Chapter Text
“Finan…”
Osbert’s voice is barely more than a whisper but it cuts through the din of the skirmish; Finan does nothing to resist, stumbling back from the sack of shit that was once Sverri.
Part of him thinks he should hesitate- he doesn’t know these men or their intentions; but they seem to know Osbert, and care for him, so he doesn’t pause. He slots himself against Osbert’s left side, with the warrior- Ragnar, he thinks- moving to support the right side. They move him away from the carnage, to where some of the men have started to make camp.
Osbert is barely upright, and nothing seems to breach the fog of his pain. The sounds of men moving around him, the wind whipping his hair across his face- nothing reaches him.
The men have questions for Ragnar; he looks to Finan, to the woman who rode with them, and nods as he goes to scout the area. Finan hopes that it is acceptance, but it’s hard to know, and he has no idea of what his place is meant to be.
“You are… Finan?” The woman asks, her voice soft, her hand on Osbert’s shoulder.
He clears his throat before answering, “Yes, Lady. I was- we were-”
“I am Hild,” She offers, giving him a chance to collect his words. “I am one of Uhtred’s followers.”
That name, again. “He is- what do you call him, Lady?”
Hild steps closer, her voice even softer as she speaks, “The name he was called, Osbert, is not his name. He is Uhtred, of Bebbanburg.”
Finan glances towards the leader of the men. “And that man is-?”
“Ragnar the Younger,” Hild answers. “Uhtred’s brother.”
Finan has more questions- why does a Dane lead Saxon warriors, why is she with them?
His words dissolve when she asks, voice barely a whisper, “Do you know a man named Halig?”
“...Forgive me, Lady, I do.”
The ship is close enough that Halig’s pale figure is visible against the darkness of the wood, but not so close that Finan can see the lifelessness of his face. When Hild follows his gaze, she presses a shaking hand to her lips, the shock pulling all color from her cheeks.
One of the Saxon warriors approaches, his own eyes fixed on the ship.
“Sister Hild,” His voice is steady, low, “Is that-?”
“Yes, Steapa,” She stops him, her hand tightening on Uhtred’s shoulder. “I believe it is. Can you- would you and Ragnar-?”
Finan clears his throat again. “I will help, Lady. I would be honored.”
She nods at him, glances down at Uhtred, and says, “Thank you, Finan.”
The warrior, Steapa, gives a sweeping after you gesture. Finan tries to hide the clumsiness of limbs too long at sea, his legs heavy and weak. Their pace is slow, but he manages to get to the shore without crashing over.
Finan is not sure he can bring himself to climb back onto the ship, and thankfully Steapa doesn’t ask him to. Instead, he swings himself up, waiting until Finan is ready before cutting the lines. It is an artless thing, and he wishes there was a way to release Halig with more dignity, but they do their best as they carry him away from the sea.
Ragnar finds them as they crest a hill, his face dark. “We will not bury the men who did this.”
“He was Uhtred’s man,” Steapa answers. “We cannot let his loyalty end in damnation.”
Softness creeps into Ragnar’s face, and he gives a nod of permission. They lay Halig down, and Steapa goes back towards the camp to find a tool for digging.
Ragnar asks quietly, “What was his name?”
“Halig, Lord.” Finan hears Uhtred’s voice in his head as he says, “He was a warrior.”
A pause, then Ragnar decides, “He will be buried with a shield and sword. As a warrior.”
“Thank you.”
Finan is surprised at the words he speaks, but he feels something ease in his chest. There was nothing he could do to protect Halig while they were on the ship; to be able to give some part of him back to himself, even in death, is a balm.
Steapa returns, bringing with him cloth for the body and a spade. Ragnar accepts the task of digging while Finan and Steapa wrap Halig against the chill of death. Ragnar goes back to the camp and returns with a sword and shield to nestle in the grave once they’ve laid Halig to rest.
They return to Hild and Uhtred; it is clear that he is still unresponsive, so Hild goes with Steapa to the grave to pray for him. Ragnar tends the fire, minds the meal that had been cooking while they worked. Finan’s bones feel heavy as he finally rests, and the smell of the food is almost familiar, like a dream of a memory. His mind drifts, though he doesn’t sleep.
It feels like hours later when Uhtred speaks, his voice cracking around the name, “Halig.”
Finan snaps alert, almost disoriented for a moment, but Ragnar is the one to answer, explaining that he’d been laid to rest, with shield and sword. When Uhtred continues with orders for Hild to say words over him, Finan is surprised; there is already a change coming over him.
Ragnar tries to draw him out, mentioning names that are meant to carry weight. Finan knows of Alfred, even in Irland; he knows something of Guthred and Aelfric- enough to hate them.
He can see Uhtred is not ready to speak, so Finan offers, “You’re- Uhtred’s brother?”
The name is strange on his tongue, but he thinks he’ll grow to like it.
“I am ,” Ragnar says, turning to look at him, almost a challenge.
Finan tries for a grin. “You look nothing like each other.”
Hild chuckles, as does Steapa behind her; Ragnar’s smile is reserved, but grateful, and Finan lets his shoulders ease just a touch more.
As she offers a bowl of stew, Hild chides, “Uhtred, you should eat.”
While his eyes track the movement, Uhtred gives no indication that he means to accept.
She waits only a moment before changing tactics, instead extending the offer elsewhere, “Finan?”
“Oh, we will eat, Lady,” He assures her, curling his body around itself, “But our tummies are small, and our feet have barely touched dry land.”
He glances quickly to Uhtred as he adds, “It will take a little time to find them.”
Ragnar tilts his head for a moment, then asks, “Are you his brother?”
“We are-”
Finan pauses for a moment, dropping his eyes, searching for a word that feels true. Can he put a name to what they are? Can he speak for him in this moment, has he any right?
“We are bound, I would say.”
When he lifts his eyes, for a moment they meet Uhtred's, just long enough for him to be sure.
Steapa takes a moment to ask about the camp, about the watch, and he and Ragnar discuss how the night will proceed. There seems to be an agreement that they will not break camp until Uhtred is strong enough to ride, though neither says as much. It’s when Hild asks about the plan for the dead traders that Uhtred seems to have had enough.
He stands with the heaviness that comes from being at rest too long after being at work for too long. The chatter stops, but before any of them can offer a hand or ask what is wrong, he waves a hand and shambles away from the light of the fire, disappearing in the rolling heather.
The group is completely still, unsure of what to do, when Finan stands as well, just as heavy but not quite as clumsy. “I’ll find where he beds down.”
“Finan,” Hild tries to plead, but he levels her with a look that cannot be argued with.
Ragnar nods, adds, “I will keep the fire for a while.”
It doesn’t take long to find Uhtred, far enough from the camp that there is no sound of chatter over the gentle rush of water on the shore. He has crumbled, free to let his guard down, and it’s clear to Finan that Uhtred is starting to process what's happened.
Finan sits next to him, their shoulders pressed together, as they had in so many quiet moments on the ship. Uhtred shivers, not from the cold, and he takes a deep breath before speaking.
“A part of me is still there.”
Finan nods, leaning a little closer against Uhtred’s shoulder. “What part?”
“I do not know.” Uhtred’s voice shakes. “I am afraid to find out.”
Finan realizes he doesn’t know Uhtred. He knows the idea of the man who was condemned to the sea. He knows what he was to Halig, he is learning who he is to Hild, to Ragnar. He isn’t sure he has the answer to this question, he isn't even sure what to ask, but he wants to try.
He moves to bracket Uhtred’s body with his own, his chest to Uhtred’s back, his legs stretched out on either side. Finan’s arms encircle Uhtred’s shoulders, pulling him close.
“Leave Osbert on the ship,” He murmurs, feeling the way Uhtred tenses at the name. “The part of you who was taken from your home, the part who had no control- that is the part you never have to carry again. We leave it here and we never come back for it.”
The tension leaves, but in its place is stifled, ragged sobs. Finan worries that he’s misstepped, that he has mangled more than mended, but then he feels Uhtred’s hands on his own, hanging onto the arms around him like it was the only thing to keep him from drowning.
He holds a little tighter, and promises Uhtred all the time he needs to mourn.
Time creeps on with only the wind in the trees and the sound of the sea as proof that they are still in the world. Finan feels the sobs soften slowly to nothing, Uhtred’s breathing settling to a low, quiet thrum. When he is sure that Uhtred has finally given way to sleep, he stretches him out in the cover of the heather and makes his way back to camp.
Ragnar is still keeping the fire; he looks up as Finan approaches, then looks behind, concern crawling over his face as he doesn’t see Uhtred.
“He is sleeping,” Finan soothes, taking a seat by the fire. “Your scouts will see anyone approaching before they find him.”
The words have their intended effect, and Ragnar settles. “Thank you. Will you eat?”
“I will try,” Finan says, picking up the bowl that was left for him and filling it.
Finan takes a mouthful of the stew, and he feels a warmth he never thought he’d know again. His body goes completely lax, and he sprawls on the ground to continue his meal. He realizes Ragnar is watching him, and rather than being sheepish, he just grins.
“Should you not be sleeping, Lord Ragnar?”
Ragnar chuckles a bit. “Soon. I was beginning to worry that you could not find him.”
“Lucky for us,” Finan says, having another bite, “He’s not of a mind to wander.”
Ragnar makes a face that tells Finan this is unusual for Uhtred. Then he asks, “Did you sleep?”
Finan shakes his head, “No, but- sleep was hard to find on the seas. I think it will be some time before it is easy again. And I am happy enough to keep watch.”
It is almost true. Sleep was certainly not easily found on Sverri's ship, between the pitch of the waves from storms and the crack of the whip as they were roused to row once more. Still, Finan has no doubt he could find sleep if he tried; if he learned nothing else in that Hell, it was to take every opportunity to escape into dreams.
But things are different now. Sleep has been anything but an escape since their attempt to run, since they lost Halig, since he nearly lost Uhtred.
He worries about what awaits him there, in the dark.
“You’re Irish,” Ragnar observes.
Finan, startled from his thoughts, knows well the opinions of most about Irland; he nods.
“And a warrior?”
“I like to think so,” Finan answers, adding with perhaps more cheek than he should, "Though I'm certainly not at my best just now."
Ragnar doesn’t seem to mind, as he continues to, “And Uhtred- you plan to travel with him?”
This makes him hesitate, for just a moment. There had been no doubt in his mind that he would follow Uhtred once they were freed, and that didn’t change when their attempt failed. But if Uhtred cannot- if seeing Finan only reminds him of the ship-
Finan sighs. “Lord, if Uhtred will have me- I mean to make my home wherever he leads.”
Ragnar nods, more to himself it seems than to Finan, as he stands. He walks off into the dark and Finan thinks he should be more concerned about it, but the stew has done a fine job of soothing his nerves. Before long, Ragnar returns with a bundle under each arm.
Both land at Finan’s side. The question of why must show on his face.
“Furs, for sleeping,” Ragnar explains, pushing the toe of his boot into one bundle, before moving to the other, “And you’ll need to look the part, if you mean to be a warrior.”
Finan looks more closely and can see that it is a set of clothes- a leather vest, wool pants, boots of his own. He presses a hand to the furs, and they are thick and soft, reflecting his own heat back into his palm.
“I don’t-”
I don’t deserve this, he tries to say.
I don’t know what to do, he tries to say.
I don’t know who to be, he tries to say.
But Ragnar just walks past him, saying over his shoulder, “I need to piss. You should look for sleep, see if it finds you.”
And then he is gone.
Finan pauses for a moment, then realizes he is right. He finds a place, just outside of the camp but within sight, and unrolls the furs. He wonders if they belonged to the slaver at the port, if they were bought for the price of men like him, like Uhtred, like Halig. He wonders if he will leave part of himself here, with Halig, with Osbert.
Sleep finds him there, lures him gently down into the dark. And the only thing he finds there is peace.