Archive of Our Own

He watched her, hidden behind a panel of wood that allowed, through intricate carvings to see through and peer at the main room without being noticed. It was a big estate she had. It was an impressive guard she had. He had only been able to cross them all thanks to an insolent luck. He had not killed, and chosen to walk in under the cover of the night. What a chance the moon was clouded. It had allowed him more easily inside her large house, much like a hall in Beamfleot.

There was this something about secrecy, about peering through a wall, and people not knowing they were watched; something powerful. As much as Erik was enthralled by this most sweet vision, he knew he could leave. He could either stay in the shadows forever or leave, without her even knowing he was there. The thought made him sad.

His gaze followed her every move, from the way she wrote - what he wouldn’t give for her lessons now - to how she was sitting at her desk, her brows furrowed, focused in the administration of her affairs, her face hardened with a year as her husband’s wife. Erik knew he wasn’t there, though. He had heard that the lady of Mercia as people said liked loneliness more than she did her husband.

She had changed over the year. She had grown a bit fatter, dark circled of blue had grown under her eyes, while her face seemed thinner. Nevertheless, her skin was still as fair as the moon, and she was still as beautiful as the day he fell for her. His heart leaped in his chest. He still loved her. Why else would he have risked everything to come here in Mercia, whether execution or disappointment?

The moon suddenly flared in the room and Erik gasped as he saw her skin glow under its light. “Mani.” he marveled.

She suddenly stopped writing and unsheathed a sword at his side which made Erik love a little more. Her grip was firm. Her face told of wrath. “Who is there? Answer me!” around the handle of her sword, her knuckles were white.

Erik gave a grunt, as he tried to remain in the shadows. She couldn’t see his face; not now, not at night. It would frighten her.

She stepped closer, guiding herself through his noises. “I said: who is there?” her voice was cold and assertive; that of a queen.

She was close, so close Erik could have touched her face, but he wouldn’t; she was precious after all, and he would but only consider her as a queen so long as she was moon incarnate. If he touched her, then he would claim a part in her life. It frightened him.

The tip of her sword touched his throat, drops of blood dripping down his neck. “I know you are there.” Aethelflaed gritted, her hand fastened around the handle. “I have a sword and I know how to use it.”

Erik grinned and pushed the blade down as to jerk it out of her hands. The sword fell on the ground with a great clang. She gave a gasp of fear and unsheathed a dagger. Good, Erik thought, better use it in close combat. But he wasn’t here to fight her. He was only here to see her.

“Come out of the shadows! I will call the guards if you do not. Show me your face!”

Erik stirred behind the panel, waiting for the moon to vanish behind a cloud.

“I see you! Who are you? Does my husband send you? Does Haesten send you? Or were you sent on the order of my father’s enemies?” fear reeked in her voice, but her grip on the dagger told of bravery.

“Haesten?” he frowned as the moon vanished, anger brewing at the memory of what Haesten once wanted to do to her. The candlelight dwindled and flickered as a gale of wind rattled the room. Erik gave a sharp breath and came out of his hiding place. He was glad the night hid him still, she would not like what she would see.

She stepped closer, dagger in hand. “Who sends you?”

“Myself.” he tried to disguise his voice.

She scoffed. “Who are you?”

“A ghost I presume.” he whispered.

He saw her squint at him. “Your voice - it sounds familiar.” she stepped closer. “Are you here to kill me? If you are, I prefer to warn you, Wessex and Mercia will avenge me.”

“I could never kill you.” Erik softly said. “I could only treasure you.”

“My husband does not like other men to see me.” she warned him.

He smiled. “Your husband does not see you.”

“No, he does no-” she stopped, recalling her talk with Erik in the moonlight. “Who are you?” her squinting was no longer wariness but curiosity.

“I told you,” Erik stood nervously in the dark, trying to avoid any light. “I am a ghost.”

“Whose?”

“Someone who love you.”

“Come into the light and let me see your face! Come or I’ll kill you!”

“You could, lady, of that there is no doubt.” he was always the flatterer.

“You say you love me, and yet you come in here under secrecy and gaze at me. Why else would you hide, if not to ambush me and thrust your blade through my body?”

“Fear, lady. Fear that you would kill me.”

“Why, you were wrong. I have a dagger at your throat.”

“It was a sword before.” Erik said, bemused. “I think it fell down.”

“I do not fear you! I endured far worse than petty thieves!”

“I know.” Erik said. His hands fidgeted, shook, betraying his nervousness. He gave a sigh, yearning for her, yielding to his desire for her eyes to meet his. “You are precious lady.” his heard never beat faster.

Aethelflaed dropped the blade that gave a loud thud on the floor and recoiled, eyes wide opened in horror, her chest rising high as her eyes began to fill with tears. She gripped the table, shaken by violent sobs as the moon showed her face again, bathing the whole room in its light. Erik stepped forward, pain carved on his face and instinctively hid the left side of his face with his hood.

“No.” her voice was thin. “No this can’t be. You’re - dead. You are a ghost! A ghost! Oh Erik, this is my fault, I know - I know - And now you haunt me.” her voice led way for wails and shaking sobs in which she fell on her knees, seemingly crushed by guilt. “this is God showing me my sin.” she barely breathed.

Erik felt his heart sink as she sobbed. “Lady.” his voice, warm as a summer’s day.

“You’re dead.” she kept sobbing.

He knelt to her, cupped her face in his warm calloused fingers and gently rose her face to his, fighting the urge to hide and cower under the cover of the night. She gave him a confused look, curious about why his hands would feel so real and shivered as he placed a kiss on her forehead with all the gentleness of love, his beard itching, his scent musky, just as how she remembered him.

He helped her back on her feet and made sure she would fall on a chair were it to happen again. She was still crying, her face covered with snot, hardly concealing her guilt and fear to him. “I am so sorry.” she kept saying.

“Lady.” he stroked her cheek. Oh! He missed her cheeks, her warm milky skin, her beautiful peculiar face, her grey eyes, her sharpness. He kissed her tears away. “Don’t cry, please.”

“How could I not? You are dead and this is my fault. Now you have come to torment me.”

“I would never.” his voice turned to a feral grunt. “You are precious.”

“Yet you haunt me.”

Erik gave a gentle smile. “No. I have come back to you, to your arms. Why would a living man haunt the woman he loves?”

Aethelflaed gave something between a sob and a laugh. “Living! Living! Erik, I- I saw you die.”

“You saw me wounded. That is all.” his smile gleamed with the moon. “The gods saved me.”

“Prove me you are alive. Only then will I believe you.”

Erik stepped back, arms wide opened. “I am here. Is that not proof enough?” he was struck with immeasurable sadness as she looked down, as though she mourned him. He didn’t want her to mourn him. He only wanted her smile.

She gave something that resembled a mischievous smile. “No, I- Erik,” she held herself high and tall like a queen. “Kiss me. I need to feel you warm against the whole of me.”

Erik gave a soft laugh that echoed around. “Your wishes are my desires.”

Slowly he reached her, took her hands in his, trailed kisses on her palms, then cupped her face, and she leaned on them and closed her eyes, relishing, savoring what he offered her. He drew her all against his, her body pressed on his, and kissed her, again and again he kissed her, first slowly, softly, then with more urge, as though her lips gave him life again. He no longer was a wandering corpse, each of her moan was there to remind him how alive he was. Her hands suddenly gripped his hair, as he kept on pressing her against him, savoring to her scent, her breath, her tongue, her lips. He kept on kissing her up until something stirred on a bench nearby.

He pulled back in hurry, his heart pounding in his chest, fearing that he might die after all, saddened that Aethelflaed would have called guards on him anyway. his hand went on the handle of his sword before he stopped, a step away from a child, a small child of two at best, golden-haired, soft and small; a girl, resting on a thick layer of furs.

He suddenly felt cold. “Yours?” he asked her, softly, hardly hiding his pain at the thought of her pregnant with another man. What did he expect anyway? For her never to lie with her husband? A shadow crossed his face at the thought that he had hurt her in any way.

Aethelflaed gave a gentle smile, warm as a summer’s day. “Yes.” she reached him and coiled her hand around his.

“Congratulations.” he croaked rather coldly.

“Let me light some candles.” she said. “I need to see your face.”

“You won’t like what you will see.” Erik warned her, his words gaping wounds.

She gave a peck on his cheek. “You are alive. What I see doesn’t matter, unlike what I feel.”

Erik grasped her hands. “Please. I do not want to frighten you.”

She gave a smile. “That is too late for that, isn’t it?” She went to stoke the fire in the hearth and lit some candles.

Erik wanted to hide, but her joy was too much to overcome. He prevailed against many enemies but Aethelflaed, he wouldn’t even dare fight her. Candlelight flickered through the whole room, filling it with a warm golden shade that made Aethelflaed all the more silvery.

She turned towards him and Erik instinctively hid half his face from her. She frowned.

“Show me your face.” she said.

“No. Please.”

“Erik, I need to see your face.” her voice beseeching.

“You couldn't bear it.”

“I thought you died, watched your brother kill you. I can take anything.” she shook her head. “What I cannot bear, on the other hand, is you, hiding from me.”

Erik gave a loud huff and turned his head to her. She gasped, gawked at him and stepped closer, pain and sadness carved on her face. Erik bore her sight, held his head high, jaw set, teeth clenched, stiff and sturdy on the ground as though he braced a shieldwall. She softly placed her hand on his cheek.

“Oh, Erik.” her voice a plea. “Erik.” she gulped. “What happened to you?”

The left side of his face bore a scar that spread from forehead to jaw, avoiding his eye and cheek, it crumpled on his skin like some piece of old paper, leathery, red on some part, white on others, marked by fire. The compound of this fire-bite and that line set across his face made him older somehow, more somber, as if it still haunted him. She noticed he had grown larger, but also softer, and when she lost her gray eyes into the blue of his own, she remembered who he was and saw love sparkle and gleam.

“Don't be afraid, please.” he whispered.

She smiled and leaned over to kiss him, his lips a warm welcome home. “Never. With you – never.” She rested her head on his shoulder. “You are alive. To me that is more than a blessing.”

The child whined in her sleep, stirring, her mouth a perfect rose; innocent, pure, untouched by the vice of existence, her breath little wafts of white in the cold air of the night. Aethelflaed stoked the fire in the hearth and pulled blankets tighter around her, kissing her forehead gently, before she turned to Erik with a wide smile.

Erik stiffened. “She looks like her father.” a knot tightened his throat, as he concealed his contempt, disappointment and rage.

“She does.” Aethelflaed smiled, her gaze locked on his face.

He clenched his fists. “At least she has you for a mother. I suppose we can hope she does not end up behaving like her father.” he gave a nervous laugh.

“On the contrary, I hope she does.” Aethelflaed's smile was serene.

Erik frowned, taken aback. “Why would you say that? Her father is a turd.”

Aethelflaed giggled. “Do you really think so?”

Erik shook his head. “Lady, have you forgotten what he did to you? Have you forgotten your dread?”

“I have not.” her voice was calm yet thin.

“You wish her to become like her father, still?”

“Yes.” her hand grew soft around his arm.

“Well she will be a beauty, for sure, but for her sake I hope she shall not turn like him.”

“Her father was kind and gentle. I hope she does.”

Erik narrowed his eyes, brows furrowed and took a step back. “Her father, Aethelred, the turd-”

“Erik,” her voice rippled with laughter. “My husband is not her father, though I make it seem to be.”

“Whose is she, then?” the picture slowly revealing to his mind, though he was afraid to believe it to be true, expecting rage were her father another man than himself. He knew he had no right to be jealous of her having an affair when she once laid with him while being married to a turd, yet still, it irked him to think it otherwise.

She gave him a look full of longing. “Yours.” she said. “She cannot be anything but yours.”

Erik's face softened into a smile. He chuckled. She was his; a beautiful daughter with hair as fair as summer, skin as soft as the moon. She was his, this little thing sleeping on that raw bench, with her full cheeks, her tiny nose, her small limbs, so fragile, so soft, so innocent in comparison for Erik's lifetime of crimes and plunder. Softly he knelt beside her. She hardly felt real and he couldn't dare waking her up, fearing her awakening as much as Ragnarök, dreading her reaction to his face, her horror, her wails, her pain. He wouldn't let anyone harm her. So long as he lived and breathed, he would vouch for her, guard her, come to her aid whenever she would need it. He would go on rampage throughout the whole world if he could be spared her pain.

He shed a single tear, a small one; the essence of his joy. “She is beautiful.” he turned to Aethelflaed and took her hands in his. “Like her mother.”

“She looks like you.” her hand traveled to his cheek, softly grazing his skin. He gave a groan, devotion all around. “Gentle, kind, Dane.”

“Your husband – He knows? Does he know about the baby?” he frowned, concerned about the wellbeing of his child; his only child.

Aethelflaed gave a taut smile, her lips twitching, growing thin. “I tread carefully, but he suspects it, I believe. I am no fool though: I had her baptized and swore to the bishops of Mercia that she was his. It is a perilous wager, but I trust that God will protect her from my husband. In the meantime she lives with me at my court where I shall make her a most competent tactician and queen.” her smile grew wider. “Perhaps I will have her learn how to wield a sword. I'll have her versed in the art of war, that is for certain.”

“She is Christian, then?” oddly Erik was at peace with it, so long as she lived well and was protected in Saxon realms by her faith, it suited him.

“Yes. She has a Saxon name: Alfwynn.” Erik nodded. “I thought you were dead, I didn't know how to name h-”

“That is good.” Erik was frowning. “Perhaps it is better that way; no wolves to chase her, no serpent to fear, no blood to spill... I will sacrifice to Freya, Frigg, Eir, Idunn and Frey to protect her, and ask Tyr, Odin and Mimir for her wisdom, though she clearly will get it from her mother.” he gave Aethelflaed a look that made her blush.

“She will. Hopefully.”

“I hope she never marries.” Erik said, tucking a strand of thin hair off her forehead. “Alfwynn, my daughter.” he removed a pendant from his neck; one that bore the symbol of Thor; one that oddly looked like a cross. “I give you this never to forget me. Alfwynn... I name you yet another name, one that I hope will inspire you: Alfhildr.”

“Why this name?” asked Aethelflaed softly. “Is that another of your stories.” she drew him gently to sit on the wooden floor, by the hearth, gently crackling in the dead of the night.

Erik laid his head next to that of his daughter, his scarred forehead pressed against hers, relishing his daughter's softness. “She was a princess - a fierce one - that traded marriage for war and returned to her betrothed only when she saw he was worthy of her. My mother liked the tale. Alfhildr Eriksdatter, say that name when you need me. In my world, it will be her leverage.” his hands nonchalantly stroked Aethelflaed's. “I missed you. Every day I closed my eyes, but the moon was shrouded with your absence.”

“You are here now. I am here. Now you will stay with me forever.” She nestled against him.

Erik gave a sad sigh, nervously sniffing. “I can't. I must leave tomorrow, or the day after.”

She frowned, tears brewing in her eyes. “Why? Why so soon?” beseeching.

Erik stroked his beard. “I must catch the tide before winter settles in. Staying longer would be reckless.”

“You could winter here.” she argued.

Erik nodded. “No. I must leave. I came only to see you one last time, to make sure you were well.”

“Don't leave.” she gripped his shirt. “Please, don't leave. Don't ever leave me.” she swallowed a sob and regained her composure. “Not again.”

Erik grew a soft smile and kissed the top of her head. “I will return, once winter ends. I fear no storms, no battles, nothing; only to idea of losing you. I will return. That is my fate.”

“Why must you go?”

“There is a crew of Danes and Norwegians waiting for me to set sail to Ireland. I am to lead them across the world to Spain and Constantinople. I wonder if it is as splendid as the scalds told it.” he shifted nervously beside her, uncomfortable of letting her hear of his raiding project. “We will raid far from your father's England. You have nothing to worry about.”

She shook her head. “I don't understand – I - Erik, what happened?”

“That is a long story.”

She nestled closer. “Well, I am here, you are here, the moon shines bright. I say it is a night for stories.”

Erik gave her a look and smiled. “It begins at Beamfleot. My brother stabs me. He misses the heart and leave me to bleed out with a sword in hand, thinking I might go to Valhalla. I cling to life as the fire roars around. They all leave the fortress in a hurry to catch you and kill Uhtred. It burns.” he winced. “The fire melts my skin but I try to crawl, to walk, losing blood, hands red, dizzy, on the verge of death. I cling to the sword; it is my key to Valhalla.” his voice grew dim and thin. “It is cold. I am surrounded by fire but it is cold. I reach the docks. I fall. I sink.” his eyes grew blank, gazing into a void. “I am a draugr for a time, and wake up in a hut, home, in Denmark, in Hedeby. A crone oversees my healing: an old crone that feels of divinity: a Volva, a sorceress and a healer.

“I hear she is descended from the gods, that she is the heir to an important clan. I doze off between death and life for months. She says I will heal.” he let himself carried away in his story, as if the blood poured out as much as his blood. “She heals my head, my skin, lower my fever, patches my wounds – says I'll survive. I spend months there before she sends me to rest in a farmstead. I fear I lost memories. Beamfleaot seems so far away, you seem a lifetime away. At first I forget about Uhtred, Alfred, Haesten – but my brother and you, I don't forget. I dream of you at night. You call me from over the sea, as I wander to dark shores. I want to reach you. My brother keeps stabbing me. I weak up sore and soaked, a wreck after a storm.

“I work the fields, I wield a sword again, gather strength and begin to remember; Sigfrid's hand, Uhtred, the cage, Haesten, the night bucket.” she gave a giggle at the memory of it. “The fire, the loss. Now I think of you, fear for you. I close my eyes and you call me, beckon me to your side. I grow stronger. You tell me you want me strong and I obey. I reach to the Dane king in Lejre and embarks aboard a ship that goes north to fight petty kings in Vermaland and Vestfold. I fight against the armies of king Harald. It fails and we retreat. I am made prisoner by one of his kings: Hakon and I escape on board a ship with rebels from Denmark, Norway and some Swedes. We reach Iceland, gather more men. I command three ships and sharpen my sea-skill.

“We go and plunder but still you call me even when I am asleep. I see your face when the moon rises. I hear your breathing as the sea stirs under the keel. I hear you again and again until your voice becomes part of mine. I eat but it is flavorless. I look at women but none tempts me. It seems I cannot live so I sleep and dream of you. We seek shelter in Ireland, we raid Frankia North and South. We grow rich. I grow a leader until one day a scald calls me sea king, and so I become. We roam the seas, eat amidst kings of all sorts, my fleet grows so that I command six ships. I claim land in Iceland and my men settles their families there. Still, you call me.

“I change our course. I reach Mercia, my men go round to Jorvik and I ride hard until I learn you are here, in your estate. You call me still, every step louder. My heart burst. I am dead so long as I do not see you. I sneak into your estate, and I see you, at last, beautiful, strong, alive, and I breathe my first breath for such a long time.” he kissed her hand. “You're so beautiful in the moonlight.”

Aethelflaed's eyes glimmered in the dark, her breath thin, agape, on the verge of tears as to what he was stating stiffly, nervously, almost painfully. She gulped.

“Your brother-” she began.

“I couldn't find him. I learned that he died the night we parted.” his eyes told of his grief and grew aloof as he mourned him for yet another time. They had spent a lifetime together. Sigfrid taught him how to fight and let him shine as bright as a moonstone in the sky. Sigfrid has almost grown a part of himself; he was his own rage, his own fists, his own blood. Sigfrid was his brother, half his life.

Aethelflaed gagged. “I- Erik forgive me- I killed him.” she shed a tear.

He tensed against her, jaw set, knuckles white. “You- You killed him.” he croaked in a restrained anger.

“It was him or me. He was about to kill Uhtred and then myself and I- I had to.” she stammered.

Erik tilted his head. “Did he die a weapon in hand?”

Aethelflaed nodded. “Yes. Yes he did.”

“Then he will reach Valhalla, and feast with Odin and all the gods until Ragnarök. He earned it.” he gave a faint grin. “Though I must say, it would have been hard for him to die weaponless, considering his own hand was replaced with a blade.”

Aethelflaed gave something between chuckle between sob. “Yes.” her eyes grew pleading. “Please don't hate me.”

“I can resent you at time, but I will never hate you.” he took her chin in his hand and drew her to his lips, kissing her softly; gentler than any man would. “I cannot hate what breathes me. Besides, had he killed you, he would have killed her, Alfwynn, our daughter, his niece. Between his death and hers, I don't know which I wouldn't be grieving at.” he shook his head. “No, I know. Killing her he would have killed you. I would have fought for revenge. No compensation would ever have been worth the price of your absence. He would have killed me a little, annihilated everything I am.”

“I am sorry.”

“It was his fate.” Erik gave a tear. “It was his fate. It must be his fate. I have to convince myself of it, but-” he gave a sharp breath. “I will miss him. A part of me is gone.”

“He left me no choice.”

Erik sobbed further. “I know. I know. Kill or be killed. You are a warrior, lady. Our daughter will have to be strong too.”

“I am sorry.” she croaked.

Erik sniffled and swallowed his grief. “It was his fate. Now he rejoices with the gods and when I die, we shall feast and drink and fight every night until the end. This is temporary. I will join him soon enough.”

She brushed her hand on his cheek, making him gasp and groan. “Don't talk about your death. Not now that I know you are alive. Please, stay with me a little longer. Please.”

“You are my life. So long as you breathe, I breathe.” He shifted nervously as to see his daughter. “Amazing that thing. I came here for a glimpse at the moon and I end up looking at a bright sun that I never want to be parted from.” he gently stroked her cheek and she yawned. “What drives men to come home from a lifetime of warring? This feeling, this soft waft she makes, the way she stirs, the smiles she can give. What I wouldn't give for her happiness.”

“Then stay.” a plea.

“If I stay, either your husband kills me, either your father, either I kill them both. You do not want that. I cannot be chained. I must away, lady, but away you shan't be, for you lingers there,” he pressed her hand against his chest. “And your calling rings, always.”

Aethelflaed concealed her tears. “Will you come back?”

“A sailor needs a harbor. I will. Every summer I shall ride hard to find you wherever you are. Perhaps the next time I will stay longer. That is a gamble with death, but for your eyes, for your beauty, I could cross mountains.” he gave her a mischievous look. “Besides, I need to practice my reading and writing. Scalds will tell of my feats but none will last as long as pages or parchments in good care for safety.”

She chuckled. “You sound like my father.”

He wrinkled his nose, disgusted. “I am offended that you should find us similar.”

She shrugged. “Or maybe you are not. He thinks things through with an utmost care.”

“I do too.” his voice was soft as ever. “It was I who devised the plans. My broth- Sigfrid was the face to instill fear amongst the ranks of our enemies.” he chuckled at the ceiling. “It always worked.” he grew grimmer. “Until- until that fated night you swayed me on my feet. That, I did not think through. It took me and all my certainties, swept me off my feet. There was no need fighting it.”

She glanced at his hand intertwined with hers. “Perhaps it was fate as you say...”

Erik chuckled. “Perhaps. Sigfrid used to make fun of my spending my days with you – said I was going to put a pup in your belly to strengthen Alfred's line.” he closed his eyes listening to the soft breath of his daughter. “Perhaps she was my fate. A man can only guess what the three spinners have in store for us.”

“Perhaps it was my fate too. Perhaps God wanted me to know what love was, just once, to make up for my husband; my duty.”

“Perhaps my gods and your god worked it through, who knows?”

“Does that mean we were meant to be?”

“I think we were lucky. I think I love you.”

Aethelflaed curled her lips, grinning. “You are gentle and kind.”

“And you are a queen.” He set her across his lap. “Tomorrow, I will be gone, and tomorrow you will resume your life and perhaps forget I was even here. Tomorrow you will think I was a ghost, a pipe dream to show you what you could have, but I will come back. You breathe me, like the surface of a heavy sea.”

“Where will you go?” she inhaled his scent, burying her nose around his neck.

“The Orkney. I have a ship waiting for me there, then Ireland, then Frankia, and we will spend Winter south. Perhaps we could seek shelter in Constantinople. I have heard many men that once served the king became rich.”

“That may be to our disadvantage.” she whispered.

“Could you keep the secret? Could you never reveal my intentions?”

She glanced at her daughter. “If your intentions lies against Wessex and Mercia, I might act as to protect them, but I will not thwart them to spite you. I will not stymie your endeavors if I see no danger to either of those realms. I am of Wessex by blood and of Mercia by heart, though it belongs to you.”

“I will tread carefully then.” he grinned. “I wouldn't want to make an enemy out of the Lady of Mercia.”

“You wouldn't.” she leaned to his ear and whispered, “I would hit you with a night bucket.”

He snickered. “That would be a poor choice of weapon were we to face each other in battle. Although I would rather fight you at sea than on land. On land you'd have all the advantage.”

“Why would we fight each other?” he shook her head in confusion.

“You might be driven to it one day, either by circumstances, or by revenge.”

“Then I will negotiate with you, as queens do.”

“Does your mother negotiate often?” He squinted at her.

She chuckled. “No. With her there are no half measures. Either there is God, or there is death. I am fortunate it was my father who educated me, otherwise, I would have killed you on sight, or I would have been dead.”

His hand roamed her cheek. “We are fortunate.”

She eased herself in his arms. “Say Erik, next time, stay longer.” her voice was sleepy.

“I will. I need to see her awake, Alfwynn.” he gently stroked her cheek. “I have yet another rope tying me here, with you.”

“Every year- promise me to come back every year.”

“Every summer, to revive it all again.” Erik took off one of his arm bands. “I promise.” he slid the golden ring on her arm as her arms wrapped around his shoulder.

“She will need you – our daughter. She will need to hear your voice, to see your face. She will need to know what a Dane is truly like, so that she makes the right decisions. She will rule one day, and she must be wise. She must see everything from above and be complacent enough to make my father's dream an England where every tribe has its place.”

“Your father's dream...”

“One day it will all come true. I trust in God that it will. There will be peace then. There will be love. There will be Danes and Saxons living together,” she worried her teeth on her lower lips, eyes glimmering with tears in the candlelight. “Marrying one another.” Her fingers held tighter around his. “Loving one another. It will be a place like no one else.”

“A pipe dream. Danes will still raid on your shores. Warriors will still fight one another. Brothers will kill brothers, sons their fathers.”

“But England will prevail. It will always prevail. I am the guardian of my father's dream. I will see that it is true.” she ruffled her daughter's hair. “One day she will dream it too. One day, she will make it true.”

“That is a heavy burden on such narrow shoulders.”

She smiled. “My shoulders are broad. Yours are broader and stiff. I think she will do just fine.”she gave a look of fondness over her. “She is my little piece of Heaven.”

She settled easier in his arms, inhaling his scent, cozy against his neck, his burnt skin, relishing him whole, from arms to beard. She swayed, cradled by his easing groans, his soft breath, just as soft as his voice. Erik was soft. Softer than summer.

“ Come back soon.” she murmured.

“I must. You breathe me; you both.”

Her breath grew soft and quiet as she dozed off to sleep. Erik gave a peck on the top of her head and brought some covers that had fallen on the floor upon them both and drew him ever closer to his tall and impressive figure in hope he would be able to keep her warm. She looked tranquil and serene her eyes closed, almost as innocent as the child sleeping above, wincing in her sleep. It was a wonder to transcend oneself in one night only. Not only did he feel alive, but he also became more than what he was before.

Aethelflaed coiled all against him, moaning, in search of some warmth. Erik's gaze lingered over her, his mind galloping to find songs to sing to her moon like beauty. Carefully, trying not to wake both of his breathes, her and his daughter by his side, wanting just that bit of life he could only have once a year now.

He kissed Alfwynn's head just as softly as that of her mother and rested, savoring the sound of their calm breathes; a calm sea, ready to carry him wherever he needed to. He drifted to sleep, his heart aching to be leaving so soon, but relieved he got to see them both and learn that he was a father.

He frowned recalling Aethelflaed killed his brother, but tried to shake it off convincing himself it was done on the battlefield and she had offered him an honorable death. His eyes fell on his daughter. Aethelflaed should have paid a weregild, but considering that little girl's golden hair, her preciousness; considering she was his, he deemed it a fair compensation, though he would have been glad sharing his joy with his brother.

The debt was paid in flesh an blood. A life for a life; compensation done, the gods satisfied. Now both of his most treasured longings slept in his arms. It was them who pulled him out of dark waters; his moon and his sun. He would never seek to do them ill things; never seek to go against them; never seek anything than their perfect and utmost comfort. He would do them good and let his name echo to their ears, his deeds a declaration that he was alive, that he was not forgetting them.

To think she was his, this little bit of Heaven; this moon-like child. To think Frigg had granted him this. To think... to think... to gaze at them both, lights in the darkness, beacons at sea.

The firelight dwindled. The moon flared. It seemed his life was bound with the tide now. A good thing the moon favored his heart. Now he abode by it, abode by them. His mother should have called him Mani; he would have been chased by wolves, but perhaps he could have belonged with those moon-like beauties that were breathing all against him. Perhaps it could have warded off those heavy chains the moon had put on him. He was Fenrir. He was the wolves, they were Mani; but he wouldn't ever chase them to eat them raw; he would chase their light, seek their presence, and each and every year, he would breathe.

Every summer would revive him in an endless circle so long as he stood, so long as they called, so long as the gods would see it fit. So long as they lived, he lived.

“I will always come back to you.”