between them before Freyja gave him a look. "I'm older than you."

"By a week." Uhtred pointed out, a teasing grin tracing alone his lips. "Some would consider us twins if we were blood."

"Be happy we aren't twins - I would have strangled you with your cord in the womb." A ceremony of chuckles fell between them, and the two bumped shoulders as they faced the creek.

The plumes of fire coiled from the bed of charcoal, whisps of orange licking the air as heat erupted from the flames and stretched along the interior walls. A twelve year old Freyja huddled the wooden bowl close to her chest, practically wolfing down the stew that steamed within.

Sigrid glanced over from where she sat at the opposite end of the fire, her eyes watching Freyja for a moment of concern. The way she ate, scoffing down each and every bite - one would think the girl was starved.

"Ragnar." She called to her husband, her eyes lingering a second longer on her daughter before her gaze focused on her meal. "Your daughter is eating like a wild creature again."

Ragnar lifted his head from his own bowl, the very bowl that he too had scoffed down like a starving man desperate for even the taste of food. Soup dribbled from his chin, catching within the wirey hairs of his beard.

Tilting his chin to the side, Ragnar gazed across his daughters face, her mess a mirror image of his. Immediately, his head fell back with a bursting chuckle, a laugh that rumble from the deep depths of his warm belly as if it were the funniest thing he'd ever seen.

Settling down, he reached across and dragged his thumb along Freyja's chin, cleaning her of the smeared soup. His eyes glanced over his wife. "She is a growing woman, Sigrid, the child must eat if she wants to grow big."

Sigrid arched her brow and peered through the top of her eyelids. Her eyes shined humourously as she glanced subtly towards his rounded stomach. "Big like you?"

Soup spluttered from young Ragnar's lips as he coughed, struggling between swallowing the liquid and finding his ability to breath - in the end, it created more of a mess, stew spitting from his lips and into the fire, the liquid sizzling against the burning embers.

"Are you calling me fat, woman?" Ragnar glared at his wife, but still, humour traced the features of his expression and a grin rested beneath the hair surrounding his lips.

"Perhaps." She teased lowly, a smooth trail of her voice whispering across the air, however, before the banter could proceed further, Uhtred suddenly appeared through the open doors of the hall. Sigrids eyes focused on him sternly. "And where have you been? You were supposed to be back for supper."

Uhtred glanced over her, flashing a smile through the dirt smeared along his cheeks. Not a single trace of shame rendered in his expression despite having walked in late let only looking as if he hadn't bathed in a week. "I went for a walk."

"I don't suppose you found a river on your walk?" Sigrid showed her displeasure in the grime that painted Uhtred's milk-white skin. But she didn't argue, knowing that there was no point and gestured towards the pot. "Fix yourself a bowl and sit. You can clean up after you eat."

Obeying, Uhtred cut through between the seats and strolled eagerly for the pot when his belly released a loud, echoing rumble.

Freyja, without glancing up from the meal in her lap, stretched her leg out as far as she could reach. She twisted her ankle, hooking her foot around Uhtred's, and tripping him to the floor.

The childs body slammed into the ground, a groan resounding from his lips. Luckily enough, his hands caught his collapse and his face missed the floor by an inch.

A loud snort ripped from young Ragnar's nose only for the sound to be buried into his chest once he caught his mother's stern gaze.

A gaze that quickly snapped to Freyja as she stood from her seat and assisted Uhtred to his feet. "Freyja, now why would you do that?" She asked in a tone of disappointment, her gaze narrowing on the child fighting off a smile.

There was not a single trace of shame as Freyja lifted her chin, the whites of her teeth coming into the view through the menacing grin fixed across her cheeks. The twelve year old shrugged nonchalantly. "The opportunity presented itself."

Ragnar shook his head, fighting off a battle within himself to either be mad or find amusement in her words. "She is a child of the god, Loki, that one."

Sigrids lips churned in annoyance - this was not the first time Freyja had done something of the sort. "She is a child who is going to take a walk and think about her actions as of late."

Rolling her eyes, Freyja grumbled to herself and slammed her bowl on the seat beside her. Standing, she glared across her mother, even harder across Uhtred before storming out the doors.

Grasping onto the reeds, Freyja submerged her body into the water. Her steps became sluggish, weighed down the swamp, boots dragging through the mud that laid beneath. Each step grew deeper and deeper, and deeper, until the water had reached well past her hips.

Her and Uhtred began to pant as their steps began to tire out, their lungs screaming for them to stop and turn back.

An idea seemed to strike the siblings in that moment, as if they ran off of the same sort of wave lank. They stopped almost in synchronised time, glanced back across the path they'd taken.

Wordlessly, they met each others stare and silently formed a plan on how they were going to take out at least few of skorpa's men.

The walk back was slow, sluggish and their feet dragged across the dirt, stamping prints of their feet into the ground. The closer they got, the more the reeds fanned out, the wider the path grew and the distant, incoherent whispers became words they didn't care to listen to.

Up head, Leofric began to approach upon seeing them, his eyes dragging across their figures from one to the other, their figures that were soaked from shoulder to feet. His face churned in amusement. "You are wet."

"We are." Uhtred breathed sharply, his ribs aching from the organs that lay caged beneath. "Wet, tired. But we have a plan." Uhtred's gaze fixed on the king as he slipped towards them, placing himself between Leofric and Freyja. "Lord, the ships are guarded by no more than sixty men."

Curling over, Freyja rested her palms over her slightly bent knees and breathed heavily, her breath holding a subtle wheeze that whistled with each shift of her chest. Lifting her chin, she peered up through her lashes and gazed between Leofric and Alfred. "The rest of the army will be inland looking for food. We kill the men - burn the ships."

Alfred's brows furrowed in genuine curiosity, traces of doubt seeping to the surface. But he had now right to doubt them, he knew that - after all, he was beginning to realise just how far Uhtred and Freyja had brought them - and that was all thanks to Iseult saving his son.

And Alfred was blissfully unaware of the consequences it brought.

"You really believe skorpa will then go to Guthrum?"

"I do." Uhtred gave a nod, his breathing gradually beginning to resume it's even pace. "One army, one battle. It's the only way, lord. It begins here, in these waters. You were brought here for this reason, lord."

Moments slipped by in the quiet, filled with Freyja's heavy breaths as she glared at the ground.

Leofric eyed her in amusement, his brows arching, a half smile playing the corner of his lips, but still, there was concern there, hidden within the honeyed pools of his gaze as he looked down at her. "Are you alright?"

Without lifting her head, Freyja blindly raised an arm beside her and gave a thumbs up. Chuckles faded with the air and Uhtred landed a harsh slap to her back.

Freyja coughed, and in retaliation, shoved her elbow into his stomach, hard - Uhtred lurched forward from the pain that spread through his torso, gasping in desperate need as the air escaped him.

—— • ° ☽ ★ ☾ ° • ——

THERE WAS A QUIET
that breezed across the marshlands of the severn, a silence that stilled the air and brought an unease across the wet earth.

They could hear the Dane's from a distance as they snuck through the weeded path, all of them gradually coming together, closer and closer, but the only thing that kept them from view was the wall of reeds that seperated them between here and there.

Uhtred brought his pace to a still, Freyja following shortly behind, then Leofric, then the few others from the swamp village that had volunteered, forced to a still behind the tall warrior.

Uhtred shifted to a sideways walk as the path narrowed, his hands carefully prying apart the reeds that blocked his line of sight.

Across the non-existent horizon, a line of Skorpa's men gathered within the tall grass.

Uhtred's voice dropped to a whisper between the three of them, his cerulean blues wearily gazing over the Dane's. "They need to give chase and they need to believe they can reach us. We stand our ground until the very last moment. Then we stay on the safe path and let the land half kill them before we attack."

Freyja's eyes carefully narrowed towards the distance, and her body half leaned towards Uhtred as she spoke. "We should use the bows to shoot at them - angering them will draw them out."

"And if they reach us?" There was look of weariness on Leofric's face, an unease that twisted strongly into his appearance and his eyes traced between Freyja and Uhtred. He hoped for some kind of word, some kind of assurance that the Dane's would not reach them, but neither sibling gave him an answer, leading him to believe that not even they were certain the plan would work.

Uhtred breathed in, glancing over his shoulder towards the warrior a little behind Freyja. "Ready?"

Freyja grinned wickedly. "I'm ready if you, brother."

Pushing through the last brush of reeds, they spread out across the clearing opposite of the Dane's.

Freyja felt a nudge to her side and she turned to see a bow extended towards her. Taking into her hands, she smoothed her fingers along the arch and took the arrow between her fingers.

"Remember," Uhtred turned, giving her a look of warning through narrowed eyes. "Don't kill them, just make them mad."

Freyja eyed him through the corner of her peripheral vision and grinned widely as if his words had amused her. "Do you remember who you are talking to, Uhtred? Making men mad is what I do best." Following her words, Freyja raised her arms and drew the string back towards her cheek.

She released on empty lungs, watching in satisfaction as the arrow whizzed through the air and disappeared into the grass inches from the Dane's feet.

Leofric scoffed as his eyes focused ahead. "Weak." He teased just above a whisper, grinning to himself once he earned a sideways glare from the woman.

The Dane's all turned, faces riddled with suspicion as they searched the grass for the arrow.

"Another."

Reaching back, Freyja felt her hand through the air for the next arrow. Pinching it between her fingers, she pulled it in front of her and loaded it against the bow. Drawing her arm back, she repeated her actions.

The arrow flew through the humid air and stabbed into one of the Danes shields - the Dane raising his sword and slice the object to the ground.

A Dane with a lengthy beard and no hair upon his head glared blindly across the grass and snarled like a wild animal. "Are you wishing to die?"

Freyja tilted her chin with an arch of her brow. Her eyes found Uhtred's, seeming to find the reflection of his humour with his cerulean stare. Freyja smirked. "Another?" Uhtred gave an almost excitable nod, finding this to be just as enjoyable as she did.

Taking another arrow into her hands, she pressed the sharpened end against the arch, the tips of her fingers slowly smoothing along the stick till she reached the tail and drew it back with the string.

Sucking in a breath, Freyja's eyes narrowed to perfect her aim. The pace of a heart passed and she released her breath easily into the air. The string snapped, the arrow flew, splintering into another's shield.

"Who are you, you piece of Wessel shit?" The large man spat, charcoal eyes glaring across their general direction. "You want me to spill your guts?"

"Here I am, I am waiting." Uhtred broke through the wall of grass and stepped into view, his arms stretched out beside him, a dare for the Dane's to attack. "We'll send each of you to corpse hall."

"Hit the big bastard." Leofric muttered, glancing over towards the woman with a softening smile.

Freyja tilted her head to reach his stare, her eyes just as wicked, her smile just as soft. "Gladly." She muttered back, arms raising with a squeeze of the bow.

The arrow was released, whistling through the air and penetrating the left shoulder of the large dane.

A prideful smirk replaced the curve of Leofric's lips.

Lowering the bow, Freyja watched as the Dane tore the arrow from his shoulder and handed the bow back to its rightful owner.

Uhtred shouted across the distance. "Come and fight. Are you afraid?"

The Dane's lips parted with a roar and they raced forward in chase, swinging their weapons through the air. Their feet left a trail of thundering steps.

Uhtred glanced partially over his men. "We stand our ground." The Danes advanced closer, a roar of mad men along the horizon. Few of them began to shift uneasily including Leofric. Uhtred repeated his words. "We stand our ground."

At the last second, Uhtred snarled his lips. "Run. Run. Run. Run!"

Quickly, they turned and dashed for the reeds, their bodies sinking into the tall grass with the Dane's on close on their trail.

They ran, trampling through puddles and sections of mud, further causing the Dane's to slip as they were taken by surprise. They reached a certain point, Leofric glanced back before parting the reeds and ushering Freyja ahead into the maze. They split from the path, cutting through the marshland towards the riverbed.

The Danes crashed into the water where they were greeted with a hurling of arrows.

Breaking into a small clearing, Freyja unsheathed her sword with a slice of steel and ran for the shore where few Dane's began to crawl towards their escape.

Placing her foot on ones back, she pinned him to the ground and raised her sword in the air, giving a clean, downwards slice through his neck. The bone split apart with an obscenely sounding crack and tear, and the Dane's head was seperated from his body.

Leofric raced to the second Dane, grasped the back of his armour, dragging him across the earth. His large hands wrapped around the Dane's jaw, and with a quick jerk of his wrist, the Dane's neck was snapped.

More Dane's were fooled into the river, and with a shout of Uhtred's voice, a dozen arrows flew across the air, stealing the lives of the remaining.

And to finish it off, Uhtred drive his dagger through the stomach of the large dane.

Stepping back, the bloodied sword hung loosely at her side, the tip of the blade dragging through the mud. She breathed heavily, gazing across the land submerged beneath the water where the bodies of skorpa's men floated across the surface, across those who would forever live in the river.

Moments later, Freyja found herself sat upon the surface of the table surrounded by the few men of Wessex that had arrived that morning.

They were sat in a circle, all facing one another. Uhtred sat opposite of Alfred, Freyja sat beside Uhtred and Leofric next to her on the bench seat below where her feet planted firmly.

Wulfheres beady eyes swept across the each and every one of them as he spoke, his gaze lingering most surely on Alfred as his hands waved at his sides. "We have fired a good number of ship's."

"A fleet." Uhtred quickly corrected, sparing a sideways glance to the man as he slouched forward in his seat, body wrapped in the heat of the fire.

"A fleet." Wulfhere repeated, mirroring Uhtred's glance as he found the Dane within the corner of his eye. "But in the meantime, we have left hundreds of Danes stranded in Wessex with no means of leaving."

Alfred's gaze sought the soldier out, staring at him across the plumes of curling fire. "Wulfhere, I do not believe their intention was to ever leave."

Arching her back, Freyja slouched against the bend of her knees, elbows buried against her sighs. The amulet of a hammer hung loosely around her neck, dangling in the air and her hands instinctively reached up to grasp it, absentmindedly twirling it back and forth between her fingers. Her eyes stared into the flames as she spoke. "In a few months there'll be more ships, more men."

Uhtred glanced from her face to the necklace and then over the few faces staring back at him. His gaze lingered on Wulfhere. "Now is the time to fight."

"To fight with what?" Wulfhere questioned in doubt, his frustration seeping into the surface of his expression - frustration that was directed towards the very Dane's sat amongst them. "We're without an army, the Danes will number thousands."

"The men are out there, Wulfhere, and they're waiting. What they need is a call." Beocca shifted, his knee's bending and swaying in all directions, his hands wringing together as he gave the man a stern look.

"Indeed, but," Wulfhere breathed in slowly, urging himself to calm before his annoyance blew over. He gazed across the few Saxons sitting opposite him before resting his permanent stare on Alfred. His raised his left hand, his empty palm open as he spoke. "Lord, what if I suggest we escort you to Frankia."

Immediately, Alfred shook his head in dismissal. "That will not happen. I will not hide." Behind him, Aelswith's expression dropped. "Not here, nor in Frankia."

"But, my lord-"

"I have prayed daily for guidance. The only way I see to save Wessex is with what we have begun -" he raised his hand, pointing a single finger in the air as he paused between each word. "One defining battle. We shall be leaving the marshes." His gaze wandering in the direction of the siblings, smiling warmly towards them - easily, Freyja and Uhtred smiled back.

This was it, they were finally beginning to be heard, to be seen.

"Courage and faith. Amen."

A ceremony of amens scattered from the lips of those who believed in god - meanwhile, Freyja pressed a squeeze to the amulet, her eyes searching, finding the cerulean blues that belonged to her brother. They mirrored eachothers smile.

—— • ° ☽ ★ ☾ ° • ——

THE TREES CANOPIED
the path in a way that scintillated a flicker of shadow's in the silhouette of tree branches across the dirt trail, the sun-dotted leaves trembling against the soft, cool breeze that brushed against them.

The light varied between the branches, shining across them from time to time as they strolled through the woods, occasionally drowning their bodies in pools of warmth.

Freyja and Uhtred took the lead, guiding the Saxons along the trail until they both came to a halting still. Up head, they could hear the crunching of leaves and twigs beneath ones feet, hear the huff of horses as they grazed the ground, see the glimpse of a line man sat beneath a tree.

Uhtred dropped his bag from his shoulders, the object hitting the earth with a muffled thump. "Shush." He whispered, reaching back and gesturing his hand for the ground to stop.

Cautiously, Uhtred and Freyja paced a few steps ahead and peered around the trunk of a tree. Footsteps softly padded the ground towards them, and the feeling of fingertips touched to the side of Freyja's arm - Leofric carefully peering around her and gazing off between the trunks of two thinly built trees.

"Wulfhere and his men." The warrior spoke, his deep voice rumbling into Freyja's right ear. He stepped back, his hand falling back to his side.

Uhtred and Freyja let out expressions of relief.

Slowly, the siblings approached, pacing the small distance until the came into view. A young man with shortly cropped brown hair did a double take and quickly dropped the stones in his hands. He leaped to his feet, snatching his sword into his grip and pointing the blade to which was closest.

Freyja stared humourously as the tip of the blade hovered over her neck, her eyes following along the silver until she trailed up the arm that held it and found the man's frightened and startled face.

"God, save me. Stay away, I have skills." The man stuttered, struggling for his sword as he stumbled.

Freyja smirked inwardly, her eyes flickering with amusement.

Leofric eyed the close proximity of the blade inches from Freyja's throat and he glared sharply at the trembling man who held it there. "Put that piece of tin away, boy."

The man's eyes snapped to Leofric in shock, relief painting over his expression. "Oh, thank Christ. You're English. I thought you were one of them."

"Some more than others." Placing the tip of her finger against the swords point, she steered the blade aside and stepped around the man. Her eyes traced over him closely, suspiciously, earning herself a glance of amusement from Leofric as the smaller body shifted uncomfortably beneath her stare.

The boy gulped thickly, watching her from the corner of his eye. His gaze drifting back and forth between Uhtred and Freyja. "What with the hair - and the accent."

Uhtred eyed the scattered horse, noting only a single man and turned to glare accusingly at the boy. "Where's the ealderman Wulfhere?"

"Gone, lord." The boy hesitantly answered, glancing towards Leofric's who's glare settled back on him. There was pause as he shifted uncomfortably once more. "I am Halig. I take care of the horses."

Uhtred paced the few steps it took to approach Halig, rendering the poor boy surrounded by two Danes and a towering Saxon warrior. "Gone where?"

Haligs brows furrowed in thought before his face drifted into one of confusion. "Now that I'm thinking of it, lord, he did not say. I thought you would know."

Alfred quickly approached, peeling the hood from his face and his eyes found the boy. "Wulfhere, where is he?"

"He's gone, lord." Uhtred spoke, taking a single step closer. His eyes snapped towards Halig whose face fell with realisation once he caught a glimpse of the king's face, the young man stooping to the ground on a bent knee, his sword stabbing into the earth.

"My lord, it's you."

Alfred barely spared him the acknowledgement, merely looking over Halig before his eyes found Uhtred once again. "Where?"

"He did not say." Freyja observed her surroundings, her eyes sweeping across the trees and what laid further beyond. "He is probably off shitting his pants right now." Something told her it was something else, something far more different to just wandering off fright - not for a second was she ready to trust the man.

Sheepishly, Halig raised to his feet, his arm giving a stuttering gesture. "He has left you horses, lord."

"We keep moving." Uhtred breathed, reaching for his pack and draping it once again over his shoulder.

Alfred followed his eyes over his shoulder towards the Dane. "Without Wulfhere?"

"Do you see the ealdorman?" Freyja tilted her head, her hand aimlessly wandering towards her surroundings. "Neither do I. Our plan won't change, we make out way to Odda's estate."

—— • ° ☽ ★ ☾ ° • ——

THE FARM LAND
was empty, abandoned - left in a complete disarray of shattered structures and plumes of dying out smoke. The stench of death was thick and sickly, causing an ill feeling to settling within Freyja's rumbling stomach.

Her body rocked back and forth against the movement of the horse, her eyes sharply glancing around. She found her brother's stare in a short-lived moment, dread pooled within their gazes.

"There is pain for you here, my love." Iseult warned, glancing her eyes towards her lover.

Suddenly, Uhtred broke out into a desperate canter, Freyja following closely behind and in the siblings trail, followed Leofric.

They brought the horses to a sudden stop and Uhtred threw himself from the saddle, his feet smacking onto the ground with a thump muffled by the turf of green earth.

Freyja eased herself from the saddle and watched hopelessly as her brother raced towards the corpse of a woman. She felt a hand on her lower back, a whisper of comfort that could only be from one person.

She didn't dare look at him, didn't dare look away as her brother slowly turned the woman over for a proper glance of her face. Her and Mildrith were not close so Freyja knew that she would not feel the pain of her death - she would feel the pain it brought her brother.

"Do you know them?" Leofric carefully inquired, his eyes glancing from the woman sprawled along the cold, death ridden earth and searching Uhtred's face for any signs of recollection or sadness.

"Tenants." Uhtred informed, his heart having yet to ache for he held no care for the people who lived here - only two mattered most to him. Two he had yet to see. Straightening up, Uhtred unsheathed his dagger, and in response, Freyja too slid the knife from her belt.

Uhtred picked up his pace, storming towards the homestead where he once belonged, where he gradually grew to love his Saxon wife - where he grew uncomfortable in her presence.

He hesitated before stepping inside, his knife raising beside him. He flinched as a chicken squarked and flew down from the rafters, feet scattering across the straw dusted ground.

Something from the corner of her eye captured Freyja's attention and she stepped back from the door. Her shoulder bumped into Leofric as she pulled away, earning a glance of concern that followed her as she treaded a path along the house.

Freyja froze once she came around the side of the homestead, her eyes falling permanently to the small wooden cross sticking out from the ground. Grief struck her - hard - an ache settling within her chest.

She didn't move, she couldn't, for she could already feel the pain of her brother before he yet to see it, to fully know what laid beneath the dirt, cradled by the soft, warm earth. Somehow, she already knew what laid beneath there.

And then he knew, and she knew the exact moment pain struck his chest, the exact moment he glanced out that window an saw the grave overlooking the lake. She heard the thundering of his steps, heard the moment he crashed out the door and trampled over the low, dying grass.

Felt him shove past her in a desperate need to reach and he crashed to the ground in front of the grave, fingers sinking into the earth and dragging the soil back.

Freyja stumbled numbly and a pair of hands steadied her by the waist. Though her eyes stung, no expression rested over her features - everything just felt numb.

Pulling away, she paced the few steps it took to reach Uhtred's side and she crumbled to her knees beside him. She waited, watching as he desperately dug, watching as he clung to the grains soil.

She wanted to know, needed to know what lay buried beneath the dirt, what body was small enough to hide beneath - she already knew.

Feet down, Uhtred carefully eased the bundled body of something small, something that hadn't yet grow. A broken sob wracked from his chest and he cradled the bundle in his arms.

He knew - he knew before he even peeled the cloth back to reveal an infant's ear.

Freyja could almost hear the shattering of his chest, his heart that had split as he shifted and fell to a sitting position on the ground. Her lips parted, but it was not words that came out, rather a gasp of desperate breath, a choke of a cry that couldn't quite pass into the open air.

She'll look after you, I know she will.

In that moment, the denial came crashing down like the downwards strike of a sword. She realised, she'll never get the opportunity to look after him, to hold her nephew in her arms for a second time or a third, or even fourth - once and never again - she'll never get to remember how small he felt in her arms, how frightened she was to hold him.

"No. No." Uhtred cried, hovering over the corpse of his son with tears cascading down his cheeks. Freyja shifted, breaking herself from the numbing mobility and wrapped her arms around her brother's body. She pulled him close, feeling him clinging onto her side, his face burying into her neck.

Slowly, she allowed a single tear to track along her cheek, unable to bring anymore to the surface as if it were a physical impossibility despite how desperately she wanted to, how tight her throat grew and the thump that formed there.

Even in such a heartwrenching moment, her body would not allow her to cry in front of all these people.

She could feel the eyes of everyone on her back, the eyes that belonged to Iseult and Leofric who both desperately wanted to comfort their lover, but they stood back, feeling their pain as they allowed the siblings to comfort one another.

Uhtred continued to break, trembling in her grip, their bodies wracking with his sobs. Freyja didn't dare let go, didn't dare to loosen her grip no matter how tight. She held her brother when he needed her most.

A soft patter of feet trampling along the grass and stopped feet away from them. There was pause that filled around the noise of cries, before Alfred spoke with most sincerity. "We shall bury the dead and pray for their souls."

"When you are ready," Beocca nodded slowly, his eyes set on Uhtred, on the boy he'd known as a child. Even without knowing him for years he could somehow still feel Uhtred's pain - but not in the way that Freyja felt it, shared it even. "I would like to say a prayer for Uhtred, son of Uhtred."

As the others began to walk away, Leofric and Iseult hovering close enough to keep a close eye on the two, far enough away to give distance, Uhtred's cries began to cease, dying down to a heavy weight in his chest. He lifted his head from her neck, leaving splotches of tears to stain the shoulders of her furs, still clinging his arms around her as the lake blurred across his sight.

He drew in a shaky breath. "I will search for Mildrith. She may be dead and unburied."

Freyja gave a slow nod against him, her chin moving against his shoulder. She stared numbly at the outside wall of the homestead. "I will help you." She whispered, not finding the strength to speak any louder. There was a chance that Mildrith had left, had fled after burying her son - why stay in a place that brought so much pain?

Later, when the sky began to darken, the sun nothing more than a slither of gold across the horizon, Freyja found herself alone. The pain in this moment, was all to consuming, grasping her chest with a sharp clawing hand and squeezing her heart with the threat to break.

The tears silently rolled down her flushed cheeks as she stared at the twigs of hay dusting the floor across from her, the cold causing her shoulders to tremble - the possibility of them shaking for other reasons were endless.

Slowly, footsteps hesitantly approached, stopping inches of the entrance to the stable stall she hid within. There was a feeling of familiarity upon seeing the tall silhouette hovering within her peripheral vision, far enough to not startle her but close enough to test her boundaries.

She glanced towards the haystack to her right, the very haystack she'd slept on all that time ago, clinging to her knife because she had yet to find trust in Leofric, thrusting the dagger in warning when he'd awaken her from a bad dream.

The aforementioned warrior leaned against the post in a casual stance, but there was nothing casual about it, for his shoulders were tensed and his face drowned in the waves of guilt, in pain of witnessing her so hurt.

He watched her, afraid of his instincts to walk over and grab ahold of her and pull her into his chest. Afraid to comfortable her in a way she'd most likely find uncomfortable.

Her hands were squeezed together into fists, a habit he'd noticed became less and less frequent. From where he stood, he could almost hear the tearing of skin as her nails dug into the flesh, could almost smell the blood that pooled within her palms.

He knew why she did it, noticed the exact moments it'd happen - she did it whenever she felt out of control.

Sniffling, Freyja swallowed the thick feeling in her throat and spoke, her eyes refusing to glance over, to tear away from the space in front of her. "I don't bite." Her voice came out weak, weaker than she intended for it be and in that moment, she felt ashamed to show such vulnerability.

Leofric bit back a half smile, fighting himself to not use the opening for a perfect joke. It might cheer her up - it might. But he would not take that risk.

Slowly, he pushed off of the post and silently crossed the distance between them. He stopped inches to her right, unfolding a blanket she had yet to notice withing his grip.

Raising his arms, he draped it around her trembling shoulders and lowered himself to the space beside her. His arm soon wound around her too, holding the blanket to her shoulders, not allowing it to slip and he pulled her into his side.

Freyja leaned into him reluctantly, feeling his lips press against her temple. She felt his eyes on her, tracing along the streaks of tears that stained her cheeks.

She couldn't recall a time Leofric had ever witnessed her cry, perhaps there was and she couldn't remember it - she doubted it. But now he had seen her tears, and she couldn't bring herself to wipe them away, to find the strength to lift her hand.

"I only got to hold him once." She whispered, staring off into the distance, her sight drifting in and out of focus.

Leofric breathed in a sharp breath, his eyes following the trail of her gaze. His squeezed her close, pulling her impossibly closer. "At least you got to hold him." It was the best he could offer without knowing exactly the right words to say.

"It was my job to look after him."

Leofric shook his head, his forehead shifting across the braids trailing along her skull. "That's not your job - don't take that blame."

Slowly, Freyja tilted her head, forcing Leofric away as her eyes locked with his - he noticed the colour appeared almost greener than ever, a near fluorescent glow in the dark whenever she was in pain - whether it be physically or emotionally.

Freyja's eyes fell to his lips and she knew that it was wrong, to want him at such a time, but she needed him, needed his comfort as if it were the very breath she needed to breath. She needed his arms to wrap around her, to hold her close and take her coldness and replace it with his warmth..

She leaned inwards, settling her lips over his. He kissed her back, slowly, unsurely, with an air of hesitance as his palm smoothed down her back, instinctively drawing the pattern he'd mastered in the shade of her tattoo. He followed the lines like it was engraved into his head, tracing them along the fabric of the blanket.

Freyja placed her hands onto the broad stretch of his shoulders, smearing blood over his clothes and she lifted herself up and slid into his lap. Her thighs straddled his hips and his arm was sure to not let the blanket slip.

Leofric broke the kiss upon reading between the lines of her actions. He wanted to, he did, but he was uncertain of she truly wanted it too or if she was so far from a sense of reality that she was unaware of her actions.

"Freyja." He whispered her name, turning his head away as she attempted to smother him with another kiss. He brought his eyes back to her face, his hand lifting through the space between them, the pad of his thumb smearing the trail of another tear.

"Please." She mumbled with a frowning bottom lip, her body leaning closer and closer till their noses touched and her hips settled firmly against his. She needed him. She needed him. She needed him - his warmth to settle her coldness, his comfort, his arms around her, holding her close.

Leofric gazed across her face, from the curve of her lips, following along the bridge of her nose, slightly pointed at the tip, and then finally her eyes. He gave in quicker than he'd like to admit, crumbling beneath her fingers and Leofric knew then that he would do anything and more for this woman if she'd simply ask.

He leaned in close, holding his lips to hers, palms pushing against her back and bringing her chest to his. His hands slid down, grasping a gentle hold of her hips beneath the blanket and easing her into a slow rock.

His brows furrowed with a pressing groan and Freyja's thumb smoothed across his left brow. Her touch wandered the path of his skin, curious fingertips tracing along the scars carved into his flesh.

She touched the shell of his ear, his jaw, the pulse point that raced against his skin. The tip of her finger followed along the vein through his neck, feeling it thump warmly against her. Her hands smoothed across his chest, tracing the cold chains of his mail, of the yellow fabric that laid over it probably having never seen a day of water in its life.

For a split second, she thought about washing it for him, some foreign domestic thought she didn't even know had the possibility to come to her mind. Freyja had never washed clothes before - that was something her mother always did, something Brida and Thyra would assist her with.

It was easy right? Drown the clothes in water and scrub until you could no longer see dirt? It sounded simple enough and yet, the idea of doing it terrified her.

Her hand trailed further and further and further, sliding in between their bodies, between the rocking of her hips. She pulled the strings of her pants, loosened them from her sides and shifted awkwardly to slide them down her hips.

He helped her pull them around her thighs and off of her legs, tossing them to the ground before reaching for his own trousers. He loosened the strings, exposed himself to the cool, crisp air. But the cold was only short-lived as a familiar warmth wrapped around him.

Freyja's lips parted with a sigh as she sunk fully into his lap, her hands clinging to his shoulders, his pulse thumping against her palm as she gently cradled the side of his neck.

Leofric too pulled her as close as he could, an arm wrapped around her waist, a hand on the back of her neck, fingers weaving through the strands of hair.

Pressing their foreheads together, they melted into each other's warmth and sought out the soft act of comfort.

—— • ° ☽ ★ ☾ ° • ——

DAYLIGHT ARRIVED AFTER A LONG
drag of night, and that morning, Freyja was silent as she awoke and dressed herself, the sadness no longer lingering in her chest but rather a numbness that resided in place.

She leaned against the wall of the stable that morning, absentmindedly pulling apart crumbs of bread. But the bread never reached her mouth, rather falling to the ground where three chickens hungrily grazed at her feet.

Leofric watched her carefully from the corner of his eye, worrisome in the way her gaze zeroed in on the blades of grass a few feet ahead, her eyes consistent in drifting in and out of focus.

Breathing a heavy sigh that weighed in on his chest, Leofric lifted his head and glanced over his shoulder towards the sound of approaching footsteps. His eyes found Uhtred, Iseult a few paces behind.

"Morning." Uhtred greeted, glancing over the warrior once as he settled his bed roll against the stable wall. His eyes flickered for a moment to his sister who hadn't greeted him and he offered a small, half smile despite it being beyond her line of sight. Reaching out, he placed a steady hand upon her shoulder, fingers squeezing gently in comfort.

Freyja blinked, lifting her head, her eyes drawing towards his face. She swept his expression, noting the sadness that still lingered in his gaze, but there was almost a warmth there. Attempting a smile, she raised her hand and squeezed it over Uhtred's. "Morning, brother."

"Sleep well?" Leofric gazed away from Freyja to Uhtred, a curious frown on his lips, a teasing glint in his stare.

Halig strolled from the stables, lugging a bucket in his arms. "He means did you hump well."

Uhtred cast him an unamused glare and let his hand fall from Freyja's shoulder. "I know what he means."

Haligs eyes fell to Freyja as he passed her, a grin turning at his lips as his stole a not-so-subtle glance towards Leofric. "Sleep well, lady?"

Leofric reached out, slapping his hand against the back of Haligs skull.

"If I may speak to you all." Alfred strolled into the clearing between the homestead and the stable, his eyes sweeping across the few who were already gathered within the vicinity.

They all strolled towards him, some more eager to hear the king's word then others - Alfred waiting patiently for them to come close before he resumed his speech. "Though we are yet to complete the first segment of our journey to Odda's estate, it's important we begin the second. Word of our army's gathering point must be dispatched to the further reaches of our land. Brother Asser here will be my first messenger." Unclasping his hands, Alfred waved in gesture towards the man behind him.

His attention then focused on the small group in front of him. "Halig." He took few careful steps towards the young man, stopping completely in front him with a gentle smile.

"Yes, lord?" He straightened up, squaring his shoulders and gazing across the kings expression.

"You," Alfred began, dragging out the word as he set a hand upon Haligs shoulder. "Will also be my voice."

"I will, lord." Halig eagerly nodded his head, his face in a form of daze as he beamed at the lips.

"And me, lord." Hild spoke out, his eyes searching the king with a more than hopefully expression fixed into her pale features.

"Hild?" Alfred tilted his chin towards her, his brows pinched in confusion as to why she would volunteer for such thing - to venture out across land and recruit readied, armied men.

"Lord, she is a woman." Leofric spoke in disbelief, his eyes drifting from the king towards Hild.

Freyja slapped the back of her hand against his chest in warning, sparing him a narrowed look. "Leofric, you of all people should know a woman is capable of many things."

Hild nodded in silent thanks, her eyes warmly setting upon Freyja before she too glared in Leofric's direction. "I'm as good a horseman as anyone here." Her attention focused on Alfred. "If it means more Dane's will die, then I'll do it."

"Yes, Hild." He set a hand upon her shoulder, much like he had done for Halig, like he had done for brother Asser. "You will."

—— • ° ☽ ★ ☾ ° • ——

ODDA'S ESTATE WOULD
have seemed large had it not been for the nearing number of a hundred soldiers crammed into the seemingly tiny hall. Wooden textures had been dressed in hues of orange from the ball of flames burning within the pit.

Uhtred, Leofric and Freyja followed in the trail of another soldier who had rushed to young Odda to inform him of their presence. The nameless soldier shuffled towards the sidelines, and the three warriors were left standing in the centre.

Young Odda greeted them with a stilling look and a mere ten feet behind him, his father lounged on the chair, clearly still recovering from his almost fatal wounds.

"Leofric, Uhtred, Freyja. My prayers have been answered." Aethelwold called across the room, bringing a silence to the lips of those who scattered the hall. His eyes drifted between the three almost sheepishly, shrinking away as their eyes fell to him. "God is good."

"Lords." Leofric inclined his head in greeting, eyes sweeping back and forth between Odda the elder and young Odda. "It is good to see you both safe and well."

"Leofric," Odda the elder breathed in relief and stood from the chair. He approached the centre of the room, not quite close enough to reach the three warriors. "You are home."

"Where in God's name have you been?" Odda greeted him with a still face and piercing eyes. He stood straight, his shoulders squaring out as a way to show he was bigger than the warriors, bigger than Uhtred and Freyja - it was physically clear that he was not.

Freyja scoffed from the sidelines, her eyes rolling across the room, across the many Saxon soldiers crammed together. "Is that it? I thought you had more of a Christian care for your poor warriors."

Leofric tilted his chin gave her look of warning, one that silently told her that now was not the right moment for her sarcastic quips. After allowing his gaze to linger and he was certain his point had gotten across, Leofric faced back ahead and settled his eyes on young Odda once again. "Hiding, lord. And killing danes."

"Hopefully not on my land." Odda gave him a look, glaring slightly with a twitch of his brows. Lifting his arms, he settled his hands over his hips.

From the side, Odda the elder rolled his eyes and turned his body away towards the fire once again.

Freyja and Uhtred shared a wordless glance, both knowing that no matter how much faith Alfred had placed in Odda - the man had in the end betrayed him. The latter of the siblings inched closer to the centre of the roof, his steps muffled by the stretch of hides laid across the hard ground. "We have been sent by the king. We bring orders from the king."

Odda the younger dropped his hands from his hips and jerked his chin in an upwards motion, almost in a daring sort of manner. "What king is that?"

"King Alfred?" Odda the elder asked with a gleam of hope, his attention snapping back towards the three warriors standing across from him.

Freyja furrowed her brows, suspicion clear in her stare as she focused her eyes on the younger man. She tilted her head at an angle, her daring expression challenging his. "Who else?"

"Wessex it seems," young Odda begun after a lengthy pause, "is full of kings. There is Guthrum, who is king of east Anglia, who now sits in Winchester. There is Aethelwold here, who'll tell everyone who cares to listen that he is king. Where will it end?"

Uhtred shifted on his feet and took the risk of stepping closer. "I have Alfred's written order."

"It means nothing."

Uhtred arched his brows towards his hairline in warning and held out the scroll of parchment that held Alfred's writing. "You are to raise the fyrd."

"It is over for Alfred." He snapped, stepping towards Uhtred and staring him down. "Alfred gave up on Wessex. He decided to save himself." He raised his arm above his head. "No man has been more loyal to Alfred than my father and I, but he has failed us. Danes surround us and he is hiding. Alfred is king of the eels, slippery and elusive."

"I see it's true." Uhtred breathed, shifting his weight from one foot to the other as he faced Leofric who's jaw clenched harder by the second, sure enough to shatter his own teeth. Uhtred drew his attention back to young Odda. "You have sided with the Dane's."

Freyja immersed from the sidelines and carried herself to stand at Leofric's other side. She grinned almost wickedly, amused yet not surprised in the least. "How very Christian of you."

Suspicion clawed at the edges of Uhtred's face and his glare narrowed on the boy accusingly. "What has skorpa promised you?" He crossed the hall, striding towards Odda until their noses were merely inches apart. "Are you to be king, Odda?"

Odda looked passed the shy of Uhtred's silhouette, gazing sternly towards Leofric. "Leofric, are you still my man?"

Uhtred cut him off before he had a chance to properly breathe the last word. "am I right?"

Odda disregarded his question, the answer becoming more than obvious. His eyes shifted again, looking away from Uhtred's glare and settling back on the tall warrior. "I asked you a question, Leofric."

Leofric's jaw clenched and he gave a subtle nod. "I am still your man, lord."

Freyja furrowed her brows and frowned inwardly to herself. Instinctively, she took a step away from Leofric, her eyes still glaring at Odda - her movements failing to go unnoticed.

Odda stepped around Uhtred, brushing past the Dane and striding right up to Leofric. "Then you will finish the business you have with this Dane," he paused, glaring sharply over at Freyja, "and this whore, and kill them."

The tips of her fingers tapped rhythms along the handle of her dagger. She smirked, though the action did not reached the fire lit within her stare. "You best watch your tongue, boy, or it will not remain in place long enough for you to speak another word."

"No, you best watch your tongue, dane." Odda spat. "You are in my home." His gaze drew back to Leofric's who eyes wordlessly drifted over to Uhtred. "You have my order. Kill them."

Leofric's eyes pleaded at Odda. "Lord, I cannot do that."

"Me and my sister stand here as Alfred's messenger." Uhtred's jaw clenched, but he made no movement to express his growing hatred for the Saxon, merely stared at him as Odda paced the room.

"I will not tell you again, Leofric." Odda snapped anguishly, retracing his thundering steps.

Uhtred glanced across the room in warning. "Should any man try to kill me or my sister, that man is a traitor to the king."

Odda ripped the parchment from Uhtred's hand, tearing it at the edges and tossing it carelessly to the floor. "Leofric, you will kill him. Alfred is no longer my king."

"I will not do it, lord."

"My son." Odda called out, unsheathing the dagger from his belt. The blade glinted beneath the warm hues that dressed the home, pooling splurts of lights across the floor.

"Father, you will not interfere." Young Odda snapped. A hand grasped his shoulder and forcefully spun him around. He gasped, taken aback by the sharp object that penetrated his stomach.

He looked up at his father with the utmost betrayal in his wide eyed stare. He could not speak for the pain was to much to bare, for the blood had already began to pool crimson from his lips.

Odda cradled his son within his arms as he withdrew the knife, slowly easing them both to the ground as the life began to dwindle from his sons eyes.

"May your mother forgive me." Odda whispered painfully, staring down at his son in sorrow - grieving the life he had given and taken. "And may you be forgiven for your treason."

Eyes watched on in shock, silence entrapped the hall, each bearing witness to Odda the elder for the killing of his own child.

Footsteps creaked along the hardwood floor and people were nudged aside as Alfred strolled into the centre. His eyes stared down at Odda, at the pool of blood that slowly formed beneath him. He tore back his hood in a heat of anger and several gasps seemed to echo in ceremony.

Odda hesitantly parted from the corpse of his son and knelt before the king with a look of plea. "Lord, forgive him. Let him die a noble. Forgive him." His voice was broken, raw as the words scratched against his throat. He had killed his son without thought - but it was a must, a need. In the end, he would have died anyway, the same results, only it would have been as a traitor by the king's orders. "I ask you this as your servant."

"Odda." Alfred trailed off, towering over the kneeling broken man, staring down at him with not a trace of sympathy. "You will do as I command. You will raise the Somerset fyrd."

Odda looked up at him, crumbling at the kings feet, his eyes desperate with plea, with hope. "Lord, forgive my son. Please!"

"I will not forgive what I have seen." Alfred shook his head. "You will raise the fyrd."

"Yes, lord."

Alfred slowly spun a circle of the room, his eyes scoping along the hall of Saxon soldiers. "I will need twenty horsemen who will take word to all men able to carry sword, hook or spear. The word is that Alfred is king." Cheers sung ceremoniously across the room. "And will fight alongside the swords of Wessex to his dying breath!"

"Come on!" Leofric shouted, throwing his hands in the air and erupting cheers from the men. "Come on! Come on!"

—— • ° ☽ ★ ☾ ° • ——

A SLITHER OF SKORPA'S
men approached along the dirt pathway leading towards the estate that rested at their backs, growing smaller and smaller with each pace of the horses they took.

They stopped, facing the danish warrior - the paint peeling off of his face like a second skin, the cole brimming his eyes, the blood smearing his lips.

"Uhtred Ragnarson." Skorpa called out his name with ease, a smirk highlighting the edges of his lips - a chill ran across Freyja's spine. His dark lit eyes gazed across the dane then trailed towards Freyja. "Freyja Ragnarsdóttir. Should I be pleased to see you both?"

An uneasy smile traced Uhtred's lips and his cerulean eyes narrowed in suspicion. "Skorpa of the white horse."

"I am expected," he breathed in, sweeping his eyes along the men trailing behind the siblings. "By the lord Odda."

Uhtred jerked his chin in an upwards motion, staring skorpa down with a narrowed glare. "The lord Odda is in the ground, buried as a traitor." He informed casually, showing not a trace of remorse on his face.

Something in skorpa's expression shifted, a change in his features as the words fell upon his ears, a subtle difference that only few seemed to notice - he was not happy to hear that the lord was dead. It meant whatever plans he had, whatever deal he struck, had crumbled through.

Skorpa pressed a smile, lips folding out into a sneer as he glanced across the estate in the far distance. "So what now? Do I speak with you? Does the truce stand?"

Uhtred gave him a look and relaxed the palm of his hand against his thigh. He gave a small nod in warning. "For today it stands. Tomorrow we will kill you."

"You will kill me with what?" He dared to ask, almost taunting the Dane, as if he couldn't fathom the idea that Uhtred would be the cause of his death.

Silver sliced the air as a dagger was drawn from ones hip. Freyja casually placed the tip of her knife against the leather of her saddle, twirling it between her fingers as she slowly brought her eyes back towards the man. "With this." She promised, a wicked smirk threatening to consume her lips.

Skorpa's eyes trailed from her face to the dagger. The blade was as long as her forearm, the sharp edge curving into a needle-like point. Amusement flashed across his stare and he dared to laugh. "You are going to kill me with that?" He earned himself a stilling look that revealed no traces of amusement on her face. He looked away from her, focusing his attention on Uhtred. "I have almost a thousand men to call upon."

"Your ships of been burned, Skorpa. By Alfred." Uhtred informed. "He's gathering a great saxon army."

Skorpa leaned his body across the saddle, glaring his cold, deathly eyes between the siblings. "I am aware my ships are gone. And I will have my revenge."

"You should return to Guthrum and prepare to die."

There was a silence that bedded the earth, a gush of cool breeze, a song of birds that carried into the wind, a thumping pulse of a heartbeat. Skorpa brought his eyes onto Freyja, smiling a Grimson grin as if he knew something she did not - she was about to find out.

"Did your brother tell you, that your sister is being humped in the ass each and every night by one eyed Sven?"

Freyja kept a calm expression, her features unmoving, her jaw refusing to clenched. Her eyes however glared at the thought of Thyra, poor innocent Thyra, Thyra who died in the fire. "My sister is dead."

From the corner of her eye, Uhtred spared a sideways glance and she inwardly frowned, wondering if he knew something that she did not.

Skorpa laughed. He laughed. Loudly, as if her words were the highlight to his day, the funniest thing he'd ever heard and she was forced to listen, feeling like a complete and utter fool for being so unaware.

He fell silent after letting his amusement linger and gave her an almost pitied look. "Your brother lied to you."

Beocca didn't waste a second. "Did your mother tell you she should've kept her legs closed?"

Skorpa's face fell, the facade of his appearance crumbling into dust. He straightened up, glaring between the faces of soldier's for the priest. "I will look for you first across the battlefield."

"I will be there," Beocca promised. "And I will not be difficult to find."

Skorpa turned with a grimson grin and wordlessly fled from the dirt path. Freyja's glare followed along his back as his colours faded off into the distance, forcing her ears to tune into the thundering of horses feet.

"Freyja." Uhtred called out gently, his eyes trained upon her side profile. There was a frown on his lips, one that couldn't mask the guilt within his heavy stare. He knew - for however long it was. He knew that Thyra was alive, that she was suffering and he didn't tell her.

Uhtred had betrayed her.

Freyja sheathed the dagger into her side and gathered a tight hold on the reins. She didn't acknowledge him, his words, the apology that lingered on his tongue. She clicked her own, her jaw finally clenching and she took off down the dirt trail.

Leofric watched her grow smaller and smaller before gazing his eyes across Uhtred. He searched the man's face, finding the traces of guilt hidden within his appearance. "Did you know?" He accused carefully, his brows pinching together. He was met with a look and that was more than enough for Leofric to know the answer.

The warrior sighed, looking back towards Freyja's direction. "You should've told her." He too gathered the reins and took off down the path.

—— • ° ☽ ★ ☾ ° • ——

FREYJA STARED OUT ACROSS
the horizon, where hills rose and fell into uneven terrain, where trees gathered in clusters, scattered across the earth like little villages rising from the soil. A canopy of clouds claimed the sky, stretching across the pale blue, shielding it from welcoming the earth.

Her hands clenched and unclenched, a consistent pattern of sharp piercing stings as her nails cut into the flesh. The scars that once laid there, the ones she finally allowed to heal, had torn open more in the last couple weeks than they have in months.

The blood pooled from the wounds, trailed rivers down her skin and making a sacrifice as they dripped to the earth where they would gather upon the blades of grass, and soak into the warm awaiting soil.

Freyja could feel an ache in her jaw from how hard her jaw was clenched. Her teeth ground together, pain spreading through the gums and surely assisting the growing ache in her skull.

She heard footsteps approaching behind her, the weight of the body they carried, the shuffle as they crossed the clearing. She felt a warmth at her back before fingers traced from her waist to her stomach and palms flattened against her.

A heavy sigh left the parting of her lips and instinctively, she settled into Leofric's arms, not completely relaxing into him but enough so her back was touching his chest.

Leofric pressed a gentle kiss to her jaw, hoping to ease the tension there before he followed his eyes towards the horizon. A flock of crows cawed above a gathering of trees and an uneasiness settled in the pit of his stomach.

"I'm sure he has a reason." He spoke against the shell of her ear, his warm breath brushing over her cheek.

Freyja tensed slightly in his hold, a sharp breath drawing in through her nose. She had hoped for a moment of silence, away from the others, away from the mention of Uhtred - but in the end, it was just a fruitless hope.

"He lied to me." Her voice cut through, cold enough to spread a chill across the warriors skin, low enough into a whisper to make it sound as if she couldn't quite believe it herself.

Leofric pressed a gentle squeeze to her stomach, hoping to force her body to relax - it didn't seem to work and he could begin to feel the heat of angry erupt from her skin. "I didn't say I agree with the arseling. I said I'm sure he has a reason."

"There's no good enough reason - my sister is alive and he knew, and he said nothing." Freyja shook her head, eyes squinting into the distance as she pried herself away from Leofric.

Leofric watched her in pity, somewhat understanding in her anger. If his sister was alive and some else that wasn't him knew, he'd hoped they were kind enough to tell him.

The frown settled deeper on his lips. "Speak to him. You can't stay mad forever, Freyja."

Her glare was ripped away from the horizon, from the hills that rose and fell in uneven terrain, from the trees gathered in clusters, scattering the earth like villages.

Her eyes found his and he was placed at the accusing end of then. Leofric released a breath, his shoulders tensing beneath her unwavering stare - he was beginning to feel that being on the receiving end of her glare was something normal - for him at least. That the coldness she brought was seen more often than the warmth.

"We're about to go to war, Freyja." He carefully broke it down for her, hoping to somehow slip through the cracks of her stubborn mind and equally stubborn heart. "You really want to do that angry with him?"

Footsteps pressed against the shell of his ear, distant and hesitant. He tilted his chin away from her, forcing himself to look away in search for the approaching silhouette.

His eyes snapped back to her after a short-lived moment and his expression became stern. "At least think on it." He allowed his eyes to linger, for the footsteps to grow closer before he turned and stalked away, leaving Freyja in the silence she had desperately hoped for.

The silence that was unforgivingly ripped away once Uhtred stopped a mere feet to her right. He was tense, cautious of her presence, of her sizzling anger. She had a right to be angry, that much he knew and understood, and he did not wish to take that from her - but he could not go into battle with her angry at him.

"Freyja, will you look at me?" He muttered in plea, his cerulean eyes reflecting traces of sadness and guilt as he stared at her.

"How long have you known?" She whispered, barely a breath against her lips. If it hadn't been so silent already, her words would surely have been unheard. She didn't look at him, didn't dare to even acknowledge his presence physically.

"Freyja-" Uhtred attempted, taking a step closer towards the angered woman.

"How long have you known?" She snapped, her voice suddenly raising to an echoing shout. She turned, facing her body towards him, her eyes a deathly glare. Almost on instinct, she had taken her dagger into her hand - the dagger she had promised to be the end of skorpa's life.

Uhtred's eyes grew pained as he glanced from the knife to her face. He didn't step any closer, not wanting to pass over that boundry.

"Not long." He fell silent for a moment, staring at her face as if he were trying to think of an answer to give, as if he were reluctant in telling her. Then he spoke. "That night at the farmstead - Iseult told me."

"Not long, he says." Freyja looked away with a scoff, eyes rolling across the horizon once again. She blinked once and focused on him. "Between then and now, you have had plenty of opportunities to tell me, but you didn't."

"But I didn't." Uhtred muttered, finding regret in his choices. She was right, he had the time to tell her that Thyra was in fact alive, but he had chosen not to for reasons he wouldn't even begin to understand, to know. Slowly, he shook his head, "I don't have excuses. I don't know why I didn't tell you. Perhaps I believed it was not the time."

Freyja stalked towards him, her face twisted in disbelief. She raised her arm, pointing the tip of the dagger in his direction. Angry tears brimmed her eyes red. "When this war is over, we will go find Thyra. Swear to me." There was a small pause of silence, one that left just enough room for Uhtred to speak, but Freyja was quick to beat him to it. "Swear to me!" She shouted in his face, her grip on the dagger tightening.

"I swear to you." He promised, his eyes staring directly into hers, his voice holding such sincerity.

Freyja breathed in a sharp trembling breath and flipped the dagger around. She shoved the knife against his chest, causing him to slightly stumble as he was taken aback by the pressure of her shove. Carefully, he placed his hand over hers, cradling the handle of the dagger.

"This is for skorpa." She sneered, an image coming to mind as she imagined the very moment it entered his body - she had made him a promise, and she was willing to keep it. "And Kjartan is mine. When we find Thyra he is mine to kill, understood?"

"Kjartan is yours." She forced the knife into his hold once the words were spoken, releasing her own grip and taking a step back. She cast her brother one last glare before turning and storming off towards camp.

"Today is a day for warriors. A day to kill your enemies." Alfred's voice shouted across the clearing, raining over the many scattered ears of the great Saxon army. "A day we make the pagans wish they had never heard of Wessex. Today, we fight for Wessex!"

A ceremony of cheers endlessly travelled the earth, trembling the very cool air they breathed. "And not only for Wessex. We have men here from Northumbria, from Mercia, from East Anglia. And why are the pagans here? They want your wives for their pleasure. They want your children as their slaves. They want your homes as their own. But they do not know us!"

Alfred raised his hand to silence the uproar of agreement. "They do not know our swords. They do not know our axes, our spears. They do not know our courage. And today, we kill them! We shall make the ground red with their blood. We shall strip them of what they have plundered. We shall make them cry out for mercy, and there will be none! No mercy!"

"No mercy! No mercy! No mercy!"

No mercy.

The sword weighed heavy at her side, like a permanent weight that attached itself to her body. Around her, hundreds of men screamed and hollered, thrusting their swords and their spears and their hooks into the air.

Across the battlefield, yet to be touched by a drop of blood, yet to welcome it's first corpse, a Dane army as large as theirs stretched along the horizon in a single defining line.

Omens were everywhere. The omen of death loomed over them as a clouded sky, as a cry of black birds that circulated the air, as an overbearing weight in her chest that ceased to float.

A hand grasped her elbow, tugging her back and around to face another. Her eyes found Leofric's, found his lips as he neared her, closing in time for him to pull her into a searing kiss.

She held her breath for as long as her body allowed, not wanting to pull her lips away, to break the close proximity between them. But then it grew too much and her lungs began to ache and the heat against her lips became far too warm.

They pulled apart but his hands still cradled her body close, her palm still rested against the back of his neck. Their noses still brushed together, blending their breaths into one.

"Is it to late to ask you to stay with Hild and Iseult?" Leofric sighed defeatedly, already knowing the answer before he asked. But he couldn't help but wonder, just for the slightest, little chance that she'd stay back, stay somewhere where it's safe and away from the fight - he had grown to care about the lethal woman she was, the angry, danish part of her that was always ready for a fight - but the thought of losing her was always there, always lingering in the back of his mind.

He had come to know her, to care for her, and now he couldn't fathom a world without her in it.

"I'm not going to stand back while you men fight." Freyja shook her head against him, the tip of her nose brushing along his. Her grip on his neck tightened, fingertips pushing through the shortly cropped strands of his hair. "That's not who I am. I'm a Dane."

"You're a Dane." Leofric repeated, grinning amusingly as his fingers traced down her back.

There was a pause, where the cheers and shouts faded around them, where it was only them amongst the field. Freyja breathed in, her eyes fluttering shut as she focused on the way his hands felt on her back. "Come back to me, Leofric."

Leofric didn't reply in words, rather he pressed his lips to hers once again, silently asking her the same - To come back to him.

They pulled away from eachother with an air of hesitance and the noise died down completely, rendering the field silent.

Uhtred moved towards the front of the line, his eyes sweep along the rows upon rows of dane. He tilted his chin, hoping to catch Freyja's gaze but instead, he found Leofric's stare. "Form our lines." He nodded, giving the order.

Leofric returned the gesture and shouted his words for every man to hear. "Form our lines!"

"Shields up!" Uhtred shouted, his face screwing tight. A ceremony of shields rose, wood tapping against wood as they shoved against one another.

Clearing her throat, Freyja parted her lips and shouted into the air. "Advance!"

The feet of a thousand men stomped the yet to be tainted ground as they advanced across the field, the earth trembling beneath their heavy steps as if it were a stampede of cantering horses.

"Come on!" Leofric screamed even louder beside her, his eyes glancing every so often across the heads of the great Saxon army. The opposing side began to advance and the strip of land between them slowly became smaller and smaller.

"Hold the line. We work as one!" Uhtred ordered firmly. "We do not break! We hold the line!"

"Halt!" A Dane amidst the other side shouted, his low voice echoing across many ears.

"Halt!" Freyja repeated and the army around her came to a still.

"Wulfhere!" Leofric call out in anger, his eyes seeking sight of the man hidden within the sea of Danes. "I will have your guts you traitorous bastard!"

"This is our land!" Uhtred screamed, thrusting his sword into the air. Many other swords were lifted, hooks and spears reaching for the air.

"First!" Uhtred orders and the first row of shields pressed to the ground across ones feet. "Second!" The next row of shields came forward, followed by the third when the word left Uhtred's lips.

The wall of shields was formed, leaving only small slithers of light to pool through the cracks, enough for them to see the Dane's opposite from them.

A cry of Danes echoed and the ground shook beneath their running feet. "Here they come." Leofric concerned, his eyes widening for a fraction of a second as he prepared himself.

Planting her feet firmly to the ground, Freyja slightly bent her knees and held her body with the shield. A force slammed against her and she gritted her teeth as her body threatened to fall back.

Several Saxons fell as they were met with the blade of a sword or spear stabbing through the parts of their body.

Freyja gripped the handle tight and thrust the sword between the gaps of hers and Leofric's shields. The blade became painted in red almost immediately, smeared in the blood of different Dane's as she killed them through the shield wall.

An axe flug through, just barely slicing past her ear. Crimson splattered the side of her face and she flinched at the feeling of its warmth. But she felt no pain of the cut, rather a sting as it met the corner of her eye, catching within her lashes. Her head turned and horror struck her face as her eyes found the slice on Leofric's neck.

He reached to cradle the wound but it was no use as the blood continued to gush, pools of it seeping through his fingers. He fell to his knees, crumbling to the earth as his legs caved in.

Freyja cried out, the sound that left her lips shattering enough to bring the attention of few others towards her.

"Freyja." Halig called her name once he realised her shift of attention. He placed his shield where Leofric once was, his arm coming to Freyja's side when she attempted to reach for the fallen warrior. "Freyja, we need to fight." He stared at her face, eyes just as wide as hers. His gaze then snapped to the ground where Leofric knelt. "Leofric. Up to your feet! Leofric!"

But he did not stand to his feet, he did not move from where he knelt within the bodies of other Saxon. He did not give an answer in return for the blood had immediately began to pool from his lips.

Freyja's hand shook as she faced ahead of her and stabbed her sword through the gaps, over and over and over, hoping that with luck she managed to kill the man who had wounded Leofric.

"Leave him! Leave him." Uhtred's shout was muffled beneath the slicing of swords and the obscene splattered of blood as skin was torn. Though his eyes occasionally flickered to Freyja in worry. "Close the gaps! Keep the wall tight! Forward. Three, two one!" They pushed forward, forcing the Dane's to retrace their paces. The shields slammed against the ground as they advanced.

The pressure against their shields began to lessen as the Dane's fell back and the field was split to reveal a crimson river of blood across the narrow space.

"Edge backwards with me at my level!" Uhtred ordered. "And move. Move. Move." With each word, they took a step back, retracing their steps towards their side of the field. Freyja glanced to the ground, hoping to find Leofric amidst the bodies of fallen soldiers.

A white horse galloped into the clearing. "Uhtred Ragnarson." Skorpa called out, his eyes sweeping across the shield wall as if he were waiting for Uhtred to suddenly reveal himself. "Can you hear me?"

"I hear you, skorpa. Do you wish to surrender?"

"I have a gift for you." A grin stretched across his bloodied lips and Skorpa lifted his arm to reveal Iseult's head dangling from his fingers. "Your queen." He threw her head carelessly to the ground by Uhtred's feet. "No mercy!"

Uhtred broke from the shields, shoving his body passed them. He ran across the clearing with a cry and scaled the top of the shields, throwing himself into the Dane's territory.

Freyja's jaw clenched in worry and she plucked a spear from the ground. She made a gap with the shields, drew her arm back and hurled the spear through the air.

The pressure of her throw caused the spear to stab through a shield and the Dane holding it. But it didn't stop there, for it had stabbed into a second Dane's chest, bringing them both to the ground.

The wall parted momentarily and Freyja rushed through the gap. Her sword pierced through the ribs of a dane, bringing them down and causing the wall to shatter. The Saxon army followed in her trail, rushing forward and breaking through the body of danes.

Blood rained the earth and it became a massacre.

Freyja swung and swung and swung, each direction of her blade sacrificing another body to the earth. The ground became tainted, her skin tainted, her sword red with the blood of her enemies.

She could feel the heat around her, her hair clumping together in shades of crimson, the blood clinging to her faces. Her hands were red with it. So, so red that it became the only colour she could see.

Wherever she went, bodies fell in wake and she pushed further and further into the Dane's territory. She came to a small clearing where the enemies were scattered.

Her eyes caught sight of Uhtred and she breathed in relief. He stood over skorpa, pushing the spear further into his chest, and to finish off the act, he withdrew Freyja's dagger and stabbed it through his neck.

A promise fulfilled.

"You." A voice called from her left, a tremble of fear, a trace of surprise.

Freyja spun on her heel and her eyes settled of Wulfhere. He was covered head to toe in blood, whether it be his own, the Dane's or the Saxons – maybe it was a blend of all three.

"Wulfhere." Freyja tilted her head with a smirk, her eyes cold as she glared at him. Raising her arm, she lazily pointed her blade to him in warning and twirled the sword in her grip. "I shall have your guts now."

There was a pause where her smirk only grew before she rushed towards the man who immediately raised his weapon in defence. Steel sliced together, over and over as they evaded each other's hits, until Freyja had the perfect opportunity and she took it.

Wulfhere stilled as the blade penetrated his stomach, his lips parting with a pained gasp. The sword fell loose from his grip and hit the earth and he slumped against Freyja's body.

She held him up, just to see the look in his eyes as she reached her hand into the wound and ripped out his intestines. She held parts of the organ in her hand, parts of it still attached to him as the life flickered in and out of his eyes.

Freyja hummed in twisted amusement. "He was right." She breathed, leaning closer towards him. Her breath fanned against his ear as she whispered. "They really are traitorous guts." With one last harsh tug, she ripped more of the organs from his stomach and shoved his body to ground.

Carelessly, she tossed the intestines beside him, her eyes racking across his paling face. He stared up at her, eyes holding no traces of life, no hints as to whether his heart was still beating.

Wulfhere was dead and she had killed him as Leofric had promised, and his organs laid upon the earth for all to see.

And when the war was over, when the earth stilled in the echo of death, the field stained in the blood of those that had fallen, Freyja numbly crossed the clearing, stepping over the corpses that laid at her bloodied feet.

Her eyes gazed across them, across theirs faces, their clothes for something familiar. Then she found them, the yellow armour that had not seen a day in its life without dirt.

Her hand loosened and her sword clattered to the ground. A cry ripped from her lips, and her feet stumbled towards the body that laid face down.

Her knees trembled and she fell beside him, her hands immediately setting upon his shoulder to turn him over.

His eyes were closed so she couldn't see the pools of honeyed brown. His skin pale beneath layers of blood, and the left side of his neck was cut open.

He looks, dead. So much silence, no voice, only an echo. Something in her chest shattered so loudly, so painfully that it was a wonder how no one had heard it, had heard the crumbling shards of her beating heart turning to dust.

Her head fell, her forehead pressing into his chest and she screamed and she screamed and she screamed— her red right hand cradled his lifeless one and she held him tight, hoping, praying to the cruelty of her gods to bring him back to her.

But he was dead, and there was no changing that. He was dead and she was not, and she was forced to fathom going through a world without him.

Uhtred shared in her heartbreak, in her pain in loosing someone close to heart. He could almost feel it, the exact moment her heart shattered into pieces.

He knew she was angry, that she was hurt by his lies, but he approached anyway and he slowly eased himself to the ground beside her, the soil soaked in blood and soft sinking beneath his knees.

His arms wrapped around her, beneath her – one around her shoulders and the other across her arms. His fingers brushed through her hair, combing through the tangled, mattered strands. He let his own tears slip, fat beads of salt rolling down his cheeks, wetting the furs that draped across her shoulders.

Together, they mourned the death of those they cared about.

—— • ° ☽ ★ ☾ ° • ——

word count: 16,111