Chapter Text
Please read the beginning notes to prevent confusion! Thank You! Also, I’m pretty nervous to post this, so thank you for reading!
Freyja knew this was wrong in her brother’s eyes. It wasn’t like Ivar didn’t know. He did, yet he didn’t seem to say anything. He gave his younger sister glares and glances as they spoke of the Saxons.
Ivar would constantly roll his eyes, scoff, or mockingly raise his eyebrows whenever Freyja would say something about them.
‘You can’t kill them just because they are of a different faith!’ How many times had Ivar heard that? Too many.
“Sister, if you love the Saxons so much, why don’t you just become one?” Freyja sighed at her brother’s words, choosing to ignore the laughs from the men inside the great hall. She looked towards Ubbe, who just drank from the cup in his hand.
If their father were here, he’d say differently. That there wasn’t a problem with what his only daughter was doing. He’d done the same before.
“Father loved and trusted a Saxon man the most out of anybody at one point in his life. Why can’t I?” Ivar seemed to pick and choose what he listened to, though, as he kept eating his chicken. He didn’t pay any mind to his sister.
Deciding that an answer wouldn’t come, Freyja turned around defeatedly and exited the hall. Ubbe and Hvitserk wouldn’t even stick up for her, when they usually did. That was the only thing she could rely on them for, and they failed when she needed defense the most.
The sky was dark gray, with clouds moving quickly above Freyja’s head. She flipped the hood of the blue cloak onto her head, knowing that of course the gods would make it rain right when she wanted to be outside and away from everybody the most.
Going into the forest outside of York was dangerous, Saxon soldiers were sure to be there, lurking for any heathens that may have been wandering the woods.
It wasn’t like she couldn’t fend for herself, though, a bow slung across her chest and arrows hanging from her shoulder. An axe was resting in a holster on her hip. A surprise attack could kill her, definitely, but then that’d just be another sibling for Ivar to feel guilt over killing.
Much to Freyja’s surprise when they’d arrived in York, the forests were peaceful. Not as peaceful or comforting as the ones in Kattegat, but they’d suffice.
Wandering into the woods slowly, she kept her hand on the hilt of the axe, just for precaution. The silence that filled the air was pushed aside by the girl’s thoughts.
Ivar has no real power, he likes to believe he does, so why am I so afraid of him? This was something that’d be plaguing Freyja’s mind for the past month. She always promised herself to be the bigger person the next time Ivar got angry with her. Besides, he was in the same position of power as her, his legs weren’t as strong though, but they still worked. So why was she afraid?
Maybe the fear had started after she witnessed Ivar kill Sigurd. Freyja knew he got angry but not angry enough to kill his own brother. As much as he apologized and said he didn’t mean it, his sister had a hard time believing it. The thoughts still lingered.
If Ivar was angry enough to kill Sigurd, he could become angry enough to kill Freyja. Although, she didn’t suspect he would. She knew that Ivar was smart enough to know how Bjorn would react returning from the mediterranean finding that his sister is dead.
Freyja didn’t know how long she walked, just that she hummed a song to herself as she made her way deeper into the forest. She knew she was probably lost, but that didn’t matter at the moment. She didn’t want to return to York.
Thinking and humming continued for quite sometime before she stopped, hearing leaves being stepped on near her. She pulled the bow from around her chest, holding it as she stuck an arrow into place. Pulling the string back, she looked around slowly. The possibility of it being a Saxon soldier was high. High enough that it made the Viking’s heart beat faster.
Another twig snapped. She snapped her body the other direction, ready to shoot whoever it was.
“It’s just me, Alfred. Don’t shoot me.” Freyja furrowed her eyebrows. Alfred? What was he doing back here?
The Saxon prince appeared into her line of sight. She exhaled and lowered her bow. Alfred wasn’t a threat, even if she didn’t know him, he wouldn’t have been a threat. The boy was fairly weak physically but he was smart. Freyja liked that about him.
She smiled at him, throwing the weapon onto the ground as he walked near her. “What are you doing back here?” She asked, wrapping her arms around his neck and hugging tightly. She hesitated kissing him, paranoia ringing her mind that ‘No! Ivar could be somewhere!’
Ignoring the feeling, she placed her lips onto his softly, savoring the moment. Alfred seemed just as hesitant as she did. Freyja pulled back and unwrapped her arms from his neck. She leisurely walked back towards a log behind her and sat down, licking her lips out of habit.
Alfred smiled back at her, feeling himself relax at the sound of her accented voice. “I could ask you the same,” She glared at him playfully, looking down at the grass. “It’s dangerous for you to be out here, some of my soldiers could attack you.”
Freyja chuckled, pointing at the bow and arrow on the ground, “That’s what that’s for, Alfred. I could defend myself if I needed to.” For some reason, she didn’t like showing self-doubt in front of Alfred. She felt the need to be a stereotypical strong, Viking shield maiden while around him.
Alfred ran his fingers through his black hair, sitting down beside her, “Yes, but five Saxon soldiers could kill one Viking princess easily enough.” He nudged her slightly, a playful grin on his lips. She looked at him, raising her eyebrows.
“You never answered my question.” He mentioned. She simply shrugged.
“What’s there to explain? Maybe I just wanted to walk.” Alfred didn’t believe her, Freyja was smarter than that. She wouldn’t put herself in such unnecessary danger just for a walk.
He slumped a little at her simple answer. “You can trust me, you know. Just because your brother might not doesn’t mean you shouldn’t.”
Shaking her head, she turned her body to face him. “It’s more than that. I do trust you completely but it’s hard to not question your trustworthiness when my brother is putting all these paranoid suspicions in my head.” He raised an eyebrow, though she couldn’t see the confusion written on his face as she played with the leaf in her hand.
“What do you mean? Since when do you pay attention to what your brother has to say about me?” Freyja shrugged, standing up and walking towards a tree in the opposite direction.
Placing a hand on the trunk of the tree, she walked behind it, feeling Alfred’s eyes following her movements.
“I just mean that he’s scared that you’ll betray me and get me killed. I’ve tried telling him that you aren’t like that, but he doesn’t believe me.” This confused Alfred. Freyja could kill him if he tried to betray her. He’d met Ivar before, for a brief period of time. Ivar could easily kill him if he wanted to as well and he wasn’t a threat to the crippled man or his brothers.
Alfred stood up and walked to Freyja. He stood in front of her, making eye contact with the shorter girl. Her face pulled a bored expression.
“When Ivar has an opinion about something, it’s hard to convince him otherwise.” Alfred nodded, understanding. His mother and father had acted the same sometimes. Scoffing when he mentioned peace with the Northmen. Ignoring the things he had to say about how killing their people is only going to make them more angry. It all went through one ear and out the other.
It wasn’t easy to convince even Aethelred that their attacks towards the Vikings were weakening their own forces and just causing more harm than good. Simply praying to God wasn’t going to do any good. God wouldn’t make them win the war. That was up to their own decisions. As devoted as Alfred was to God, his family seemed to be brainwashed by Bishop Heahmund’s words and ‘visions’, which were a load of shit to the young prince.
Freyja sighed, grabbing Alfred’s hands. “I feel like I’m just dragging your people into more of a mess. Ivar still has a vendetta against your grandfather, even if he is dead now.” The mention of his grandfather made Alfred’s body stiffen. “I do believe that seeing you only causes him to hate you and your people more.”
Freyja sighed guiltily, continuing. “The thought that his only sister could be betraying him to be with a Christian probably angers Ivar.”
“It’s not your doing. Ivar won’t stop until he’s satisfied with the outcome of the damage he’s causing. You know this.” They sat in silence for a moment, trying to reason with themselves that maybe it’d all be okay in the end. Maybe Ivar would come to his senses.
That was just false hope. Ivar was ruthless and as much as Freyja wanted to believe that he was just her older brother who loved and wanted to protect her, she wasn’t sure if any of that was even slightly true anymore.
Alfred tried not to let the things his parents said about the Northmen fog his vision of Freyja or of any of the people from Kattegat she talked about. Maybe some of them did hate him for his religion, maybe some of them did want to kill him, but that didn’t mean all of them did.
“Sometimes I think I should go back to Kattegat without my brothers and stay with Lagertha.” Freyja sighed and looked down at the ground. A spider ran quickly across the green leaves that flooded the ground. She shook her head, looking back up at Alfred.
“Maybe not, though. Sometimes I’d just like to run away from everybody. Even the people I love most.” Alfred said nothing, watching the girl walk around with her thoughts. He wanted to understand it but as pressured as he felt around his family, he didn’t think he could ever leave them for a long period of time.
She sat down beside him once again, “I wish my father were still here, Alfred.”
“Mine too.”
Silence seemed to come and go around the two teenagers, too caught up in the thoughts and responsibilities and irritations that kept them from being completely happy.
————
“You’ve made our sister run off, Ivar.” Ubbe mentioned two days later, not having seen Freyja anywhere since Ivar last spoke to her. He wasn’t extremely worried but he knew that Ivar’s words hurt his younger sister.
Ivar nodded uncaringly. She would come back. Either that or she’d die. Both things crossed Ivar’s mind but seemingly went right over his head. He shrugged at Ubbe and closed his eyes.
“Ivar, do you not care? She could be dead and it’d be your fault. Once again.” This angered Ivar, he knew his siblings were intent on believing he meant to kill Sigurd.
“I didn’t mean to kill him, Ubbe. If she dies, that won’t be my fault. It will be the Saxons fault and that stupid little Prince’s fault.” Ivar explained curtly. He wasn’t going to be the one to blame if Freyja got killed because her emotions for the Saxon Prince got in the way.
Ubbe sighed deeply, placing his hands on the table. He closed his eyes tiredly and looked over at Hvitserk, who raised his eyebrows. Ivar seemed to want to blame Prince Alfred for all of the problems arising with their sister.
“Ubbe’s right, brother. Of course she can protect herself but she’s one girl. It doesn’t take much to kill one person.” Hvitserk added, Ivar rolling his eyes in response.
“Then go look for her yourself. She isn’t my obligation.” Ubbe and Hvitserk stood up, irritated with Ivar. She was his sister as much as she was theirs.
The two brothers walked out of the great hall and into the town. The smell of blood still seemed to linger in the air from when they slaughtered the Christians in York. Ubbe still thought about the nun who killed herself in the church.
“Which way could she have gone?” Hvitserk asked, walking toward the large gate used to get in and out of York. In all honesty, they could look for days and still not find her. Or the Christian soldiers could kill them before they had a chance.
There was a likely chance their sister was already dead, rotting away in the woods, but the thought wasn’t spoken of between the brothers for the moment. They just continued to walk.
“I’m not sure but our best chance is to just keep going straight. She wouldn’t go somewhere she could get lost.” Hvitserk shrugged, resting his hand on the hilt of his axe.
Stopping for a moment, Hvitserk tried to reason with himself that she wouldn’t just run away because of Ivar. That she’d be waiting for her brothers to give a shit and come find her. It seemed unlikely but it was better than knowing that if they didn’t find her at some point, they’d have to give up and go back.
“What is it?” Ubbe asked, turning around and looking at his younger brother.
“Is Ivar really ruthless enough to make Freyja run away far enough to where we can’t find her?” If Ivar could kill Sigurd, he could make Freyja run away without turning back.
Ubbe sighed, and began walking again, “I don’t want to talk about Ivar.” Fair enough.
———
The sun was beginning to set and Freyja knew that Alfred would be leaving soon. He’d been out all day with the girl and his family, being who they were, would begin to believe the Vikings had kidnapped him or killed him or something of the sort.
Freyja looked up at Alfred, turning not to seem sad. He turned around to face her, sympathy on his face.
“You’ll come back tomorrow?” She asked him, walking towards him.
Alfred looked down and shrugged, “I’m not sure. My family will get suspicious. Aethelred already asked me why I keep leaving early in the morning and coming back late at night.” She nodded, understanding that he couldn’t just run off without a problem like she usually could. “Please try not to get killed, though.” He added, smiling slightly.
“I’ll try.” Freyja replied quickly. She didn’t think she’d be so sad about the boy leaving. Maybe it was time she went back to York.
She couldn’t though, that’d just make Ivar happy, knowing that he may have hurt her but she’d still come back. She had to stay.
Alfred grabbed her hand, squeezing it caringly. He turned around and began walking back towards where his family was.
Freyja sighed, blowing the hair out of her face. She thanked the Gods that her father and brothers had taught her to hunt and cook a rabbit well enough to eat in an instance like this. She grabbed her bow and arrows, walking the opposite way Alfred had gone.
She missed her brothers, if she was being honest, even Ivar. He cared for her at times, and did look out for her. He’d joke with her constantly about how he was her ‘favorite brother’ just to tease their other brothers. She didn’t know why he’d been so moody lately. Maybe it was because he was getting impatient and was ready to kill Lagertha.
Whatever it was, it pissed her off. She cried and cried and cried when Sigurd had died and Ivar had just sat there saying he didn’t mean it. It seemed like Ivar didn’t care who lived or died at this point. As long as he won in the end, it didn’t matter.
Freyja jumped out of her thoughts when she saw a rabbit jump into her view. Smiling to herself, she grabbed the bow from around her back and readied it with an arrow. She pulled the string back, focusing on the rabbit carefully.
“Freyja! There you are!” Gasping, she let go of the string, completely missing as the rabbit scurried away. Turning around angrily, she glared at Ubbe and Hvitserk for scaring off the rabbit.
“You’re lucky I didn’t shoot you, Ubbe.” She said curtly, throwing the bow on the ground. Her older brothers chuckled, walking closer to her.
“We’ve been looking for you all day. Why are you out here?” Hvitserk asked, looking around the forest. Freyja shrugged, not verbally responding.
“I needed to get away from Ivar. He was making me angry.” She scoffed, looking down at her feet, “Not that he cares.”
Ubbe and Hvitserk looked at each other, then back at their sister. They nodded, agreeing with her. “You should come back to York.” Ubbe said softly.
Freyja shook her head, running her fingers through her long hair. “I don’t want to be anywhere near Ivar. Going back to York is just giving Ivar what he wants.” Freyja picked her bow up off the ground and walked away from her brothers.
Ubbe and Hvitserk followed her, wanting to convince their sister that it wasn’t safe to be out here and that she needed to go back with them.
Walking for what seemed like hours, the three made it back to the spot Freyja was originally in.
“You need to come back to York.” Ubbe told her again. Freyja rolled her eyes, and declined once again. The thought of the Saxon soldiers crossed her mind, she was glad she hadn’t come across any so far, but if she stayed any longer, they’d likely find her.
Freyja was conflicted. Go back to York and deal with Ivar’s comments about how she can’t even stay away for a week, or she could stay in the forest and get killed by Saxon soldiers. Which would probably only humor Ivar more than anything. His sister’s dead, and was killed by a Christian.
Hvitserk sighed, deciding to speak up, “You don’t have to necessarily see Ivar. York is a large town. What’s he gonna do if he sees you? Run after you?” Ubbe and Feyja chuckled at Hvitserk’s comment. He was right. She could avoid him for a while.
Nodding, Freyja pressed her lips together in a thin line, “Just... Don’t say anything to him about me. Don’t even mention me.” Her brothers agreed as they started walking back towards York.
————
Freyja momentarily wondered how Alfred was doing. Surely he was fine, considering his men were patrolling the forest. Still, she didn’t know what could possibly happen to him if his family found out he’d been seeing a heathen girl, a Viking princess, for the past few weeks.
He used to be fairly shy around her, hesitant to do anything, but he’d become more sure of himself. It made her happy, that even though they were supposed to hate each other, he’d allowed himself to forget about what had been happening between their people and open up.
Ivar had found out they’d been seeing each other around two weeks ago, asking about it once and not speaking of it again. He didn’t seem too happy at all about it.
“You’ve been seeing the Saxon Prince?” Freyja choked on her food, Ivar’s sudden choice of words alarming her.
Looking up slowly, she noticed her brothers’ eyes were now on her. “What?” She whimpered out, her voice getting caught on itself. “What are you talking about?”
Ivar rolled his eyes, laughing darkly. He looked at their brothers’, an expectant look on his face. He must’ve told them.
“I saw you. In the forest with him. Prince Alfred of Wessex and Mercia.” Ivar spoke Alfred’s title with a condescending tone. Shaking her head, Freyja placed her arms on the table, looking down.
“I haven’t seen him, Ivar. You must have mistaken another boy for him.” Laughing loudly, Ivar set his cup down roughly.
He stared his sister in the eyes, the dark look never leaving.
“You are lying to me.” Freyja glanced up at her brothers, Hvitserk seemed to be amused by the situation. “I saw the two of you. Kissing.” She noticed Ubbe and Hvitserk share glances, eyebrows raised.
“Why are you spying on me? Am I not deserving of privacy? How many slaves have all of you had sex with?” Laughing once again, Ivar pointed at her mockingly, as if to say, ‘you got me there!’
Ubbe spoke up, finally breaking the conversation, “Ivar, you shouldn’t spy on our sister.” Ivar rolled his eyes angrily.
“She may be telling him our strategies!” Freyja slammed her hand down on the table, standing up quickly and frightening her siblings for a moment.
“Why would I do that? I would never betray you! Even if I did love him, like you so think I do, I would never betray you like that.” The assumptions saddened Freyja, how could Ivar ever think that? Did he really distrust her that much?
The silence must’ve made Hvitserk uncomfortable, although not one to always talk, he enjoyed anything but silence.
“Ivar still thinks you love the Saxon Prince.” He inhaled, looking back at his sister. “Do you? Love him?” Freyja didn’t want to talk about the relationship she had with Alfred right now. It seemed to be the cause of all her problems.
“No. The only people I love are you, my brothers, and father.” That was the end of the conversation.
“Are you princess Freyja?” Gasping, Freyja turned around to meet the eyes of a boy. Nodding slowly, she pulled out the knife in her pocket and pointed it at him.
“Who are you?” She asked curtly, stepping towards him slowly. He stood there, raising his hands in defense.
“I’m Prince Alfred, of Wessex and Mercia.” He lowered his hands slowly. “I’m King Ecbert’s grandson.” Narrowing her eyes at him, she looked around to see if there were any guards.
She set the knife onto the table in front of her, continuing to look at prince.
“Your grandfather is going to kill my father. Why should I trust you?” Alfred looked down shyly, shaking his head.
“I never said you had to.” He sat down in a chair that was already pulled out. “Also, my grandfather isn’t going to kill Ragnar. He’s just-”
“Shipping him off like a slave for King Aelle to do it, so he won’t have to get Ragnar Lothbrok’s blood on his hands.” She picked the knife back up, not pointing it, just gripping the handle tightly.
Alfred sighed, looking down once again, “I don’t want your father to die. My father and Ragnar were... more than friends. Surely you know this.”
Nodding, Freyja looked Alfred in the eyes, who continued to look down. “How old are you, Alfred?”
“The same as you. 13.” The two sat in silence, not looking at each other, just sitting.
The door suddenly opened as Ivar crawled in with Saxon guards behind him. Freyja stood up and walked over to Ivar.
“We must go home, back to Kattegat.” He said quietly.
“Without father?” Ivar nodded in reply, focusing his gaze onto Alfred.
“You have met Prince Alfred?”
“Briefly, yes.” A guard grabbed Freyja’s arm tightly, startling her.
“It’s time to go.” The man said, continuing to grip her arm too tightly. Freyja looked back at Alfred quickly, as if to say goodbye to him.
Jumping out of her thoughts, Freyja noticed that they’d arrived back to York. Men carrying large wooden planks walked in front of her, while a shield maiden ran beside her.
Something in her felt good to be back in the town while something else was angered. She pushed away her emotions and walked through the town, Hvitserk’s hand having placed itself on her shoulder, guiding her back to where the siblings resided temporarily.
“Ivar will be relieved to see you alive, even if you don’t think he will.” Ubbe said.
Freyja rolled her eyes, “I don’t care what Ivar thinks about me being alive. In any case, I’d rather him go on for a while thinking I’m dead.” She inhaled and looked around for a second, “I’m not going back to the hall.”
Hvitserk nodded, replying with a quick ‘Það er sanngjarnt.’ (That's fair.)
That was the end of that. She would eventually make her way into the center of the town, buying food from some of her people, the hood over her head not helping at keeping her identity hidden with the scar over her lip in plain sight.
Sometimes an old woman or a young man would notice and ask, “You are Princess Freyja, correct?” Exclaiming that the Gods had definitely blessed her, giving her heaps of food and jewelry that she didn’t need.
————
Apparently the Gods had not blessed her the next day. She squirmed and flung herself around as soldiers gripped her arms and legs tightly, a cloth over her mouth.
She knew they were taking her somewhere, somewhere important. She couldn’t speak their language fluently but she could make out most of what they were saying.
‘Ðêos wîse!’ This way? Where were they taking her? They began talking about King Aethelwulf. What they said about him, she didn’t know.
“Where are you taking me, you Christian bastards?” She asked angrily, though the question came out more muffled than she’d expected. Their grips seemed to cut off her circulation. They ignored her question, continuing to walk and paying no mind to her.
It felt like hours before Freyja finally heard voices that didn’t belong to the men holding her. They spoke the same language her captors spoke. The language of the Saxons.
Too busy trying to get away, Freyja hadn’t even processed that these men were Saxons.
‘Of course they’re Saxons, they spoke of King Aethelwulf.’ The men that Freyja had told Alfred she could easily fight off. If he saw her now, she’d be humiliated. She was already humiliated.
The men set her down, so that she was standing now. They pushed her forward harshly, forcing her walk. The rope tied around her wrists hurt like hell and her fingers began to go numb.
Hands still held onto to her forearms as she walked forward. Two men stood in front of her and she couldn’t see what was ahead.
The cloth had been taken out her mouth and she could finally see what was in front of her as the soldiers moved. King Aethelwulf stared her down, maintaining eye contact even while she looked around. There were so many people surrounding her and she felt highly singled out.
King Aethelwulf sat on his throne while Judith- Who looked the same as she had when Freyja met her years ago- sat to his right.
Smirking and chuckling to herself, trying to hide her humiliation, she made eye contact with Alfred, who’s facial expression mimed what she was feeling. Shock.
Aethelred’s face bare no emotion, as he never has around Freyja. He never seemed to speak around her. At first she wondered if he was intimidated, but Alfred had laughed and told her that, ‘No, Aethelred barely even speaks around me.’
“You piece of shit! Kidnapping me is only going to cause you more problems!" Freyja spat profanities at the King, getting angrier and angrier as he laughed.
“Yell all you want, Heathen, but I am not the one tied up.” She grimaced, exhaling angrily as some of the people around her laughed.
Looking at Alfred, his hands gripped the arms of his chair and his face held a worried look. She narrowed her eyes slightly, as if asking him to interfere. He nodded slowly, keeping eye contact before looking directly at Aethelwulf.
He leaned in towards his step-father, tapping his shoulder lightly. Freyja watched as Aethelwulf’s eyes scanned the ground until the landed on her. He seemed to pay no mind to whatever Alfred had said.
“I can assure you, Prince Alfred, that if those heathens ever try to get close to Wessex then we will surely kill them.” The comment was filled with ignorance. They’d been defeated in battle twice already. If anything, those heathens coming to Wessex would only result in more of their people dead.
“My brothers will kill you. Every single one of you. Then it will be your fault, King Aethelwulf.” Her words seemed to have a slight impact on some of the townspeople. She rolled her eyes at gasps and an increase in talking.
It wasn’t likely that her brothers would get there anytime soon. Ubbe and Hvitserk thought she was in town, avoiding Ivar, while Ivar thought she was in the forest. It’d take at least a few weeks before even Ubbe figured out something was wrong.
Ivar may not seem like he cared but the second he finds out that the Saxons had captured her, he’d be storming into Wessex ready to rip Aethelwulf limb from limb.
“Þú verður allir þjást.” (You will all suffer.) She hissed, her eyes traveling to Alfred. She couldn’t believe he was just sitting there while two men she didn’t even know, stood gripping her arms so tightly she thought they’d fall off.
He sat there while a man, taller than her, with short, dark hair and a hand on his sword leisured towards her. Truthfully, she wasn’t scared of this man. Her father had instilled in her the ability to act emotionless around people like this man. The ones who tried to intimidate her like he was.
As he got closer, their eye contact stayed. Freyja smirked as she looked up at him. He also bore no emotion as he stared her down.
“The only suffering that will happen is when the Lord leads you to Hell. You are an unbeliever and you will never be saved.” The words amused Freyja, surprising her too. This man could speak her language. At least understand it. She didn’t necessarily understand completely what he meant, but from what she learned from both her father and Alfred is that Hell was the place where supposed ‘sinners’ burned.
Being an unbeliever was the biggest sin, Alfred had told her once, they suffer the most in Hell. Still, it didn’t scare her. Their God wasn’t real, Odin would save her.
The man pulled out his sword, looking at the hilt, then at the blade. She didn’t think they’d kill her now. That seemed ineffective.
Beginning to laugh, Freyja realized that this man was probably going to stand there and stare at her until she got scared enough. She would never be scared of him.
Leaning closer to him, she glanced at Aethelwulf, then to Judith. Judith was King Aelle’s daughter. The daughter of the man who killed her father.
Paying no more thought to Judith, Freyja looked over to Aethelred, who still, had no visible emotions. Then to Alfred.
He looked more… calm than he has every other time she’s seen him. Except not the type of calm in the the-Viking-woman-I-have-sinful-feelings-for-is-being-held-hostage-but-I-don’t-care sense, more like I’m-trying-not-to-act-like-I-care sense.
He shot her a small, reassuring smile before she looked back at King Aethelwulf. The silence was killing her so she did what she thought was best. She spit in the man’s face. King Aethelwulf’s eyes widened as he stood out of his chair, pointing at her with his sword.
“Take the heathen down to the dungeons. I don’t want to see her face.” Freyja was beginning to feel like her problems with Ivar were disappearing and being replaced with new ones. She just prayed the Gods would send her brothers a sign that she was in danger.
————
The dungeon was cold and wet. Freyja knew they wouldn’t place her in a nice room, fit for a princess, but she figured that the Saxons were so stuck up their own asses that they’d make even the dungeons look nice. She thought wrong.
There were no windows in the cold room, and she didn’t know whether it was night or day. It couldn’t be too late at night, she was only just put in there a few hours ago.
Sighing and leaning back on the wall, she stared at the dirty bricks, wondering if they would’ve still put her in here if she hadn’t spit on Bishop Heahmund’s face. She had learned who the man was on the way to the dungeon, the soldiers screaming that she would go to Hell.
Freyja jumped slightly, startled by the noise of the door opening. She paid no mind to who entered, thinking it was probably a slave or a soldier.
She was wrong. It was Alfred.
He sat down in front of her as she looked back towards the wall to her right. Hearing a clink, her instincts shouted that it was food, she needed to eat, but she ignored them.
“I tried to get my father to place you somewhere else. Somewhere,” He looked around the dirty room, “Nicer.”
Aethelwulf wasn’t his father. Freyja wasn’t even sure if Alfred liked him. He seemed irritated with his step-father everytime he spoke of the man.
Hearing Alfred sigh, she finally looked at him tiredly. In all honestly, she just wanted to sleep. Getting kidnapped by the Saxons wasn’t exactly how she thought her day would go when she woke up that morning.
“I’m not angry with you, if you think I am.” Freyja finally said, her light brown eyes meeting Alfred’s green ones, “I know that you can’t exactly make Aethelwulf do what you want.” Alfred looked stressed. She wasn’t sure why he did, but she didn’t think she had anything to do with the situation.
Nodding, he looked down at the dirty ground, noticing the small weeds growing the cracks in the bricks. He felt bad, knowing that Freyja had to sleep here tonight. He wished he could sneak her into his room and let her sleep in his bed instead of the cold, dirty, hard floor. He couldn’t though, he’d get... he wasn’t even sure what would happen to him if his father found out he let a Heathen loose.
Freyja could practically read Alfred, watching his eyes narrow in thought. She grabbed his hands, laughing to herself silently at his startled gasp.
“You shouldn’t stress so much, over whatever you’re thinking about.”
Alfred was always a bit vague in his emotions, but at the same time, he always joked about how Freyja could see right through him.
The Saxon prince moved from in front of her to sit beside her instead. Still holding his hand, her mind quickly jumped to what Ivar would say if he saw them. If he saw her.
“My father has plans to kill you. In a few weeks.” Freyja wasn’t expecting that. Kill her? She thought Aethelwulf was smarter than that. Smart enough to not kill a Viking princess.
“I’m not strong like you are. I can’t... I can’t force my father into not killing you.” He continued. Freyja looked at him. He looked genuinely sad, speaking of her eventual death.
She shook her head. Alfred wasn’t weak, not in the way he thought he was. “You aren’t weak, Alfred. You may not be physically strong,” He cracked a small smile, “But you’re smart. Smarter than I am. We balance each other out, don’t you think?”
He nodded slowly. He was still worried.
Freyja wished she could help but Alfred would let her in when he wanted to. It was silent, except for the slight rattle of the chains she was attached to and the dripping of water from the roof.
“I should probably go. I don’t want them getting suspicious.” Them being his family. Freyja had began to notice a pattern with Alfred’s departures and his family.
Standing up, Alfred began to slowly walk towards the door, like he didn’t want to leave.
He stopped for a moment, turning around to face her. “How can I stop stressing over the fact that my father plans to kill you?” He said, not looking at the princess.
It wasn’t that Freyja feared death, but how awful would it be if news got back to Ivar, to Kattegat. Her brothers finding out that she was killed by Saxons. She wouldn’t even go to Valhalla.
Alfred left the dungeon, leaving Freyja in the darkness with just her thoughts.
————
“You can’t kill her, father. It will only create more tensions between us and her people.” Aethelwulf sighed, rubbing his temples. “How many more of our people, innocent people, have to die before you realize this?” Alfred begged his father, a week later.
In all honesty, Alfred wasn’t just trying to save Freyja. He genuinely wanted the war to stop. The Vikings had their own problems with Freyja’s brothers seemingly cutting away at their brotherhood every second. What good would it do to get their people involved with that?
“Killing her will send them a message. That we can defeat them.” Aethelwulf replied nonchalantly. He didn’t seem like he cared at all. Freyja always teased Alfred that he didn’t like Aethelwulf at all, no matter how much he said he loved him as much as he loved his real father, but sometimes he felt like she was right.
“What message? That we can kill one 16 year old princess just because we can?” Aethelred had yet to speak up, but Alfred knew that he was siding with his father in this. “Killing one person doesn’t equate to killing off an entire group of people and defeating them.”
Aethelred adjusted in his seat as he inhaled, looking down at the table. “I think father is right. It could show them that we aren’t as weak as they think we are.”
This was so obviously not true. In terms of an army, they were most certainly weaker than the Vikings. They had significantly less men fighting.
“Many of our men died at York. We suffered a tremendous loss. You’re risking even more of our men dying just so you can write off a false message to the Northmen.”
“You’re only saying that because you love her. That heathen.” Judith’s eyes widened, as well as Aethelwulf’s at his brother’s words. Love? A heathen? Not their perfect, pure son.
Of course Aethelred would say something, he always had to one-up his younger brother.
Alfred boredly looked at Aethelred, not even bothering to fight him on it.
“I followed you the other day before we captured her, into the woods. Could you believe my amusement, father, when I saw Alfred kiss that pagan woman?” Aethelred was intentionally trying to weaken Alfred’s arguments by bringing up Freyja. Of course he would.
Looking over at his mother, she looked unnerved. His father just looked angry.
“Is this true, Alfred?” Judith simply asked, no anger visible in her voice.
He wasn’t sure how to answer. Anything he said would be wrong to them. Yes, and he’s in love with an unbeliever, with someone equivalent to the devil. No, and he’s a liar, lying to his parents and committing a sin.
It didn’t matter at this point, his brother was jealous of the attention he got from his parents, just like he was when they were younger.
“Whatever I say will be wrong to you, and she’ll be dead soon anyways, so why does it matter?” Aethelwulf scoffed at Alfred’s words. Why does it matter?
Standing up, the King pinched the bridge of his nose in annoyance. “It matters because she is a pagan! An unbeliever.” Shaking his head in unbelief, his father refused to make eye contact with Alfred.
“I took you to Rome as a boy to meet his Holiness and this is how you return the favor? By seeing a pagan woman?” It wasn’t like Alfred could control his feelings for Freyja. He’d tried to, at the beginning, when the two of them first met three years ago.
He remembered laying awake at night, praying to God that the feelings would leave. That they’d leave and he’d feel nothing for the girl. But that never happened.
When he saw her again, she was saving his life. Killing her own men just to make sure he didn’t die. He could never repay her for that. He owed her his life.
If it was such a sin, so bad that God would send him to Hell for it, why couldn’t He have taken Alfred’s feelings away. Kept her away. Maybe it was a test of faith? Loyalty? Either way, it didn’t make sense. He wouldn’t try to make sense of it.
She consumed too much of his mind to just deny the love he felt for her, even if she didn’t return it.
“Father, you’re forgetting that you still stayed with mother, even after she committed adultery with my father. My real father.” Judith was definitely angry now. Gripping her cup tightly, staring at him angrily.
Exhaling deeply, she set her cup down and placed a forced smile on her face. “Now Alfred, why must we bring such things up?”
“If father can forgive your sins, then surely he can forgive mine. I would never convert to her religion, if that’s what you’re so afraid of.” The term unbeliever began being thrown at him left and right by his family. He didn’t say anything, just simply stood up and walked past the guards, out of the room.
He ignored the yells of protest from his parents and the, “Alfred, you can’t walk away from this!” screamed by his mother.
Alfred walked down the halls, toward the dungeon. Maybe going to the direct source of his problem wouldn’t fix anything but it made him feel better. He wasn’t angry at Aethelred, he knew why he said something but with the current situation, it made Alfred a little anxious.
His father could come in the dungeon at anytime and kill Freyja. She couldn’t do anything about it but scream and yell. Alfred wouldn’t be able to forgive himself if that happened.
The two guards at the entrance to the dungeon stood perfectly straight and looked directly forward. It made the Prince laugh inside, they looked like stone. He attempted to open the door to the dungeon before one of the guards swords touched his wrist. Not hard enough to cause any harm, just a warning touch.
“Let me in.” Alfred said curtly.
Shaking his head, the guard retracted his sword, placing it at his side again. “The King has given us direct orders to keep it locked.”
Narrowing his eyes at the guard and stepping closer to him, Alfred scoffed. “I think you’re forgetting that I’m still the Prince. You are just a guard. Let me in, or I’ll have you killed.”
He wouldn’t really have the guard killed but it seemed to get the point across as he pulled a key out of his pocket and unlocked the entrance. Alfred sighed, entering the dungeon.
The coldness got to him quickly, finding himself shivering as soon as he closed the door behind him. There were a few other Viking soldiers kept in their own confinement that he could hear coughing or speaking quickly in their language. Most likely praying.
Guessing that they’d heard the door open and close, some of them pushed their faces up against the tiny section of bars on the wooden doors of the small rooms they were kept in. They screamed at Alfred to let them go, cursed at him for being Christian, and other things but Alfred just ignored it.
He nodded his head politely at the three guards walking around, making sure nobody got out.
“I need the key for the Viking Princess’ room.” He whispered at the man. Nodding, the guard pulled a key out without any other argument and handed it over.
Alfred walked past the doors and finally reached the end of the dungeon. The room Freyja was kept in was a bit more isolated than the others. No other people beside her room or anything. It was the room for special prisoners like her, as his father had put it.
Inhaling, he stuck the key in the keyhole and turned. When he opened the door, his heart jumped. He didn’t expect to walk in on Freyja laying on the floor, soaked in her own blood. Most of it seemed to come from wounds on her face.
Dropping the key, he walked quickly towards the girl. He knelt down, not knowing what to do. She whimpered lightly, her whole body shaking.
When he touched her face gently, she attempted to retract her head back, instead just inflicting more pain. She tried to whisper out Alfred’s name but it came more as a groan.
Alfred inhaled deeply, before speaking. “What happened, Freyja? Who did this to you?” He wanted to slap himself, she obviously wasn’t in a position to speak right now. “Was it my brother? Did he do this to you?”
Anger overcame Alfred as she nodded as best she could. How could he do that to her? His own brother mercilessly beating a woman just because she’s of a different religion.
Alfred truly didn’t know what to do. Freyja seemed a bit traumatized and obviously she hurt too much to move. Of course, he could get a slave to clean her up while he went and found the nurse that always helped their wounded soldiers after battles. That seemed like his best bet.
“I’ll be right back, don’t worry. I love you.” The words came out before he could stop them but this wasn’t the time to ponder and kick himself for saying the three words. He squeezed her hand affectionately and stood up, rubbing out of the room.
———
A couple of hours later, the nurse had finished stitching up Freyja’s wounds. While that was happening, Alfred had decided to pay a little visit to his brother’s room, yelling at him how awful it was to do such things. Aethelred didn’t seem to listen, tuning his brother out.
“How are you holding up?” Alfred asked softly, running his fingers through Freyja’s dark brown hair. Her head sat in his lap and he wondered if the position was even slightly comfortable. She still hurt, badly and it worried Alfred to death.
“I’m okay. Just a little… shaken up, I guess.” She groaned out, tracing her fingers over Alfred’s hand and praying that she could just see her brother’s again. In all honesty, she was extremely shaken up.
When Alfred had found her, until he spoke, she thought it was Aethelred. Freyja never expected somebody like Aethelred to do something like that to her.
“Right before I found you, Aethelred told my mother and father about us. He followed me into the forest a few days ago and saw us kiss.” Humming a reply, Freyja tried to sit up. Alfred held her by the waist and arm, attempting to not hurt her.
She sat back against the wall, closing her eyes and breathing deeply. She didn’t realize how much sitting up would wear her out. Looking over to Alfred, she opened her eyes and saw the worried look on his face.
“I’m okay. I promise.” Rubbing the dirt off of her hands and onto her even dirtier dress, she coughed before speaking again. “I can assume your mother and father only want me dead even more now, right?”
Alfred nodded, placing his hands in his lap. “Yes. I don’t know how to stop them. I’m not sure if I can.”
Freyja shrugged, biting her lip harshly. “You could always kill them.” The suggestion was a joke, but Alfred’s face made it clear that it really wasn’t.
“I’m not killing my parents.” He said sternly. He sighed deeply, hearing Freyja hum in response again and chuckle.
“It was only a joke, Alfred. Here I am, all bloody and I’m still joking about death.” She spoke quietly. “You and your people seem so stiff all the time. Back in Kattegat, whenever one of us was frustrated, my brothers and I would fight each other. Even Ivar.” She pointed to the long scar on her cheek. It was deep and traveled from her ear almost to her mouth, missing it by an inch or two.
“That’s where this came from. I remember being so frustrated by my father, that Ubbe agreed to fight me. We never intentionally caused harm to each other but it happened sometimes.” Alfred looked at her with an eyebrow raised, “Anyways, Ubbe swung his sword at me and I didn’t get my shield up in time that it cut my cheek. I didn’t even realize until Ubbe started apologizing.”
A smile appeared on her face, making Alfred smile. Freyja always seemed to find good things in bad situations.
“What about the one on your leg that you’ve still yet to show me?” Alfred asked, recalling the time that Freyja told him about the scar that ran from her hip down to her knee.
“Same thing, essentially. Ivar and I were training together, though, and he took his axe, swung at me, and I just happened to be late with my shield.” Freyja grabbed Alfred’s hand once again, covering it with her other hand as she spoke fondly of her brothers.
“That one really hurt. I cried for hours.” She added briefly. Alfred scooted closer to her, not saying anything. “I lost a lot of blood, too.”
Talking to Freyja always gave him a break from his problems. Her stories always seemed so fascinating compared to his. His mother always kept him out of harm’s way, saying that a child so blessed by God shouldn’t risk getting hurt.
“You are quiet today.” Freyja whispered, laying her head on Alfred’s shoulder. She looked tired but he wasn’t sure if that was just because of her slight black eye.
He nodded, not wanting to say anything. He enjoyed the silence between them. It was never awkward, just comforting.
They sat there for what seemed like hours before he felt the grip on his hand loosen. Assuming she’d fallen asleep, Alfred let his head fall back against the brick wall. He let out a deep sigh, letting himself fall asleep.
———
“Ivar,” Hvitserk sauntered in the room, looking at his younger brother. “Have you seen Freyja?”
Ivar shrugged, not recalling having seen his sister since their argument. He watched as Hvitserk sat down, chewing on the inside of his cheek.
Placing his arms on the table, Hvitserk sighed, “I haven’t seen her in at least two weeks. She told me not to say anything but we found her in the woods.” Ivar snickered, realizing that his sister was alive.
“She’s been avoiding me, then?” Ivar asked rhetorically. Of course she’d been avoiding him. What else would she be doing?
Hvitserk nodded, rubbing the side of his face with his hand. “I haven’t seen her since then. I don’t think she’s in York.”
Ivar began laughing. She’d run off to see her prince. How amusing.
“It wouldn’t surprise me if our sister walked in announcing a marriage.” Hvitserk rolled his eyes, his point not getting across to Ivar.
Standing up, Hvitserk placed his hands in the table, leaning his weight onto them. He stared at Ivar for a moment before crossing his arms over his chest and chuckling.
“I think Freyja was kidnapped by the Saxons.” He explained. Ivar raised an eyebrow as he drank the ale from his cup. That wouldn’t surprise him either.
He didn’t see Freyja as weak but she tended to put herself in risky situations. In Ivar’s opinion, she could be a bit stupid, and a bit unaware of things.
“You might not care-“
“Who’s to say I don’t care. The Saxons kidnapped her. That does anger me, Hvitserk. She is still my sister.” Anger was an overstatement. He didn’t care two weeks ago, he wouldn’t care all too much now.
Hvitserk walked over to Ivar, placing his hand on his brother’s shoulder. “Then we must go get her back.”
———
Sitting in the dungeon alone had become irritatingly quiet to Freyja. She didn’t have anything to do and all she could do was stare at the wall and talk to herself.
The side of her body was pressed against the cold bricks, trying to find some kind of warmth. She hugged her legs with shaking arms and groaned loudly.
“I must be going crazy at this point.” She hadn’t seen Alfred in a while. The Prince could’ve been anywhere. He could’ve been eating lunch with his family, or maybe he was asleep.
Freyja didn’t know, it’s not like she knew if it was day or night. She wasn’t even sure how long she’d been there.
“Gods, please help me. I am going insane.” She whispered amusingly to herself. Freyja didn’t really believe she was going insane but it was treacherous being stuck in a tiny room all day with barely anything to eat.
She wondered if maybe Alfred’s family had done something to punish him for seeing her, or if they’d convinced him to stop seeing her.
Either way, Freyja missed him. She missed her brothers more. She missed her father the most. She thought about what he might do in this situation, what he would do to save his daughter.
Freyja hoped that if her father were still alive, he’d be on his way to save her right now. Or maybe he wouldn’t. She honestly didn’t know what he’d do. He was dead now. This had never happened to any of his children.
So, maybe he would help her if he was alive, but maybe that was also just false hope to keep the idea that he was the perfect father, when she knew he wasn’t.
Her body was still in pain from Aethelred seemingly using her as a kicking bag. Her ribs hurt everytime she moved her torso and her arms and legs were far more bruised than she’d originally thought.
“Allfather, please help.” Freyja prayed amusingly to herself.
Hearing the door open, she didn’t bother to look up. It wasn’t Alfred. She knew it wasn’t. A sigh left the mouth of the girl that walked in.
“Prince Alfred requested I give this to you.” The girl placed a plate of actual food in front of Freyja. Actual food that she could eat. She brought her eyes up to the slave girl thankfully. The girl reminded her of some of the women she saw back in Kattegat. Her hair was bright red and her eyes looked deep, like she’d been through too much.
She was a slave, of course she had been through too much. The girl smiled at Freyja slightly, the dirt on her cheeks becoming more visible.
The girl sighed, standing back up. “Prince Alfred also sent me to tell you that he promises he’ll see you soon.” Freyja only nodded, looking towards the food.
As the girl walked away, Freyja whipped her head up before she could exit, “Wait!” The girl looked back at her with raised eyebrows. “What is your name?” Her voice came out raspier than she expected, assuming that it was because she hadn’t spoken normally in a few days.
“Feidelm.” She replied. Her hands were placed behind her back, and surprisingly, she looked directly at Freyja. In Kattegat, she didn’t remember slaves ever making eye contact. Possibly out of fear, but she wasn’t sure. She didn’t give it much thought.
“If you see him, tell Alfred I say thank you.” Nodding, Feidelm turned around and began walking once again towards the door. “Thank you too, Feidelm.” The girl smiled widely and left. Freyja assumed that might’ve been the first time anybody had told her thank you.
The food looked so good. The hunger had definitely gotten to her, she felt like she could cry when she began eating. Freyja ignored the pain, the soreness, in her jaw while she chewed. Why would she pay attention to that when she was eating the most food she’d gotten her entire time in Wessex?
Finishing the food, Freyja felt more than tired. She sighed and closed her eyes, drifting to sleep easily.
————
Alfred sat with his head in hands as his mother spoke to Aethelred. How could she be arguing about which of the two would become king immediately after their father died?
It wasn’t like Alfred wanted to become king anyways. He was only 16. Aethelred was the one trained to become king. He was the one who was supposed to become King. Yet their mother seemed so bent on Alfred ruling. Speaking of his abilities given by God, or something.
Alfred had tuned her out as soon as Aethelred argued back about her affair with Aethelstan and how she’d betrayed Aethelwulf. Which wasn’t untrue in the least, but Alfred knew that Aethelred had always been jealous of him.
He used to feel bad but not anymore, not after Aethelred hurt Freyja just because she was a pagan and he was jealous. Maybe there was something deeper rooted in Aethelred’s anger.
Finalizing her decision, Judith walked out the room, leaving no more discussion. There was so much unspoken tension as soon as she left and Alfred couldn’t bring himself to look at his brother.
If Aethelred became king, he’d kill Freyja in a heartbeat. Then he’d get the entire kingdom killed off. He seemed to underestimate the power of her brothers.
Aethelred walked past Alfred angrily, bumping their shoulders together as he walked out. Alfred sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. He wished things didn’t have to turn out like this.
Alfred stood up and walked out of the large room, ignoring the people that walked around him. He did wonder why his mother wanted him to be king so badly when she knew he wanted peace with the Northmen.
Unfortunately, the castle was quiet as he walked, despite the shuffling of other slaves, nuns, and such. It did seem busier than usual, the Viking attack on York having stressed out not only him, but also the slaves. Alfred knew that many of them were scared of Vikings attacking, and even more uneasy with the daughter of Ragnar Lothbrok in the castle.
Her presence had an effect, it seemed and he knew it wasn’t necessarily a good idea to immediately tell everyone that they should be expecting Viking to roam the castle from now on. He hated that he couldn’t just make people trust her, make people see her like he saw her.
Freyja wasn’t some murder-hungry, heartless Viking like she was thought to be. At least not in Alfred’s eyes, although he’d come to realize that maybe she just didn’t want to kill him specifically. Maybe she was murder-hungry and heartless, just not towards him.
The girl still confused him, still made him wonder if she was truly trustworthy. Wonder if maybe her plan all along was to seduce him then kill him.
With his father dead, and his future being determined for him tomorrow, Alfred decided that he did need to talk to Freyja. She was still the one person he could open up to who wouldn’t question him or chastise his opinions. He felt like she deserved to know what was going on.
After found himself standing in front of the door, yet not waking in. How was he just supposed to tell her that he would become King tomorrow? That wasn’t something you usually just told a person.
Forcing himself to walk in, he laughed to himself finding Freyja asleep. She looked so much less angry when she was asleep. It almost made him want to let her sleep and just come back later. He walked towards Freyja slowly before kneeling down beside her.
He placed his hand gently on her shoulder and shook her slightly. The action must’ve scared her, her body jolted and her eyes widened. She gripped his arm tightly while her chest heaved as she panted.
Her eyes found his and she sighed in relief. They said nothing for a moment. Freyja situated herself, wincing in pain as she sat up. Alfred sat down in front of her, holding her hand gently. There was a small cut across her palm and he wondered where it came from.
Freyja looked at Alfred tiredly, her cheekbones much more visible from lack of food. One good thing that would come from becoming King was getting to let Freyja go. Letting her go back to her brothers like she wanted to, even if he wanted her to stay. It was her decision, although he couldn’t see her wanting to stay in Wessex.
“There’s really no easy way to say this,” Alfred felt the grip on his hands tighten as he spoke, “but my father is dead. I’m to become King.” The words shocked Freyja, even as broken down as she looked, her expression clearly told him she was as shocked as he had been.
“King?” She whispered out. Nodding, Alfred pulled a key out of his pocket. Freyja stared at it until he closed his fist around it. “Aethelred is next in line to become king, I thought? He’s older than you.”
“He is, but my mother demands that he nominates me for he crown. She says that I was given abilities from God that he doesn’t possess, that I’m more fit for King.” He told her. His mother did irritate him sometimes and he was beginning to think she was trying to make the two go against each other.
Freyja smiled slightly, looking at the wall beside her. “Well, if it makes you feel better, I think you’ll be a much better King than Aethelred would be.” She brought Alfred’s hand to her face, pressing her lips against his knuckles.
Showing affection towards Alfred had been hard for her. With the paranoia that Ivar would find them, the stress of being trapped in a tiny dungeon with only so much food, and Aethelred threatening her life the other night. It was hard to kiss him sometimes.
“I have this key,” Alfred unfolded his other hand, revealing the key he’d pulled out moments ago. “It unlocks these chains. You’ll be free.” Freyja grinned and laughed. In all her years, she never thought she’d be in this position.
Alfred stuffed the bronze key back in his pocket, “Tomorrow, though. I’m not King yet.” She nodded, kissing his hand again. Freyja couldn’t remember the last time she was this happy. All because she would be getting released from these awful dungeons.
Fear was exhausting. She’d tried telling herself that she shouldn’t be scared. The Gods were watching out for her, but they couldn’t save her from everything. Maybe it was the Gods who had killed Aethelwulf, and made it fate that Alfred would become King. It seemed like a miracle, with his father and brother in his way before he would’ve been able to become any sort of King.
But he was to become King tomorrow, and Freyja wouldn’t question that. She would never question it as long as she was being released and peace would possibly make its way between their people.
“I would release you sooner, if I could, but the guards are still under my father’s orders. So, until tomorrow.” The tiredness in Freyja’s eyes seemed to extinguish the more Alfred had spoken of her release.
She felt a bit selfish now, realizing that while she would become free, Alfred would become King. Something he so obviously didn’t want. Something that would be a burden on him until the day he died. He was only 16, how could his mother expect him to rule all of Wessex and Mercia?
The thoughts rang loud and clear in both of their minds. Alfred couldn’t just run away from it and Freyja couldn’t just leave him to figure it all out on his own. Freyja briefly wondered if she should stay, instead of fighting against her brothers. Even if she’d be seen as weak in Ivar’s eyes for staying, his opinions didn’t matter.
What did matter was if Alfred would want her to stay. She couldn’t just invite herself. Besides, with Aethelred and Judith around, she wondered how peaceful her stay would be. Freyja could worry about that tomorrow. Alfred wasn’t King yet.
Her smile faltered, and she looked sadly at Alfred. He seemed stressed, rightfully so. She wasn’t sure there was anything that could be said to make the prince feel better.
Alfred was never trained to be King, like Aethelred. As a child, he’d felt honored to be able to meet the Pope, to do all these things his brother didn’t do because he’d been supposedly blessed by God. Now it just felt like weight on his shoulders.
He’ll be suspected to be a good King, to follow in both his father and grandfather’s footsteps. To immediately know how to resolve the issues with the Vikings, to immediately fix the kingdom’s problems. Yet, he was clueless. Completely clueless.
Alfred was 16, never brought up being taught how to be King, never even expected his father to die so suddenly. How did his mother expect him to be able to take on that role?