—— • ° ☽ ★ ☾ ° • ——

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐒𝐈𝐗𝐓𝐄𝐄𝐍 –
ꜰʀᴏᴍ ᴏɴᴇ ᴋɪɴɢ ᴛᴏ ᴀɴᴏᴛʜᴇʀ.
ᴀᴄᴛ ᴛᴡᴏ – ɢʟᴏʀʏ ᴀɴᴅ ɢᴏʀᴇ

—— • ° ☽ ★ ☾ ° • ——

DAYLIGHT PLASTERED THE SKY
in a haze of silver and pale blue, wrapped the earth in a wet blanket of cold that traced the ground in a thinning, melting sheet of ice. The sun slowly rose to the surface, bringing a subtle warmth along with its touch – it glowed between the yellowing tendrils of dying grass, illuminating the dried out edges of the field.

The smell of night gave way to dusk, and it melted from Freyja's nose as she brought a cloth to her face and gently dried the water from her cheeks.

She thought about the night in passing, about what she'd seen and heard, what she said. Seeing Sven, it brought back something familiar, an anger bubbling within her.

It would have been so easy to kill him right there and then – but that would leave Kjartan, and he would surely know it was them despite how little his son tended to use his brain.

And then that would leave the fate of Thyra beyond their reach.

A splash of water summoned behind her as she felt the droplets rain across her back from Uhtred's purposeful splash. She could feel the way he looked across her in concern without even having to glance towards him. She could feel it, like a heavy weight on her back.

She heard the light breath in his lips, felt the shift of his feet within the low dying grass. "What did you see?" She was a fool to believe that he wouldn't notice, a foolish hope.

The moment she saw whatever it was she had seen, Uhtred had immediately took note of the way she stilled, the horror that crossed her face even behind the skull masking. Somehow, they seemed to constantly be aware of eachothers emotions, like a string tethering their lives together.

Uhtred had first begun to notice it when he was at the farmstead with Iseult and Mildrith – that day, he had been struck with a horrible feeling, like a weight on his chest – and he had arrived to Wessex only to receive news that Freyja had been taken prisoner.

"I didn't see anything." She replied quickly, curtly, her eyes giving a faraway look as she traced along the horizon. Her fingers pinched almost immediately and her hands shyly dove beneath the furs of her cloak. Hidden away, she felt the sharp press of her nails.

Uhtred risked a step closer, his eyes staring down at her hunched over frame where she sat on the cold, earthly floor. "Freyja, do not lie to me." He was not unfamiliar with grief – he knew his sister bared it like a dark hovering cloud, a constant.

He understood why. He understood her pain – If only she would just speak to him instead of shutting herself away.

Freyja lifted her chin, her jaw set. Her calm gaze locked with the cerulean of his eyes, the dark pools of his pupils. "I didn't see anything." She repeated slowly, as if he were a child and she needed to brake down a sentence for him to properly understand. She paused between each word.

She did not see anything, rather a figment of her imagination, a warped and disoriented image her mind had conjured forth to taunt her.

But other than that, she convinced herself of nothing.

They both knew the lie she carried, the weight it left on her chest, the sharp prick it left on the tip of her tongue. They both knew, and yet, neither pressed.

When a set of footsteps cautiously trailed the earth towards them, Freyja had almost immediately stood from ground, grateful for the opportunity to direct her brother's attention away from her and onto the presence of another.

She turned her body around, placing the sun on her back and settling her eyes on the slave turned kind.

Guthred approached with an air of hesitance, his steps slowly trampling the earth – in his hands, were two folded bundles, it's contents a mystery to the danish siblings.

"The priest tells me it is you both I should thank for my freedom." He offered, his voice lighter than a feather, softer than a whisper. Appreciation glimmered fondly within his eyes as he gazed from one to the other, a soft lit smile highlighting the edges of his lips.

Uhtred turned away from the barrel of water where he'd spent minutes scrubbing away the white paint that had clung the whole night to his skin. "I did not raise the ransom." Uhtred brushed away the man's thanks.

Guthred chuffed, something between amusement and disbelief. "A ransom was not paid. It goes back to the church."

Uhtred rolled his eyes, not surprised in the least. Wetting the water against his palms, he gestured his chin towards the cluster of the ill. "Some coins should go to them, the lepers. Without them, they'd all be dead."

Guthred slowly gave a nod, the light of sun shining upon his malnourished appearance. "As I am apparently now king, I shall see they are rewarded." He took a breath, cradling the bundles of fabric to his chest. He took a step closer, offering one to Uhtred. "This is for you."

Uncertainty clouded Uhtred's appearance and he unfolded the fabric while it still lay in Guthred's open palm. He was surprised to see slices of bread and small bits of fruit. "A king brings me food."

"Did Alfred not feed you?" Guthred chuckled, though there was a disbelief within his stare, a small frown that tugged at the corners of his lips. He turned to Freyja, his soft green eyes lingering upon her face. He smile, almost shyly and carefully offer her the second bundle.

"You know of Alfred?" She asked, cautiously accepting the offer and holding the fabric into her chest. His eyes lingered a few seconds longer.

"Aye," he nodded, gazing upon the softly lit land that surrounded them. "Every Dane in the land knows of Alfred, and while a slave, some of the men recently captured, they spoke of ethandun. They spoke of Uhtred, how he broke a shield wall." His eyes wept towards Freyja in bewilderment. "Of a goddess named Freyja – how she took down men twice her size and ripped out the intestines of another without even batting an eye."

Freyja held his stare, her face taking on no affect from his words. "I am no goddess."

"I find that hard to believe." He spoke with traces of honesty heavy on his lips, his eyes trailing across her face before he forced himself to look away. "You should pay a skald to write a song.

Uhtred laughed. "I did that, in Mercia." Greedily, he shoved a piece of bread in his mouth. "I was drunk and the song was tuneless."

A gentle laugh caressed the air from Guthred's lips before his expression crumbled with a deep look of something else. "I am indebted." He looked Uhtred in the eye, his words woven with more honesty then Alfred ever allowed himself to show. He then gazed across Freyja once again, welcoming her into the unspoken promise of his words. "My words have no tune, but they're sincere. You have brought me back to life."

A look swept Freyja's face, seeming to mirror her brother's. This could work in their favour – helping Guthred. It could lead them directly to Kjartan – to their sister.

"Then you owe us." Uhtred smirked inwardly, hoping to not portray his internal flee upon his face.

"I do. I do." Guthred agreed. "Serve me."

"Serve you?" Freyja's brows pinched, her eyes narrowing sceptically.

"Join me." Guthred corrected, bearing a smile across his lips. "A king needs a commander – two if he is lucky. Think on it, Uhtred and Freyja of Wessex."

Uhtred's face crumbled and he gave the king a look. "I am of bebbanburg."

"Yes, you are, you are."

"Is it your intention to build any army" Uhtred cut him off, a sternness in his stare.

Guthred gave a thoughtful sigh. "Last night I was still a slave."

"Build an army and I will command it." Uhtred reached out, tapping the kings chest. "But only if it is your intention to go against all the Lord's of the North. Kjartan, but also the brother's and the man who stole my land. My own uncle."

"That, I owe you. Uhtred of Bebbanburg." He trailed off, mirroring Uhtred's smile. Sucking in a breath, he swallowed the fresh air that was a new to him, savouring the taste of lightness in the walls of his mouth. "Now I must get used to who I am. Enjoy."

Waving towards the food, he glanced one last time towards the woman before turning on his heel and retracing the way he'd walked.

Freyja unfolded the fabric and still her hand upon the edge of the cloth. Laid upon the slices of bread and pieces of fruit, was a small cutting of a flower, its soft purple petals appearing feathery in the light of the sun.

Uhtred made a hum of amusement and spoke around a full mouth. "It appears we are not the only ones enjoying ourselves."

Scoffing, Freyja plucked flower between her two fingers and dropped it to the earthly ground.

—— • ° ☽ ★ ☾ ° • ——

EAGER HANDS CLAWED
at the legs of Uhtred, arms stretching over one another in a tangled mess of arms, wrists and hands. They were eager to set their touch upon him, upon their king, eager to trail their touch along legs and thighs, reaching up, up for his returning hand.

Uhtred hummed in amusement, gazing across the clusters of both men and woman smiling up at him, his weary eyes trailing over Guthred. But the man did not seem angered by any means, rather a humourous tone set upon his face.

Halig laughed, his face gleaming bright. "They believe you to be the king, lord."

"Then let him be the king." There was no envy on Guthred's face, no malice as he gazed far ahead towards the palace of Cumberland. "King for the day." Reaching back, Guthred unhooked his hood and slid it over his features, masking them from the eye.

"Thank you. Thank you, and God bless you all." Uhtred beammed, failing to his away his enjoyment as he steered the horse along the stretch of dirt path.

It was subtle, a rarety in the shadows that often lingered upon the edges of her appearance, but a smile managed to break to the surface, so subtle that it was not noticeable to the eye – but it was enough to shed a small amount of light upon her expression.

Beocca tsked his tongue in disappointment, but even he could not stop the light from shedding across his face. "Uhtred, that is almost blasphemy."

"Thank you all for taking the time to great the king." Uhtred expressed over the endless ceremony of greetings and compliments being thrown at him.

"You will stop this nonsense." Beocca shook his head, glaring slightly in warning to Uhtred who only followed through with a laugh.

"You are feeding my brother's ego the longer you allow him to play his act." Freyja stared ahead as they breached the large stone arch of the entrance to the courtyard. Her words were directed to the king – the real king.

"There is no harm in that." Guthred laughed, gazing so fondly across her, so sweetly beneath the fabric of his hood. "Perhaps you would like to act queen?"

"Beocca, they love me." Uhtred laughed softly with glee, turning back to gaze upon the priest. For a brief moment, he locked eyes with his sister, finding the softness within her stare.

"Because they have no idea what a fool you are."

"Be careful, priest, or he will have your head." Guthred teased, taunting the man with a tilt of his head.

"Not before he feels my boot."

"And may I present to you, queen hild of the water bucket, scourge of slavers and once thrown out of the nunnery." He turned in his saddle, smiling with glee towards the blonde woman.

Hild held back a laugh, her eyes playfully glaring as half the attention shifted towards her. "I was not." Her mouth parted widely with a gobsmacked expression. "The lord tells lies and all to easily."

"And not to forget the lady queen freyja." Uhtred laughed, sparing his sister look as he leaned forward in his saddle. In return, he was met with a less than impressed glare. "Doesn't she have a beautiful smile?"

Freyja continued to glare, her sneer deepening as hands brushed along her boots and legs, arms stretching for her attention – she resisted the urge to kick them.

Their pace slowed into the courtyard, the townspeople swarmed around in clusters along the sidelines. They were greeted with the sight of brother Trew and only who Freyja could assume was the abbot.

"Lord king! Lord king!" The abbot welcomed with a shout of his voice, his greeting stretching across the yard. His eyes were solely focused on Uhtred, and for once, Freyja allowed her inner amusement to twitch at the sharp corner of her lips. He took a few short steps closer. "Lord king, I am the Abbot Eadred."

Brother Trew urgently followed in his heels. "Abbott, no " he tried to warm, hoping to save the man from embarrassment. But he had no luck.

"It is I to whom," he wrung his hands together beneath the large fabric pooling around his wrists. "The blessed st Cuthbert appeared in a dream, a glorious dream." He formed a cross over his chest, his eyes fondly gazing upon Uhtred.

Brother Trew leaned over his shoulder. "Abbott, please."

"Let him speak, brother Trew." Freyja chimed, her eyes solely set on the abbott with the trace of smirk. "The Abbott is only greating his envisioned king. It would be the uttmost disrespect if you were to ruin such a – glorious dream."

The Abbott's eyes cast towards her as a silent, breathless laugh escaped the lips of both Uhtred and Guthred. "Thank you," he trailed off, his narrowing into a squint as he searched for her name.

"Freyja."

"Freyja." He bowed his head in appreciation, not allowing his attention to linger as his gaze snapped back to Uhtred. He took a deep breath, trying to remember where it was in the speech he was up to. He smiled in awe. "He showed me your face. And he called you king."

"Thank you." Uhtred chuckled, glancing back to both Hild and Halig who both wore humourous smiles. "Are you sure that it was not this face here  that you saw?" Resting his weight against his forearm, he gestured to the hooded figure between him and Freyja.

The Abbott's face crumbled. "What?"

Guthred peeled back the hood and gazed around. Eyes widened and Freyja chuffed at the remaining bewilderment on the abbots face. "The resemblance is uncanny."

A woman placed a hand to her chest from behind the Abbott Eadred. "Guthred." She sung, her eyes fixated on the man. "It is you." Stepping around Eadred, she crossed the space as Guthred slid down from his horse to greet her. "I didn't dare to believe it. I didn't dare." She took his hands into her own, gazing upon his face. With a gasp, she flung herself at him, arms wrapping tightly around his shoulders.

—— • ° ☽ ★ ☾ ° • ——

STANDING SHOULDER TO SHOULDER,
the church hall was filled, townspeople crammed and stuffed into the rows. You could barely move an inch without stepping on someone's toe.

Freyja leaned her back against the large stone pillar, feeling its cold pressing into her back through the leather of her vest. She stared ahead of her, with a bored expression tangled into her stone cold appearance.

That was until she heard the heavy shuffle of footsteps.

Slightly, she pushed off the pillar, her chin meeting her shoulder as she focused on the entrance. Passing through the threshold hold, six men strolled into the church, a coffin carried upon their shoulders.

"God in heaven, I never thought I would see the day." Muttered Beocca, his eyes entranced on the wooden box.

"Is it him, father?" Hild expressed her curiosity, standing on her toes to peer over the priest's shoulder.

"It is." He nodded. "Two hundred years after his death, he remains whole, a sign of the depth of his holiness."

All eyes seemed to follow them, each with differed expressions of interest as the coffin was carried towards the front of the room. It was set down to the floor with careful movement, set upon a small stage.

Around them, the people kneeled to the floor, heads bowed as a sign of their respect. Freyja arched a brow, her eyes dragging across the back of their skulls before she looked over and shared a glance with her brother.

The lid was cracked open and uplifted from the coffin. Curiously, Beocca glanced up before quickly setting his forehead back to the ground.

The Abbott knelt beside the coffin. "O most holy Cuthbert, guide us and lead us and bring us to your glory, in the name of him who died for us." Slowly, he lifted his arm, making a cross of his body. "Amen."

"Amen." The word sung in ceremony, an echo against ears as the word was repeated back.

The Abbott lifted his gaze towards Guthred – the king standing amongst the ones who knelt around him. He gestured across from him.

The king looked weary, his eyes scattered until he found his ability to move. He dragged himself across, stepping onto the stayand joining the empty space.

Freyja, without taking her eyes off the front of the church, leaned towards Uhtred and whispered. "How many of these will we have to witness?" She gestured subtly around the room, speaking on the crowning of another king.

A silent laugh breathlessly left Uhtred's lips, the Dane masking his smile as he glanced around the hall.

Guthred knelt to the ground as the Abbott peeled back the cloth, revealing Cuthbert's mummified face. "See how the flesh is uncorrupted? A miracle." His expression gleamed and he peeled the cloth further back to reveal the corpses hand. Gently, he lifted the wrist with the tips of his fingers. "You will take his hand, lord, and swear your oath."

Guthred's eyes slid across the room, settling on the siblings. "Uhtred, Freyja, you are the commanders of my household troops. You will be beside me."

Slowly, Uhtred and Freyja shuffled through the kneeling crowd, avoiding the uncertain eyes of the Abbott that watched them in judgement. They crossed the hall, stepped up onto the stage, and flanked the king's sides.

Beocca lifted his head. "Uhtred, Freyja, you will kneel."

Freyja resisted the urge to speak – that she will kneel for no king – but one glance at Uhtred caused her to bite down on her tongue. Doing this, it will gain Guthred's trust which will in the end give them the army they need to carry out their mission in taking down Kjartan and saving Thyra.

Rolling her eyes behind closed eyelids, she hid a sneer and stooped towards the stone floor. She kneeled on one knee, hating every second of it.

The Abbott's forced away his distaste and focused on Guthred. "Take his hand, lord." Guthred took the mummified hand. "God and the blessed saint Cuthbert have given us this day a king. A king who shall raise an arm and that army shall march in his name and all evil shall be expunged. This you swear."

"I swear."

Eadred stood and stepped down from the altar, joining the rest of the crowd. He lifted his chin, his eyes shining as he shouted. "Vivet rex Guthred!"

The congregation sung. "Vivet Rex Guthred! Vivet rex Guthred! Vivet rex Guthred!"

And like a lion standing upon his mighty throne, Guthred gazes proudly across those who served and bowed for him.

—— • ° ☽ ★ ☾ ° • ——

THE ALE WAS SWEET
on her tongue, but no amount of sweetness could soften the bitterness on her expression. There was noise all around her, a drunken roar of celebration that coaxed through the dimly lit night.

But still, she drank and drank, hoping to dampen the ache, to forget. She was on her fourth cup by now – Guthred insisting on refilling her cup. I am king, and a king pleases his guests. She had hoped to feel it's affects, but all she had felt was it's growing sourness.

"Guthred." A soft, feathery voice chimed and Gisela – the king's sister – approached with a gentle shuffle of her feet. "Or do I now call you lord?"

"You can call me whatever pleases you." Guthred held a firm look, his chin lifting with certainty.

"Very well," a twinkle lit the warmth of Gisela's eyes and even Freyja would be a fool to not consider it capturing. "Lord goose-shit., I am about to retire." She glanced over her shoulder, towards the blonde headed nun. "Hild will stay with me?"

Before she had a chance to finish, Hild was already nodded her head with a pleasant smile. "Yes."

Guthred leaned toward his sister. "It is so good to see your crooked little face again."

"It is so good to see that you are still a fool." Brushing her hand along Guthreds shoulder, she gazed across the other lingering few. "Sleep well."

"Good night." Freyja breathed, gesturing a goodbye with a single raise of her cup. She followed her eyes with dthe woman as she slipped away into the ever growing crowd.

"Sleep well, lady." A dazed smile traced Uhtred's lips, his eyes entranced, captured whistfully on the brunette.

A look of teased coaxed Hilds expression and she turned towards Uhtred. "Do not get overly drunk, lord." She warned. "For tomorrow you teach me sword skills. And maybe one day I shall save your life." Nodding her head to Beocca, she squeezed Freyja's elbow as she passed and dispersed in Gisela's trail.

"Your sister is pretty." Uhtred breathed, his eyes still trained on the place where he'd last witnessed the king's sister.

Beocca huffed a laugh. "Uhtred, I believe you would find a goat in a skirt to be pretty." He clapped Uhtred's arm. "Goodnight."

"Cover a shit in gold and he'd find that to be pretty too." Freyja gave her brother a look, smirking lowly behind the rim of her cup. Bringing it fully to her lips, she sipped at the sweet ale and turned away from the two.

She crossed the room, easily finding a table for her to sit. Slowly approaching, her eyes settled on a sleeping, drooling Halig with his face buried in a plate of food.

Smirking to herself, she came to stand behind him and hovered over his body. Taking a final sip of the ale, she counted to herself before spilling the rest over his head.

Haligs body snapped up, eyes blinking frantically through shock, suddenly aware of the liquid pooling over him.

Freyja barely allowed him time to register before her hand swung forward, landing a harsh slap to his wet cheek, colouring it in a reddened shape of her hand.

Listening to the complaint that hung on his lips, she danced around him and plopped herself into the seat across. Her empty cup slammed the table. "You owe me a drink." She said with a semi-serious expression, a glare in her eyes as she watched the confusion spread across the Saxons face.

"But you just –"

"Now."

"Yes, lady."

—— • ° ☽ ★ ☾ ° • ——

A CEREMONY OF GRUNTS
fell loosely from Uhtred's lips as he stepped aside and ducked from each approaching hit. He paced back and forth in a dance-like rhythm that easily guided his form, stepping across the small clearing.

Surrounding him, was the king's troops in the form of a circle, with eager eyes following the blur of his body.

There was a ripple of silver trailing along the paleness of her skin as she twirled the dagger between her fingers, the sun casting a glimmer of light against the steel of the blade. The green of her eyes followed her brother closely, darting back and forth between him and the larger opponent.

A loud crunch sounded against her ear, a burst of an apples flesh. Halig gazed upon the priest and the nun. "Clapa's a bear. A big angry bear. Should we call a halt?"

Beoccas brows pinched and he shook his head. "Not at all. With a little luck, a blow will land."

"Hopefully on his head." Freyja dragged out sarcastically, shifting her body to rest her hip against the edge of the table. From the corner of her eyes, the trio looked towards her. "Clapa is large, which means most of his weight is with his feet. Uhtred is much smaller which makes him quick."

"Is that why he calls you fox? Because you're quick?"

Freyja gave him a look, a subtle glare in her eyes, but she did not respond.

Hild smiled to herself. "He calls her fox not because she is quick, but because she is smart."

Clapa swung his axe, but his movements were far to slow and Uhtred was quick to lift his shield above his head, point the blade of his sword against clapa's throat.

Beocca swept his eyes towards Gisela on the opposite side. "All he is doing is showing off his feathers."

Clapa shoved away Uhtred's sword.

Hild smiled, jerking her chin towards the brunette woman's direction. She was joyous to see Uhtred happy, after Iseult, it had proved to be a difficult task – now all she needed was for Freyja to feel happiness. "I believe the lady feels the same."

"They usually do." Beocca gazed upon Uhtred with envy. "Even his scars are handsome."

When Uhtred turned his back, his attention set on the lady Gisela, clapa took the opportunity and charged, making the mistake of vocally announcing his movements. Uhtred turned in time and raised the shield, firmly holding it above his head in response to each belting hit – leaving his legs wide open for the attack.

The crack of wood splintered across the air and the shield was tossed to the ground. Uhtred stepped aside, kicking his foot against clapa's leg. The man fell to his knees and a the wooden sword was held to his neck.

Uhtred laughed a kissed the crown of the man's bald, sweat glistened skull and stepped away. "Not every sword stroke is a kill." He informed. "A kill is something you must fashion. Whether man against man or within a shield wall. Anything below the knee is vulnerable. A strike to the ankle won't kill you, but it'll open the door and death himself will step through that door. So don't do what clapa has done. Don't over-reach. Do not make almost half your body a target."

Movement blurred lines within the corner of her peripheral vision and Freyja lifted her chin towards her left. She peered around the curve of Haligs back, trailing her stare towards the distance.

A dirt path veered from the area, trailing further into the village, and on that dirt path, was a gathering of horsemen.

Pushing off the table, she steadily walked towards the center of the square and approached Uhtred from behind. She glanced towards the path as she set a hand upon his shoulder, capturing his attention. "Horsemen." She muttered, low enough so only the words were between them.

Uhtred followed her line of sight, his chin brushing along his shoulder her hand rested upon. He gave a curt, weary nod. "I see them."

Without looking away, he gestured towards one of the others formed within the square. "Fetch me some water."

"Forgive me," the stranger's voice rumbled across the earth, his eyes gazing across the clearing before settling on the two Danes within the center – he would not jump to assumptions, but he could only guess that the two were his targets. "We're looking for Uhtred and Freyja, the commanders of the king's army."

Lowering her hand from his shoulder, Freyja took a step back and narrowed her eyes with a sceptic glare. Her lips pursed into a weary sneer, her glare dragging across the horsemen, counting each individual man.

The stranger leaped down from his horse and took a few steps, his movements followed by his followers. His extended his arms as a sign of peace, his eyes gazing around. "We're here to offer our swords."

"Excellent. Excellent." Guthred beamed, pleased to know others were willing to fight within his growing army. He sauntered towards the center, coming to a stand beside Uhtred and Freyja. "To whom do you belong?"

The Dane snapped his eyes onto the king. "We serve the Dane, Earl brynjar. We're settled north and east of here."

Guthred nodded his head excitedly. "I know of brynjar. Well, I am Guthred. I'm king of Cumberland."

"Forgive me." He placed a hand over his stomach, preparing himself to bow.

"No. No, no." Guthred waved him off. "If you are here to join me, there's nothing to forgive."

Uhtred folded his arms unsurely. "Brynjar's not with you?"

His gaze snapped towards Uhtred and a hint of a smile traced his lips – an unease pressed against Freyja's skin with the way he eyed her brother closely. "My lord is an old man now."

If it were possible, her eyes would have narrowed further. "He sends you here. Why?"

"He is worried that the like of Kjartan will take his land. If king Guthred is against Kjartan, them we're with him."

"Excellent," Guthred beamed. "Truly excellent."

The stranger's head gave a tilt, his eyes settled on the siblings. "You must be Uhtred and Freyja."

"We are." Uhtred unfolded his arms, gazing upon the Dane with weary. "There is ale and food on the cart, if you're hungry." Turning, he extended the wooden sword into Freyja's grip, muttering her name as she did so.

"Welcome. Welcome." Guthred began to greet each of the fresh faces, his hand clapping the Dane's shoulder.

The Dane's were eager to follow towards the cart, greedily stuffing their arms with fruit and bread. The smallest one was shoved back, disregarded as the leader handing out door to the rest of his men.

A few words were exchanged between him and Halig, the tall blonde turning away and stalking towards Freyja's direction. He held an uneasy grin, extending the fruit towards her. "For you."

She gazed across his face, dropping her eyes to the fruit in his hand. She looked past him, past his shoulder towards the little one. "You. Rat boy." She jerked her chin, watching as he gazed around him with an expression of confusion before resting his eyes back on her. Stretching out her arm, she waved the wooden sword, twirling it between her fingers. "Show me what you know about sword skill."

—— • ° ☽ ★ ☾ ° • ——

SHE BORE THE SHADOWS
like an old acquaintance, embracing her body into the arms of a pitch black night. She passed the dirt streets undetected, slipping to and from the darkness with a gliding ease. She followed the Danes with feather light steps, her head lowered beneath the hood of her cloak.

She waited. For the right moment, the perfect time to strike and when that time came, her arms flung out, the palm of her hand pressing over the man's mouth. With her other spare hand, she gripped him tight and pulled his body back, dragging him away from the rest following ahead.

She spun him around, pressing his body up against the exterior wall and the tear of metal sung a sultry song as she unsheathed her dagger. "dette vil kun gøre ondt et øjeblik." She whispered, carefully coaxing the blade of her dagger in through his windpipe.

He coughed against the split moment of pain, blood splattering crimson over her face. Freyja didn't even so much as flinch as she felt the warmth spray against her, merely watched as the life quickly faded from his eyes.

"Tell the gods Freyja says hello." With a jerk of her wrist, she tore the blade from his neck and lowered his body to the ground. Glancing once to her surroundings, she readjusted the hood to further cover her face and followed the direction of the others.

There was a dim golden glow that dressed the stables in a sheer light. Freyja followed the voices, listening to what sounded like a frantic movement through the hay scattered ground.

Stepping around the wall of the stable, the Dane's came into view along with her brother who they held against a stable wall.

Something anguish lit her expression, balancing across her face with a wave of steady calm. She tiptoed towards the last man like she had moments ago, her hand clamping over his mouth to silence her presence. The glimmer of a blade reflected the moon above as she pressed it against his neck.

"Do not move or I will slit your throat." She whispered against the shell of his ear, following her words with a from and she pressed the dagger closer to his skin, draw a thin line of red to the breach the surface.

He blinked, frightened as his life now laid in the hands of Freyja, silently pleading that the other's would just turn and look.

The leader took a sauntering step closer to Uhtred, holding up the blade of his dagger in threat. "I'm allowed to take an eye. Which one would you like to keep?"

"The blue one." Uhtred breathed, staring up into the face of Kjartans men. He should have know, he should have seen it – he should have seen the look of Freyja's was, her uncertainty. She always knew. "I swear I'll kill you before we reach Kjartan."

"I look forward to seeing you try."

Listening to the faint sound of approaching feet, Freyja moved her arm, cleanly slicing the blade across the Dane's neck. As he crumbled to the ground, she tore the axe from his belt and flung it forward.

A sharp cry left the lips of the dane who held tight to Uhtred's arm, the blade of the axe embedding into his forearm. Using the moment of distraction, Uhtred turned and slammed his skull into the other Dane holding him.

The leader spun around in shock, his eyes wide in disbelief as his gaze found Freyja. She stood tall on the edges of the light, the shadows of night resting at her back. She was half cloaked, only half of her features visible beneath the hood.

But there was no mistaking that wicked sharp smirk.

"I knew I should have killed you first." He shook his head, fingers flexing around the hilt of the dagger.

"You won't make that mistake again." She replied easily with a menacing tilt of her head. Stretching her arms by her sides, she revealed the bloody dagger in her grip. Timely, the others rushed out from behind her, clapa, Hild and Halig charging from the darkness with raised weapons.

Sheathing her dagger, she tore out her sword, quickly dousing the blade in blood.

—— • ° ☽ ★ ☾ ° • ——

"LORDS AND EARLS OF CUMBERLAND."
Guthred began, the light green of his eyes sweeping along the hall. His voice shouted over the ears of those stood before him – both Dane's and Saxon gathered in clusters. "I thank you for showing this great unity. Cumberland has, over the years, become a land for both Dane and Saxon. Together, with the power of the Christian god, we can achieve great things."

"Amen." The Abbott spoke, his eyes briefly falling closed as he tapped from his forehead to his chest then between each shoulder. "Amen." Brother Trew repeated, his actions mirroring the elderly man by his side.

"As your king. I have decided that it's time for our army to march. To Eoferwic." The crowd murmured around him. Freyja and Uhtred shared a look, silent words passing through the passageway of their stare.

"Lord, I'm Ulf." A dane turned towards the king, the top half of his hair pinned back, a thin layer of kohl rimming his eyelids.

"Ulf?" Guthred greeted. "My father spoke very well of you. Do you have something to say?"

Ulf raised his chin. "I say we have no enemies in Eoferwic. Yet there are many foes who will attack our lands when we are gone. I have you men to protect my land and the land of my neighbours, not to abandon it."

The Abbott shifted from his position. "I have news brought to me from all over Northumbria. Our enemies are otherwise occupied."

"Is this news or hearsay?"

"The brothers are beyond the tuede. Kjartan the cruel is locked within his fortress, and aelfric, lord of bebbanburg, dare never attack an army that carries the blessed saint Cuthbert before it."

"What of the Irish? What of the Scots?"

"Aye." Men behind him nodded in agreement.

"What of rogues and raiders? What of crops is the fields and livestock in the hills?"

"Lord Ulf," Uhtred spoke, turning towards the Dane with a careful look. "I have recently come from Eoferwic, and I tell you, there is great wealth there. Silver and the rewards of war horses, swords. Land even."

"And women?"

"Oh, indeed," Eadred laughed, attempting to direction the attention from the Dane. "Women, indeed. Eoferwic is a sink of corruption, riddled with sin and lascivious women. It is a city that will need to be scoured. Scoured by this holy army! We have the numbers. God is with us! We shall become richer in body and soul. We shall become the masters of Northumbria."

There was a shout of agreement, a ceremony of cheers that stretched across the hall. "To Eoferwic!"

—— • ° ☽ ★ ☾ ° • ——

"I COULD HAVE KILLED HIM, LORD,
made good my escape." The lanky Dane they had taken prisoner voiced his words with plea as he held the sword to Haligs throat, his mismatched coloured eyes drifting back and forth between Freyja and Uhtred – as if he had done something to be praised for, for not running.

"Kill him and you will die slowly." Uhtred growled slowing his pace a few feet in front of the Dane and Halig.

"Told you."

"So why didn't you?" Freyja narrowed her eyes with a glare, the tips of her fingers tapping a threatening rhythm against the hilt of her dagger.

The boy swallowed thickly, his fingers flexing around the sword, his feet shifting. Freyja was a constant image in the corner of his eye, knowing that all it would take was a second, one small second of him looking away and she'd sneak towards him and all this would be for nothing. "I asked your man to fetch you, lord, lady. I do not murder. I wish to bargain."

Uhtred glanced backwards, towards the cluster of priests approaching along with the king. He focused back on the boy, risking a step closer. "A life for a life, is it?"

"My life for my sword. I wish to serve you, lord, lady. I could have killed both, but I wish to serve you."

Uhtred crouched to the ground, reaching for the discarded sword.

Freyja tilted her head. "You are Kjartans man."

"No." He shook his head. "I am Kjartans bastard son whelped on a slave girl. And you are Uhtred Ragnarson and Freyja Ragnarsdóttir. And I wish to serve a warrior and a lord. A true lord."

Uhtred slowly rose to his feet. "If you believe us to be these things, put down your sword."

The Dane hesited. "You guarantee my life?"

"You wish to serve my brother? Then you will do as he says and put down your sword." Freyja spoke calmly, though her eyes sung a different tune, for there was a deep angry laced within the emerald green irises. "Or this dagger goes into your eye." Lifting her arm, she unsheathed the dagger, loosely twirling it between her fingers.

"Kill him." The Abbott ordered behind her and Uhtred.

The brother turned his head. "No." He eyed the Dane closely, carefully, calling out to him like one would a startled horse. "Put down your sword."

When he didn't moved, Freyja raised her arm, bending at the elbow. She held the tip of the short-bladed dagger, preparing herself to the throw.

The boy glanced towards her and threw the sword to the ground as it's touch alone was poison to his skin.

Halig stood, grabbing his sword with a glare.

The Dane spared Uhtred a weary look. "I can be of use to you, lord, lady."

"He's nothing but a heathen. Kill him!"

"No one is to move."

"Kill him now!" The Abbott stepped towards Uhtred, a veins pulsing in his head and his voice raised into a shout.

Freyja slipped from her position and placed herself beside Eadred. She glared, her jaw set with a calm, angered expression. She held his stare in warning – but no words left her lips, and that in itself, was far louder than any threatening sentence she could speak.

"I say no one is to move and no one is to speak but me. No one!" Uhtred slowly turned, his expression less calm, more red with anger as he focused on the elderly man. Reluctantly, the Abbott backed away, and Uhtred turned back ahead. He focused on the weary Dane boy. "What is your name?"

"I am called sihtric, Lord." He answered immediately. "Please, I'm not loyal to Kjartan and never can be."

"You swear your sword is mine?"

With bound, bloody wrists, sihtric grasped the amulet of his necklace. "On Thor's hammer I do, lord, lady." He knelt to the ground, peering up at freyja and Uhtred. "I swear."

"Then you have mine and my sister's protection."

—— • ° ☽ ★ ☾ ° • ——

THE NIGHT WAS
slowly beginning to die off. The people were scattering, the crowds growing less and less as they retreated to their beds for the night.

In a few hours, the sun would appear, shining brightly across the land and once again, they would be on the move.

Freyja sat beside the fire, feeling its heat course against her as she stared into the pit of brightly coloured flames – as if they'd somehow consume her soul, swallowing her entirely.

There was that same, uneasy feeling, the one that often nagged her during the later hours of night and day, when the world was most quiet.

She was alone, scarcely surrounded by the few who were yet to rest their heads – Uhtred had already retrieved to bed. Though, the distant whispers coaxing from Gisela's tent told her he was doing anything but sleeping.

A figure crossed where the top of her vision reached, a silhouette brushing passed the flames on the opposite side of her. She raised her head at the familiar glimpse of yellow fabric – but there was nothing, only her, the fire and a quiet night.

She looked around, from left to right, urgently, her body twisting again the log in all directions just for another glimpse, proof that she was not in fact loosing her mind.

"Looking for me?" His voice was a taunt to her mind, an endless echo as if he were there but yet not quite there at the same. Like you were talking through a door and the words are muffled.

She snapped around, her eyes widening over the wispy flames of the fire. In front of her, he sat on the opposite log, as if he had been there the entire time and she had yet to notice.

Her lips began to part and a tightness formed within her throat as if a hand had gripped a firm hold of it. Her eyes stung in the heat of the fire. "H–" she attempted to speak, unable to properly string together the words she so desperately wanted to ask.

How are you here?

As if he could somehow read into her thoughts, he voiced the words, repeating them. "How am I here?" He chuffed, the same scoffing noise he always did whenever he found something amusing.

He blinked, momentarily gazing across the fire before slowly lifting her eyes to lock steadily with hers, unblinking, unflinching, never daring to look away from her. He tipped his head slightly forward, gesturing towards her. "I believe that's a question you need to ask yourself, Dane."

Freyja didn't speak, she couldn't. At first, she had only seen glimpses of him, seen him in her dreams – she was grieving and her mind was playing tricks. But now she was awake and he was there and she could almost feel his presence,
his warmth – but that was most certainly from the fire. It had to be.

She stared into his eyes just as he did hers, just as they had many times in the past. She didn't dare look away, not wanting to forget the brown irises that appeared like pools of honey as they held the fires reflection.

I believe that's a question you need to ask yourself.

Her brows pinched, not understand the meaning of his words. There was a knowing look in his stare, as if he held all the answers to her questions and more. If only he would just answer, give her a reason to not drive herself into insanity.

He breathed sigh and a cloud was visible on his cold breath. He stared at her, long and hard with a wistful sense of longing. He gave a sympathetic smile. "It's time for you to wake up, Freyja."

Freyja shook her head. She didn't want to wake up, not when he was right here in front of her, not when she could have the opportunity to just reach out and touch him.

It's time for you to wake up.

But I am awake.

Her body shot up with a chocked gasp and her hand immediately reached for the dagger laying in the dirt beside her. Her fingers flexed around the wood handle, her arm shot upwards and instinctively, she placed the blade against his neck.

He knelt beside her, hands releasing the edges of the blanket he'd laid across her sleeping form. His hands rose almost instantly, palms opening and facing outwards as a surrendering sign.

Sihtric gulped thickly at the feeling of the blade against his neck, his mind quickly recognising his mistake. His face was weary with fear of being so close in her presence, and suddenly, he wanted to take back the last few minutes of his life.

He cursed himself for suggesting laying a blanket over her body – despite having seen her shiver against the cold, dirt ground in front of the fire. He cursed Halig who had practically dared him to after he thought of it, who's very amusement haunted the back of his mind. He was certain Halig was watching this very moment, hiding his laughs in a mug of ale.

"You – you were shaking, lady. I thought you might have been cold." He stuttered over his words, shifting himself back as much as he could without the use of his hands. He could still feel the dagger against his throat, but it dulled in comparison to the sharpness of her stare.

Her eyes, they were sharper than any knife or sword he'd seen or felt, greener than the trees of a pine forest, more cloudy than a storm filled sky. But the only word that came to mind was green – they were so deeply green, almost fluorescent against the hues of the fire.

"I'm sorry, lady." He spoke with such sincerity, but there was no masking the faintest quiver of his tone. It was safe to say, Sihtric Kjartanson was shit scared of Freyja Ragnarsdóttir.

He had heard the stories, the whispers, seen the anger on his father's face at the mere mention of her and Uhtred's names. At night, Sven drunkenly rattled off the truth behind his missing eye, who really drove the stick into him and rendered him half blind – sihtric did dare question the false truth his half-brother had given Kjartan in fear of appearing cowardly.

Freyja blinked, once, twice. Her mind attempted to register his words, her surroundings – the fact that she was actually asleep when she was so sure, so certain that she was awake.

She lowered the dagger slowly, her eyes watching as he cautiously backed away. She placed the knife into the dirt, glanced through the eave of night, hoping, searching for that glimpse of yellow once again, hoping to find him still sitting across the fire with his warm pools of honey irises.

But all that was left was an empty space and the ghostly whisper of his presence, his voice a haunting echo that lived endlessly within her mind.

—— • ° ☽ ★ ☾ ° • ——

CROUCHING LOW TO THE GROUND,
Freyja hid behind a wall of thick bush and coiling branches. She stared through the gaps, looking off into the short distance where the small army of Danes stood, gathering within the treeline.

Uhtred crouched beside her, and between the two of them, Sihtric knelt, his cheek hovering close to Freyja shoulder. He glanced to Uhtred as he knelt,  his arm lifting from his side to pointing between Freyja and Uhtred towards the Dane's. "Lord, there. That is Erik." He gestured to a tall blonde man strolling between the trees, passing through the shrieking cluster of his men. Tattoos ran along the sides of his skull, skin inked by black, Kohl rimming his eyes.

Sihtric stood and shifted out of the way, making room for Guthred to kneel between the two siblings.

"And there is Sigefrid." Sihtric whispered once a darker haired Dane came into view. He was larger than Erik but not taller, his body half hunched against a barrel as he feasted on a piece of bread.

"I was right," Uhtred breathed, "this is not an army. We could attack tonight. Surprise them in their sleep. They will know Eoferwic is lost."

"Will they?" Uncertainty trembled in Guthred's tone, his eyes widening in weariness.

"Yes." Freyja replied simply, giving a subtle, curt nod of her chin. Stretching out her right arm – the leather arm brace flexing around her wrist – she pointed towards a familiar Dane standing amongst the brothers. "He is the man Uhtred and I set free." She gazed further across them, noting the exhaustion that plagued their bodies, rendering the sluggishness in their steps. Blood dried to their skin from a recent battle and it was clear that they had no victory in the end. "They must have been marching for days. Now's as good a time as any. We should attack."

"An attack is an option, yes." Guthred dragged out, trailing from his words with hesitancy.

Uhtred gave a curious tilt, his brows pinching as he further carried his stare along the line of danes. "It is the only option, lord."

"They are waiting to be slaughtered." Sihtric shifted impatiently, a hungry for spilt blood trembling at the tips of his fingers.

"Patience, Kjartanson." Freyja breathed, a humorous him pressing faintly to the her lips. She gazed across him from the corner of her eye, finding his stare to be already fixed on her. "You'll give us away before we even have a chance of attack."

"Lord?" Uhtred turned his head, noting the king's silence. "There will be no better time to fight than now."

Guthred pressed his lips. "Uhtred, I'm thinking."

"We must attack." Guthred sighed heavily and turned to stand. His arm was grabbed by Uhtred and he was forced to stop. A split moment of fear flashed across his expression. "Lord, what I'm saying is good advice. We must attack tonight."

"Do you not hear me? I'm thinking." He stood, tearing his arm from Uhtred's grip and dispersing into the trees behind them.

Freyja slowly looked across the Dane's. "Beocca is right." She hummed, not so surprised. "You have one ear and Eadred has the other. As long as the old man is alive, you will not get what you want, Uhtred."

Uhtred clenched his jaw, hating how right she was. "We are not killing him."

"It would be easy."

"We are not killing him." He repeated sternly, gazing upon her with a warning glare. There was pause between them, Uhtred hoping his point had gotten across before he glanced towards sihtric. Nodding his head, he gestured for the young Dane to flee back into the woods.

Standing beneath the eave of the tent, Freyja's eyes settled on the brothers. She looked between them, noting their subtle similarities, each weapon strapped to their body.

She kept her hand upon the hilt of her long-bladed dagger, her thumb tucked beneath her belt loop as she stared ahead.

"I'm Erik." The tall blonde grinned, placing a hand flat upon his torso and gesturing his other widely towards his brother. "This is my brother Sigefrid." The brothers lowered themselves into their seats.

"I am king Guthred." Guthred greeted slowly, dragging a pause between each word.

Uhtred folded his hands over his middle, his face giving a curious expression. "How did you enjoy your war with the Scots?" He looked upon their stilling face, each covered in layers of dirt and blood and exhaustion. "You look tired."

Erik tilted his head, his eyes giving an annoyed squint. "You have a name?"

"I'm Uhtred of bebbanburg. The Dane's know me as Uhtred Ragnarson." He admitted gently and waved an open hand towards the woman standing at his side – Kohl rimmed her eyes, smearing down her cheeks. The silver furs of a wolf's pelt trapped down half of her body. The tattoo on her upper arm and the small one between her brows laid out in the open. The emerald of her sword glimmered in the sunlight. "And this is my sister, Freyja."

Sigefrid leaned forward in his seat and twirled the wiry hairs of his dark beard. "You are the man who killed Ubba." He stared directly at Uhtred, but not before trailing his eyes along Freyja's silhouette.

"I am." Uhtred gave the faintest of nods, his body inclining forward.

"Thank you. We have benefitted greatly from Ubba's death. He has not been mourned."

"Dane's, Northmen and Saxons. Priest's and Pagans." Erik grinned widely. "A strange mix."

Guthred hesitated before speaking. "You might not know this, but, in your absence, all Dane's and Northmen in Eoferwic have either been killed or fled. Eoferwic will be mine. There will be no fight, none. Unless it with Sigefrid and Erik. I will fight you and I will win.

Sigefrid slowly raised his head, his voice a deep rumble. "Then why are you talking?"

"The king is a man of the one true God." Eadred spoke. "His preference is that we come to an agreement."

Erik wrung his hands together and gazed along the ground. "It will need to be a handsome agreement."

"Make your offer."

Guthred slouched against his seat, his elbow bending against the arm of the chair. "In exchange for peace, in compensation for the loss of Eoferwic, I will offer you a fortress, at Dunholm."

Erik's eyes widened in disbelief. "Kjartan is at Dunholm."

"Yes. We will join together and we will take it. Kjartans land will become your land."

"You offer nothing." Sigefrid stood in anguish. "Dunholm is to strong, it cannot be taken."

Guthred stood to match his height. "What I am offering you, Sigefrid, is life. Life as an Earl."

Erik looked up. "The only way to defeat Kjartan is to deny him food and freedom. We, my brother and I, have considered this often. You would need to surround him with men, with defences. And deny him what he needs to live."

"Yes," Sigefrid growled, "all your men would need to be fed and remain sober for months."

Uhtred settled his eyes between the two and slowly trailed his gaze towards the king. "It would take too much time and too many men, some hundreds of men."

Guthred squinted his eyes in thought. "But it can be done?"

"There are other way's." Freyja muttered, giving the king a look of warning.

"It can be done, yes." The chair creaked as Erik stood, his eyes gazing upon the woman before he focused on the king.

Guthred gave a smile. "Then that is what we do."

"Lord," Uhtred called out. "This is not a plan that can be decided upon quickly. There are other ways."

"Uhtred, as the king explained earlier, you do not have a voice." The Abbott spoke, testing Uhtred's anger as he leaned back and gazed upon the Dane.

Uhtred folded his arms, speaking over Eadred. "I will say what is on my mind and clearly! This plan can never work. There are other ways to defeat Kjartan."

"It seems everyone is wrong but you, Uhtred Ragnarson." Sigefrid looked away from Uhtred and settled his eyes on Guthred. "Do we have a plan, king Guthred."

"Yes. We have a plan and we have an agreement. Do we not?"

The brothers shared a look, much like Uhtred and Freyja. "We do."

"Excellent."

"In addition to Dunholm," Sigefrid began speaking once more before the king had a chance to lower himself into his seat. His eyes gazed lustfully across Freyja and Gisela. "How many women will you be offering?"

Gisela glanced wearily towards Freyja and then looked to the large Dane. "None. Most definitely none."

"Your hair is unbound lady. You do not have a husband?"

Guthred's jaw clenched and his lips pursed together tightly. "My sister will marry when appropriate." He waved towards Freyja. "And I am sure the same is said for Freyja." Sigefrid gave an unnerving chuckle. Guthred sighed. "Excellent. Well, hopefully we will be bonded for a long, long time."

—— • ° ☽ ★ ☾ ° • ——

HER HAND SMOOTHED ALONG
the slope of the horses nose, tracing down the large white blaze that dripped down her grey dappled fur.

A decaying stench erupted from the bloody bags of heads by Uhtred's feet, the Dane crouched to the ground, fastening at the knots.

Freyja turned her head in time to catch sight of sihtric and clapa. Stepping away from the horse, she allowed her fingers to trail from the mares snout and leaned her side against a wooden post by the entrance of the stable. "Dane boy." She called out.

Despite not hearing his name, sihtric lifted his head in response, having quickly adapted to her seemingly endless list of nicknames – rat boy, Kjartanson and now, Dane boy.

Handing the reins of his horse off to the large white-haired Dane, he quickly approached the stable and came to stand before the siblings. "Yes, lady?"

Uhtred stood, turning away and hanging the bag of heads off of his saddle. It was him who answered the Dane, turning to glance at him from over his shoulder. "Kjartan's fortress of Dunholm, you will tell me of the weaknesses."

Sihtric shifted, his boots scuffing in the dirt. "There are none, lord." He earned himself a stilling look from each sibling and took a step closer. "Lord, there are no weaknesses."

Uhtred stepped towards his, meeting his weary stare. "There are always weaknesses." Moving passed him, Uhtred guided his horse from the stable.

Freyja unhooked her reins and led the mare out into the open. She clamped a hand down on sihtric's shoulder, causing him to flinch as she forced him to walk along side her. "My brother and I will scope out the fortress for ourselves. You best not be lying, Kjartanson." Releasing her grip, she gathered the reins in her hands and lifted herself up onto the mares back.

—— • ° ☽ ★ ☾ ° • ——

THE NIGHT RESTED
in nothing but a bed of silence, a stillness that left the earth frozen in a state of time. The moon was full, round and pale, capturing the sky within its silvery grasp, cloaked by the few stretch of oblong clouds that created a veil of mist against the cold kiss of a breeze.

Freyja stalked the night like a prowling creature, a hood lifted up and over her face to mask herself into the tendrils of dark shadows, wrapping around her limbs and trailing at her feet like vines of endless evergreen ivy.

Her steps were light, silent like feathers whispering across the earth. She stopped on the edge where the earth dipped down into a hole and stared long at the wooden door within it.

Crouching to the ground, she leaped, her boots landing flat against the soft tuffs of dirt. She rose to her full height and crept towards the door. Her pale hand reached for the handle, long, skinny fingers curling around the cold steel.

With a quick and carefully twist, she was met with the sound of a click and she could no further turn the handle as she was met with the lock. She released her hand, trailed a lone finger against the lock and placed her hand flat against the rough wood.

She leaned inwards, pressed her face against the door, breathed in the smell of wet decay and squinted her eyes to peer through the gaps.

In the distance, there was a soft orange ball of light, flickering with a back and forth motion with the movement of the flames against an ash bedded pit.

She pulled herself away, took a step back, turned towards the dirt faced wall and placed her hands upon the edge. Using the large roots like a ladder, she placed her foot within its spirals and heaved herself upwards.

She crawled across the earth on her hands and knees, fingers fisting into the dirt and blades of softened grass. She righted herself, sitting upon her heels for a short moment, a gave a devilish smirk towards the moon.

She had found a way in.

She spent a moment thinking on it, her eyes occasionally glancing from the moon towards the door behind her. Then she stood, and mapped her way through the night, retracing her trail through the shadows.

Her hand absentmindedly followed along the details within the wall, fingering the cracks and sharp edges till the pads of her fingers were red raw, till her nails were filed down and till crimson flowed to the surface, smearing red against the grey stone.

She stopped close enough to the front entrance, far enough to not be seen, hidden away around the side, tucked between pillars. She pressed her back against one and gazed into the foggy night. Circling her lips, she gave a sharp whistle, mimicking the song of a bird.

And then she waited.

When the sound returned, a reflection of hers, she pushed off of the wall and quickly snuck out into the open. She crossed the path, stalking through the clouds of fog and dispersed into the trees.

Her eyes immediately settled on Uhtred, his eyes falling upon her expectedly as he lowered himself on one side of a tree stump.

"Anything?" He arched his brows, his cerulean eyes following her closely as she peeled back her hood and unsheathed her sword only to set the blade gently upon the ground.

"There's one entrance." She informed, kicking away a few loose stones and twigs to make room for her to sit. Lowering herself to the ground on the other side of the stump, she gaze across to reach her brother's stare. "It's small – you won't fit an army through it, but you can squeeze a few."

"A few is better than none." Uhtred muttered to himself, his eyes turning away as he gaze through the bushes towards the front of Dunholm, the moon lighting it's walls with an ominous effect. "So the boy lied."

"Runs in the blood." Freyja spoke, reaching across the tree stump and stealing a slice of bread from the fabric Uhtred had laid out. "Does that mean we get to kill him?"

"No." Uhtred immediately shut down her suggestion, his head giving a slow shake as he ripped a piece from the bread between his hands. "We have our word to protect him."

"You gave him your word." Freyja corrected, staring across at her brother through the pinch of her brows. "I take no part in that."

"Perhaps," a tease taunted his tone of voice, a half smile lighting his lips as he briefly gazed across her from the corner of his eye. "But you are sworn to me so therefore you cannot kill him."

Freyja rolled her green irises and flung a crump of bread at his head. She watched, as the piece flew over, hitting the tip of his nose before bouncing into his lap.

Uhtred simply brushed it away and hummed quietly to himself in thought. "Once of us should keep watch – wait till the first signs of light."

"I have a better idea." Freyja voiced, shifting her position on the ground as she retrieved the smaller of her daggers from her thigh. Placing her hand flat against the stumb, she half grinned wickedly at her brother. "First to lose a finger is a coward."

His laugh breached her ears and he mirrored her actions, his hand flattening against the wood, fingers spreading apart as he took out his dagger.

It was safe to say, neither of them had lost a finger, but that did not mean each limb was left unscathed. Blood pooled from the skin, scabbing over the flesh, surely leaving scars in the blades wake.

It did not take long for light to reach the earth, a grey metal haze stretching across the sky, the sun slowly beginning to creep up into the horizon.

The moment the paired heard voices coaxing from the walls of Dunholm, the two had shook themselves from their half asleep state and masked themselves in cloaks and the skulls of deceased animals.

Lifting themselves onto their horses, they sat and waited for the front gates to keen open.

Freyja could see Kjartan standing upon the walls, and it took everything in her to not storm out into the open and express just how long she had been waiting to come face to face with him once again.

A bald man with a large beard and an inked face wearily slipped through the open doors, his eyes settled upon the spikes flanking the dirt path – mounted upon them, were the heads of Kjartans men.

He approached the first one, his hand on his sword incase of a sudden attack – but Uhtred and Freyja would not yet make their attack. They would wait until the very last one.

"It is one of ours, lord." He gave an unsteady nod, his eyes looking back towards the wall where Kjartan stood alongside Sven and two other's. "The flesh is rotten but I know it, I'm sure."

"Go to the others."

Cautiously, the man stalked down the path, further and further reaching the edge of his safety. He gazed upon the second post. "It seems they're all men we know, my lord."

"Tekil, is he amongst them?"

Fiske traced the path, passing the third post, the fourth the fifth, all the way to the sixth head. Kjartan called out again. "There are only seven heads. Who's missing? Fiske!"

Fiske reached the last head, his eyes scoping across their rotted, decaying face. "The last one is Tekil!"

Uhtred and Freyja broke out from the trees, a thundering of hooves slamming into the ground. Uhtred's horse cried out and he swung serpent breath widely across the air, cutting Fiske's head cleanly from his shoulders.

"Do you believe you deceive me?" Kjartan shouted in anguish, his face bitterly souring as he gripped the wall and glared his eyes across the siblings. "I know who you are! I know exactly who you both are! Uhtred Ragnarson! Freyja Ragnarsdóttir!"

Uhtred waved his sword in the air. "I will have your sword, Kjartan!"

"Face me! Face me like a man!"

Listening to the thundering hooves of her brother's parting, Freyja lifted her hand and curled her fingers beneath the skull masked. Slowly, she peeled it back, causing the hood to fall over her shoulders, first revealing a devilish grin and then the pair of firey green eyes.

Across the distance, she mirrored Kjartans glare, stared at him, allowed her anger to simmer in silence while his fumed loudly across the air.

"There will be a day that I will take you down, Freyja Ragnarsdóttir! I swear it to the gods!"

All she did was smirk and stare up at him, long and hard before she simply turned and vanished from the trail, following quickly to her brother's steps.

—— • ° ☽ ★ ☾ ° • ——

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." He 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 his 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 his 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, down, down he went, crumbling to the earth as his legs caved in.

And the world fell completely ill in a silence so loud her ears began to ring. She could hear her own pulse, the rhythm of her heartbeat heavy, harsh against the ivory cage of her ribs, threatening to crack with the pelts of something beastly, drowning out the cry that tore from her throat.

It hurt, ached in a pain so far from the words she was able to speak, it cut, tore, ripped away at her flesh, shredding it from her bones like a cloak as if the axe had pierced itself into her instead. But it was him – he was the one wounded, falling to his knees within the feet of hundreds – but she was the one left standing in his blood, drowning in it from the inside out.

Her body launched upwards with a sharp intake of breath, coughs spluttering from her lips as if she had quite literally drowned in a pool of blood of his blood. For a short moment, she could almost taste it, the crimson pooling inside the walls of her mouth with the taste of something coppery as she heaved it from her lungs, staining her lips red like a pomegranate.

She continued to cough, clawing greedily at her chest, tracking marks beneath her nails, cutting thinly into the skin and drawing the surface with clotting beads of red.

It ached, it ached so deeply, coaxing from a place deep within her. The pain was so strong, so terrible, she wished to reach into her mouth, through her throat and search for whatever it was that housed the ache and tear it out just to make it stop.

But she couldn't.

She swallowed a cough, took a moment to steady her breath. Her hands ceased their scratching and instead, she fisted the fabric of her tunic, gripping it tight as a distraction.

She heaved, panting with heavy breathes. Thump. Thump. Thump. Her heart weighed heavy, pressing against the crimson walls of her chest.

"It's just a dream." She whispered, allowing her eyes to flutter, to fall shut in a moment of silence that she savoured most greedily. "Just a dream." She opened her eyes, lifted her chin from her bloody, torn chest and carefully scoped the room.

On the other side, Uhtred and Halig slept soundly, snores rumbling from their noses as they splayed out across the beds. Hild no longer slept in the same room, having taken up Gisela's company and chosen to stay with her for the night.

A dust of moonlight peered in through the curtains, a sheer slither that pooled against the old, worn wood floors.

Freyja released an unsteady breath and slowly eased herself back to the mattress. Her eyelids fluttered and she rolled onto her side in search of comfort.

There was a moment, a short lived moment where everything around her seemed to ease and fall steady, where body began to calm itself from a panic.

But then she felt it, the face she felt was a knife, pointing at her, stabbing into her with sharpness alike to a blade. There was a weight on her side, something tightly wound around her waist, something akin to fingers scratching into her back.

Her eyelids sprung open, and there he lay. His eyes were wide, open, lifeless and cloudy, no longer holding a familiar warmth in their dark hues of brown. His neck was bloody, torn open, ripped apart and profusely gushing with an endless stream of blood. The crimson trailed like a river, down, down, staining his skin, his clothes and the sheets between them.

Her bottom lip began to tremble as she stared at his face looking back and she gripped his arm tight, hoping, attempting to pry it off of her and allow her the room to breathe, to escape.

She parted her lips to scream, to call out for Uhtred's help, but the only noise she could make was a sharp gasp of air, a whimper that shook from the walls of her throat.

She needed to escape.

But his grip only kept tightening.

Finally, she managed to slip her fingers beneath his sleeve and pinch his skin. She felt a sharp prick against her palms, felt his blood wash over her hands. His grip loosened and she tore herself away, throwing herself from the bed.

Her body crashed to the floor with a thud, her skull smacking against the wall and coaxing an echoing ache to the surface. Her ears gave a familiar ring and she frantically blinked her eyes through the temporary blindness.

The door to the room keened open, but she did not seem to recognise it as she shook herself from her trembling state.

A hand latched onto her ankle, dragging her across the ground. She kicked, thrusting her feet about and attempt to tear it away when her other ankle was grasped.

Her back hit the hard ground, her gaze whipped back and forth between the faces standing over her – the faces of several men that she did not recognise.

She parted her lips, finally letting out a much needed raging scream that splintered and shook and she flung her fist, connecting it with the first person she could reach.

She felt the vibrations of a bone cracking underneath the pressure of her punch, but her wrists were quickly taken as well, leaving each of her limbs ceased and trapped.

"You stupid bitch!" A shove of a foot kicked harshly into her side, pressing against her ribs.

She kicked and fought against them, a fruitless endeavour of escaping as they lifted her completely off of the ground, leaving her body hanging by the ankles and wrists within their hands.

"Get your hands off of her!" Uhtred's voice pierced into her ear, sharp and laced in anguish. She blinked around, cautiously, fearfully searching for a glimpse of her brother. He too had been taken, gripped within the arms of two men, a sword held to his throat – meanwhile, it took four to hold onto her.

"Uhtred!" She shouted, teeth grinding together, jaw clenching tight. She kicked and kicked, jerking her elbows about to free her wrists. They carried her outside and the daylight shined across her face.

"This will be a whole lot easier if you quit fighting." Eadred's voice pressed against her ear and she jerked her head around to find him. But between the scattering of body's around her, he remained invisible.

Freyja groaned as she was suddenly dropped to the ground, her spine slamming into the dirt. Their grip on her was readjusted and four became two as they lifted her up by the arms.

She planted her feet in an attempt to stop them, forcing her boots to drag through the dirt, unable to steadily gain her balance due to them forcefully dragging her body with them.

Hild ran out in front of them, a sword ready in her grip.

"Hild, no!" Halig shouted, forcing his body to not fight against the grip chained onto him.

"No, Hild! Put down your sword." Uhtred ordered quickly, his eyes pleading with the woman, not wishing to see her hurt. "Put it down now!"

She dropped the sword with a clatter, scattering back with wide, frantic eyes. "What shall I do, lord?"

Uhtred struggled against the grip clinging onto his arms, his head tilted so face back he could feel the veins practically bursting from his flesh, inches from reaching the blade held to his neck.

"You do nothing." Eadred spat, his hooded silhouette pushing towards the front and shoving Hild to the side.

"Hild, my sword," Uhtred shouted, no longer able to find the woman through the men that crowded between them. "And find Gisela!"

Her, Uhtred and Halig were dragged shamefully through the town and Freyja gazed upon the steps in front of the palace, finding Guthred standing upon them, watching as the scene unfolded at his feet.

"Guthred!" Uhtred glared up at the king desperately. "Guthred, whatever your plans, change them."

"You are to be sold."

Freyja's eyes widened in horror at his words. They had saved him from slavery and yet, here he was, sending them to a place where he lived in fear.

She fought harder against her restraints, glaring at the cage she was to be thrown in, in horror. Everyone knew what happens to women when sold as slaves, everyone knew the torture they endured, and yet, he did not seem to care.

"No! No!" She kicked, screaming the words from her lips. "Let me go! Let me go!" She looked like a rabid creature within their hold, her body thrashing, kicking, twitching against them, anything to free herself from the destined horror.

"We're to be sold? Why?" Halig glared, his jaw set firmly in panic. "Lord, we are your army! We saved you!"

Guthred slowly paced down the steps. "It's not lost on me that while you gave me my freedom, I am now taking yours." His face shined with guilt. But he did not do anything to help, he didn't not say the words for his men to release them – he merely watched on, claiming to be of guilt. "You will become slaves, Uhtred, Freyja."

"No!" Uhtred growled, stilling against the sword pointed to his chest. He glanced towards Freyja in fear. "No. No, you let her go. You let my sister go! She does not need this!"

Guthred simply ignored his words, his eyes ever so slightly gazing upon the beautiful, angry woman in guilt. "And Halig with you."

"No! No, you have no argument with them. Let them go free."

Halig looked on with plea. "No, lord. I will stay beside you!"

"I will kill you!" Freyja growled, spit flying from her lips as she attempted the wring herself from the bruising grip, sure enough to leave traces of dark marks against her wrists. "I will kill you, Guthred. Do you hear me? Jeg er Freyja Ragnarsdóttir! Jeg vil rive din tunge ud og føre den ned i halsen på dig!"

"Guthred, let them go free. I beg you!" Uhtred fell silent with a groan as the hilt of a sword slammed against his stomach. He doubled over, earning another hit, allowing for the men to easily wrestle him into the cage.

Freyja was next and they lifted her fighting body from the ground, tossing her into the cage. She groaned, quickly standing to her feet as they threw Halig in next and shut the cage door, securing it with a lock. She shoved her hands through the bars, gripping them tightly as if she could somehow manage to tear them apart. "du skal betale for dette, Guthred. du vil betale! guderne vil se til det, vil du se!"

—— • ° ☽ ★ ☾ ° • ——

"DID THEY DO THIS
to you?" Uhtred attempted to reach outwards although he was quickly reminded by the bindings that kept his wrists bound behind his back. He settled to nodding towards her chest, where the string's of the tunic were loose and revealing the scratches down her throat and collarbones.

Freyja glanced down as best as she could, her eyes gazes along the edges of the red marks embedded into her skin. She looked away, swallowed thickly and felt her hands across the ground within the cage.

"I have a plan." She spoke, glancing to Halig from the corner of her eye and then to the men wandering freely outside of the cages.

"You do?" Halig questioned a little louder then intended and a sheepish expression came to his face as she gave a glare. "You do?" He repeated, a whisper just above a breath.

Uhtred gazed upon her face thoughtful, then to then to her side where he could make out the end of a stick within her grasp. His eyes locked with hers and words formed within her stare. He gave an understanding nod. "Just give us the signal when."

"Signal for what?" Halig clenched his jaw, shifting across the ground, his eyes wide in desperation as he glanced back and forth between the siblings.

"To fight." Uhtred gave him a look, whispering the answer as his eyes followed the man stalking past their cage.

The sand was soft beneath her feet, making it a struggle to simply walk as the man guided her down the small hill onto the beach front. His grip was harsh, fingertips pressing into the flesh of her upper arm, certain decorating her skin in more marks than she already carried.

The waves crashed in the short distance, a sound that she would once consider peaceful if it weren't for the fact the slave ship waited against the shore, copping the abuse of the tide.

There were slaves already lined up along the beach, weary and fatigued, having been slaves far longer than either her, Uhtred or Halig.

And now, she was to become one of them – possibly worse considering she was the only woman amongst over a dozen men.

She tried not to let her fear show, to not allow it to consume her thoughts. It was a difficult task considering she hadn't faced anything as such to fear – she'd rather go into battle a thousand times over than be sold as a slave.

Swallowing the thick thumped that had formed within her throat, she glanced to the ground, to the yellow grains of sand kicking beneath her grip. They had to fight. Even if they lost, they had to fight. She would not allow herself to be taken so easily.

Pretending to loose her footing, her knees buckled beneath her and she crashed into the sand, ignoring the sharp pinch of the fingers digging into her arm.

"Get up." He spat distastefully above her, his hand gripping her elbow to lift her from the ground, but she didn't budge, keeping her body stiff in a kneeling position. "I said, get up."

Slowly, Freyja turned her head, bringing her chin into her left shoulder. She gazed slowly, reaching her eyes to meet Uhtred's lingering stare. It was a simple gesture, but one Uhtred understood clearly as he turned and flung his head into the man standing at his right.

While waiting in the cage, she had found a stick and slowly began cutting away at her bindings, which had made the task much easier – with a sharp jerk of her arms, she snapped the frayed rope from her wrist and slid the stick from her sleeve.

She swung around, driving the stick down into the man's foot – his cry outing to the world above and providing enough distraction for her to reach up and stab the stick into the vein of his neck.

Blood splattered her face and Freyja was left unflinching as she stared at the blood that quickly coated her already crimson hands, blending in with the mixture of her own blood.

She took her chance, standing to her feet and looking towards Uhtred and Halig who had both ultimately faded and ended up with knives against their necks.

Uhtred briefly met her eye and he shifted slightly beneath the knife. "Go! Run!"

But she didn't want to run – she couldn't leave her brother, not now, not ever.

Movement flashed across the corner of her eye and her head snapped towards it. A man came barreling towards her, his steps unusually quick through the sand, his body greatly larger than her own.

Freyja stumbled back, sand kicking beneath her feet. She turned, pushing herself into a run down the beach. But the man had caught up to her, his arm reaching out, fingers tangling into the ends of her hair and ripping her back.

She hissed as the roots tugged at her skull and her body was shoved to the ground. Sand flicked up, stinging her eyes, her mouth. She spat, hoping to rid herself of the horrible grainy taste and rolled onto her back.

He stalked towards her in a taunting manner, Freyja crawled her body backwards through the sand as an urge to escape him.

The ocean washed upon shore, the water spreading across her hands.

She kicked her leg up, her boot slamming between his legs. He doubled over with a cry, his teeth gritting in anger and swung his arm, back handing her across the cheek.

Her body turned to the side involuntary, her mind becoming dazed for a moment from the pressure of the hit. Her cheek sung instantly, a white heat spreading across the skin.

He dropped to the ground, crushing her entirely beneath his weight. Air escaped her lungs and she fought against his hands that quickly wrung around her throat.

The shore crashed again and her head was shoved half beneath it. She choked on the taste of salt water entering her mouth, gasping desperately for air. She could hear Uhtred's and Haligs shouts, muffled beneath the water. She could have sworn she heard her name in her ear but that could have been Uhtred, Halig, or even the blood draining from her face.

She stretched her right arm as far as she could, staring up at the man who was switching between choking her and drowning her as the ocean washed up.

Her fingers felt along the sharp edge of a shell and pinched it firmly between her thumb and index. The edges of her vision began to line with black, her conscience beginning to drift.

She swung her arm wildly with a last attempt and she listened to the man's screams as she cut a jagged line into his cheek. His grip immediately loosened and his body rolled to the side to escape her abuse.

Freyja gave a greedy gasp, clawing at her throat, cradling the tender red flesh as she heaved and spluttered the water from her lungs.

—— • ° ☽ ★ ☾ ° • ——

word count: 14,713

Looking back on the first episode, it totally escaped my mind that it was Ragnar that took Sven's eye and not Uhtred but anyway, Freyja for the win!!

Also, just imagine Finans reaction – his standing in line at the slave ship, just hoping and praying for the day he can escape and kill the slave Maester. Then these three come along and quite literally start a fight.