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Chapter Text

The Celtic village of Linnasburgh scorched beneath the starlight, Danish warriors lighting fire to every home of hardened clay and straw, dressing the night sky in soot thick as a bore's winter coat. Women were forced to lie in the road and face their rapers wrath, those who were able to grab it withheld the broach of their goddess Brigit, wanting no destruction of their body that would follow them into Albios. Other women, the more bitter, withheld the broach of Balor; wanting the god of death to strike down the Norsemen where they stood. Whilst the women proved necessary as prizes to be won, the sons and husbands of Linnasburgh weren't so lucky. They were either dead already, or fighting to their deaths; Freydis, the middle-daughter of Ealdorman Cian, fought alongside the few Irishmen left, she swung an axe she had stolen off of a fallen corpse, squelches confirmed the accuracy of her hits as she fought through the thick, blinding smoke of Dubnos fire. Quick and without shame, the young shield-maiden was taken by the backside, feeling the length of a man's penis through her wool breeches. Her movement was unpredictably fast as she swung the axe again. First chopping off the man's lustful mechanism, and next taking off his head.

Freydis wasn't raised as a warrior, nor was she trained to bear anything heavier than a seax–but her ability to fight like a Dane was exceptional, and many of the Danes went far as to mistaken her as one of their own. It wasn't long into the Battle of Linnasburgh until her biceps began to tire, it grew wearisome to even lift the axe higher than her jaw, but the Dane's were blessed by their Gods. Untrue, Odin and his son Thor, may be, but the Norsemen did not know that, and so their morale was unbroken, unlike for the Celts who appeared to have been abandoned by the Morrígan in Her prophecification of a losing battle.

Freydis stuck her axe into the back of a heathen who beat the wits out of a young, Irish boy. "You Irish whore!" His friend yelled, swinging a longsword toward her neck. Freydis ducked as the blade grew close enough to shave the stray hairs of her braid, and swung the axe she withheld into the soft belly of the heathen. Blood spilled through his leather armor, and Freydis struggled to pull the weapon out of the rib it embedded itself in. The Dane, still living, moved his swordarm and Freydis was forced to abandon her weapon if she saw fit to keep her life.

The Ealdormans daughter ran lethargically through the bloodied, and upturned roads of Linnasburgh, she ignored the squelches of battered brains beneath her boots, and the cushioning her feet felt when she stepped on a detached limb, she sought to return to the hall, to her home. The doors were wide open, and Ealdorman guards fought the heathen who tried to enter. One of the guards, recognizing Freydis, allowed her to swiftly pass without any rejection, preserving the girl's life another moment to find her family. "Athair?" She shouted, searching desperately for her father. "AAthair, cá bhfuil tú?" 'Father, where are you?' There weren't many rooms in the capitol to hide in, as Linnasburgh was recognized as one of the safest townships in Airgíalla. Never before had it been breached, not until Skjold Arinbjornsson and his tribe of heathens sailed into Irland a fortnight prior.

Freydis had long presumed her mother to be dead; she had left Linnasburgh with her three eldest daughters to pray at Medb's burial at Knocknarea in Sligo only minutes before the Norsemen infiltrated Linnasburgh's walls. For Freydis' brothers, she had witnessed two lose their lives to Danes, so that left only one breathing, if he were breathing. Poor boy was probably dead already, nevertheless, being six years old and left in the care of a young carenurse. "Darragh?" Freydis attempted, "Come out of hiding, Darragh, it is Freydis!" The boy had yet to learn Gaelic, for it was mostly abandoned in Irish kingdoms.

Freydis checked the throne room, and found it empty of the Ealdorman, or his guards. She then entered the kitchens, finding boiling stew left in its cauldron without one slave to care for it. Next she checked the dining hall, there she found two hounds licking off the uncleaned plates from dinner. The woman, yet pious to her faith, ignored the statues of Danu, Lugh, the Morrígan, and Cernunnos and entered her fathers quarters–upon first look, it was empty. As she turned to leave, and searched within her mothers quarters, the shaky breaths of an injured man entered her ears. "Freydis?" He inquired, panting.

Quizzical, the heir checked beside the Aeldormans bed, and low and behold, found her father lying on the ground with a seax protruding from his stomach. "Cad a tharla duit, aathair?" 'What has happened to you, father?' Freydis lifted her hand to remove the weapon, and was met with the swat of her fathers hand.

The Aeldorman licked his blood-soaked lips, "I believed you dead, Freydis. I believed you all dead."

Freydis returned to her mother tongue, "Yet I am here, father. What has happened? Are there Danes in the hall?"

The womans fathers eyes fell shut in a long blink, and he coughed as if to awaken himself to explain his wound, "I believed us all dead, my daughter. I was not going to let them take me alive. Where is your mother? Where are your siblings?"

"I'm afraid mother is dead, Cara, Roison, and Clodagh too." Freydis frowned, but she felt no tears swell into her eyes. "Padraig lies fallen in the courtyard, and Senan hangs at Archers Row."

"My youngest son, where is he?"

The girl sighed, "I've yet to find Darragh, and I have no hope I ever will. I'm afraid he has joined Cernunnos in Albios, father."

"Then you are my last heir,'' stated the Aeldorman clinically, "do not let them take you, Freydis, you shan't. They will defile you beyond Brigit's reach."

Freydis enclosed her hands around her fathers left, "Then what must I do, father? The Dane's are everywhere, they shall find me wherever I hide."

The Aeldorman ignored his daughter's plea for his direction, and used his free hand to enclose the grip of the seax embedded in his belly. "You must not take them alive, my daughter." He said, pulling the weapon out and allowing blood to drizzle free. "Plunge this into your belly, my dear," he freed his other hand, and softly placed the bloodied seax into her hand. "Then you shall meet your mother and I in Albios."

"N-No, I can't!" Freydis grabbed a wool blanket from her fathers bed, and pressed it into his weeping wound. "We will live, father. We must! I am here now, I will bring us to safety. Just tell me where, I will carry you there!"

Her father chuckled, falling half-heartedly into a wheeze, "You are but a woman, Freydis. Carry me you will not. If I knew you were alive, daughter, I would not have wounded myself so gravely. But alas, I am to meet the Gods soon, and you are to be left alone in a town of rapers, and pillagers. If you wish to meet us my dear, you must do as I say. Or else you may meet a fate in Dubnos under the heresy of Danes, and their false Gods."

"I do not want to do it, father," Freydis pleaded, feeling tears swell up in her eyes in face of the torment to come. "I will not do it."

Cian reached his hand for his daughter's ashen, and bloodied cheek. His palm reached her nose to the back of her ear, and he swept his thumb over the tear that dared to fall down Freydis' cheek. "You were always my most stubborn daughter," he said, gripping the seax she refused to carry into his opposite hand, "too proud for a husband, too independent for a child. May Bres forgive me for saying this, but you were always my favorite kin."

Freydis laughed through her quickly falling tears, "And you have always been my favorite father."

Unbeknownst to her, Cian gripped the seax tighter in his palm, and angled it for her armorless belly. "Is breá liom an oiread sin duit, a iníon. Logh dom." 'I love you so much, daughter. Forgive me.' As she drove his hand forward, the seax slicing as far as the trim of her tunic, Freydis witnessed as an arrow pierce through the man's eye; killing him instantly, and painlessly. Freydis quickly turned her head to find three massive Danes wrapped in wool, and leather standing at the door of her fathers quarters. One carried a bow, whilst the other two held identical battle axe's coated in blood. The young woman quickly grabbed the seax out of her fathers lifeless hand, and stood onto her feet with the weapon output.

"We have just saved your life, princess." Said the middle Dane, he was the tallest and bore the longest braid; he most likely led his band of three. "And you point a weapon at us?"

Freydis ignored the attempt he made to gibe her, "I am no princess, Dane."

The middle one smiled, his teeth remarkably hygienic despite Dane's being known to never wash in anything but the blood of their victims. "Ubbein, chain the princess." Ubbein, being the Dane on the left without a bow, grinned cynically with a thick chain in one hand, and a battle axe in the other. He approached the woman, and she swung the saex at his extended arm. She managed to knick him just above the leather bracer, and he hissed in pain as his companions laughed. "Try not to kill yourself in the midsts, Ubbein, your mother would weep to hear a princess ended the life of her eldest son."

"I am no princess!" Freydis swung again, but her arm was caught by the Dane. He twisted her wrist, and when it would bend no more, she dropped the seax onto the ground as he spun her into his chest so his hard breeches rubbed against her arse. "Let me go!" She yelled, "The Gods will smite you for what you have done!"

Ubbein ignored her, and began to chain her arms behind her back. "I do not know what smite means."

The bowman chimed, "It is a more 'Godly' way to premeditate a murder, Ubbein."

Ubbein let out a hearty laugh as he tightened the chain, and pushed Freydis into his leader. "The Gods would not kill me, I am far too loved."

"She is not speaking of our Gods, Ubbein, but the false Celtic ones." Said the leader, pulling her out of the room. "I will bring the princess to Skjold, you two search for any more of the Ealdormans children."

"Get it through your thick skull, Dane!" Freydis yelled, struggling against his hold as clutched onto her shoulder. "I am no princess!"

"I do not care for Irish politics," he stated, dropping her shoulder to carry the end of the chain. "What is your name?"

Freydis spat in his face, "It is to none of your concern."

The Dane tugged her chains, and Freydis nearly yelped at how tightly they cut into the skin of her forearms. "I am Freydis, now losen these chains!"

Happily, the Dane did so, "I am Vikar, but you shall call me 'master' for I am to claim you."

"'Claim me?"' She repeated peevishly, "I will cut off your cock!"

The Dane laughed, but did not speak another word. Freydis' heart beat rapidly as she was pulled down the long corridors of Linnasburgh's Great Hall, and the woman wondered if she were to ever bear witness to it again. Whether she'd be killed upon meeting Skjord, or taken to Dania as a slave. They passed the throne room, and Freydis felt her legs go weak at the sight of her two brothers' heads detached from their bodies, and plunged into golden pillars of the Celtic throne. And where her father normally sat was an unrecognizable Dane who Freydis assumed to be Skjorn. "We found one," Vikar stated, "the Ealdorman is dead, I sent Ubbein and Mord in search of any more children."

Skjorn rose from the throne with a self-assured grin, receiving many cheers from his Danish brethren. "Which one is this?"

"Freydis, my king." Vikar answered, "and with your charitability, I would wish to take this one for myself." He placed either hand on Freydis' shoulders, and she shook them off angrily.

Skjord placed a sword on her shoulder so that its blade touched the side of her jugular, "She does not seem to be one kind to plough."

"I do not want to plough her, my king." Vikar stated, "Whilst originally I had, I am indifferent to her ability with a blade. I wish, instead, to take her as a slave."

"What do you need a slave for, Vikar?" Asked one of Skjord's men, "grooming your cock?"

Skjord lifted his finger to silence the man, and he looked down at the chained woman, "You may take her, Vikar. But no one will have her, not until I get my share of the princess."

"No," Freydis shouted, speaking for the first time ahead of the King of the Danes. "No you will not! I will have your cock before Balor has your head!"

"I do not believe in Balor, therefore he will have nothing but your false devotion." Skjord stated, he now looked past the Ealdorman's daughter, and toward the tiresome Dane's that began to pile around the Great Hall subsequent to the morning to come. "Linnasburgh is ours!" He shouted, receiving many growlish cheers. "We will rest here for the fortnight to come, ploughing in its women and bathing in its silver. And then we will sail back to Wales and meet my cousin Bloodhair in Northumbria!" The men began to grunt in a synchronised chant, pounding their chests with their fists in stead of their king. Skjord stepped closer toward Vikar, and held out his hand, "I will have her tonight, Vikar. She will be returned to you by morning."

Despite every interaction between herself, and the Dane Vikar, Freydis felt the slightest hope that Vikar would deny handing her over. Nevertheless, Vikar smirked and planted the chain in the open palm of Skjord, and the thumping of the Norsemens chests silenced into a light hum as Skjord drug the fitful Celt toward the sleeping quarters farthest from the throne room; where her fathers body lied slain.

Chapter Text

They stayed in Linnasburgh for two weeks, as Skjorn Arinbjornsson had promised to his men. Heathens ravaged the sacred halls of the Celtic Pagans, setting fire to Babd's straw guardians, and burning down the Ealdorman's silver to nothing but nuggets for the Dane's to use once they returned to Northumbria. The Ealdorman, and his deadened kin were piked along Archer's Row, their rotting skulls on display for any trader daring to enter the Dane-infested Linnasburgh. Freydis refused to bare witness to her slaughtered family as she was thrown into a iron-barred wagon amongst two other conquered slaves, even if it were her last chance to take in the beautiful sight of Linnasburgh, there being a lofty chance she would never return to the Irland continent again in her lifetime.

The young heir sat uncomfortably on top reused swine straw, her bruised thighs aching with every bump in the road. Another woman, a Welsh emigrant, sat with her legs drawn to her chest, rapid tears falling akin to Danu's rushing rivers. The last of the two female slaves was a boy in late adolescence who stood against the iron bars, shouting in gaelic at the heatheneous warriors. There were many other slaves before, but the Dane's had quite a temper. Thus, the numbers dwindled from twenty to three as women were raped, and beaten to death, and men were overworked without food, water, or kindness. The boy, Moray, was practically thin as parchment, and Freydis worried he would overexert himself by insulting the Norsemen. "Moray," Freydis called, "Suigh." 'Sit down.'

Moray continued his foreign rant, the Dane's riding on horseback laughed at his unintelligible words. "Scagachán tú págánach! Diabhail scum-ithe turd! Lig Balor duit a bhualadh!"

"What is the boy saying?" Inquired the wearisome Welsh woman.

Freydis shuffled into a more comfortable seating position, even if that meant drawing blood from her unhealed wounds. "'You pagan bastards,'" she began to translate, wincing at the pain in her upper thigh. "'Turd-eating devil scum, let Balor smite you!'"

"Balor is the God of Death?"

"Aye," Freydis nodded, adjusting her tunic. The woman was not allowed to bathe, nor was she allowed to change. When she inquired otherwise, Vikar would whip her until his arms grew tired, ergo her punishments would normally last well over an hour. "He is a great beast, a member of the Fomorians. He and His kin are tall enough to reach a finger to the moon from the tallest valleys of the world. But it is not his height that makes him deadly, it is his eye; his single, ogreish eye that spews Dubnos fire upon civilizations when opened."

The Welsh woman turned to her side, cringing at the pain that singed in her pelvis, "Your vengeful God seems to have abandoned us," she stated, her eyes sliding dutifully shut. "Your Gods, for that matter."

"If that is true, fealltóir," 'traitor,' "then more of our kin would be alive to suffer today." Freydis stated, "Nevertheless, they await us in Albios–if you wish to ever see them again, then you must not abandon our Gods."

The Welsh woman did not answer, but instead fell into a restless, uncomfortable sleep. Over the course of several more minutes, Moray grew exhausted by his tomfoolery and collapsed into the swine straw, resting his head on Freydis' legs as he, too, fell into a restless sleep. Contrary to their Irish slaves, the Dane's never appeared to tire, they rode day and night to reach the coast bordering the Irish Sea. Only then did Skjorn allow his men to rest for the night, even if the Dane's only continued to drink, and lark beneath the starlight. The kindness Skjorn allowed to his men did not emit to the slaves, however, for they were forced to work throughout the night as they seemingly rested too fruitfully whilst entrapped in their miniature slaves wagon. Moray was to attend every Danish fire, and if he failed to keep one alive, the Welsh woman was to flog him at the expense of being flogged herself. Freydis, yearning to lie on solid ground and close her eyes forever, was summoned to Skjords tent where he proceeded to plough her. Over the weeks, the Celtic Pagan had grown used to the unfortunate pain of a man entering her without her permission. The unnatural feeling dulled into a daily chore, and she fought no longer; not wishing to be flogged or humiliated by the Dane leader like she witnessed many, now dead, enslaved women to have experienced in the early days of Linnasburgh's siege.

Skjord Arinbjornsson, son of the notorious conqueror Bjorn Arin, fell asleep well into the night after tiring himself out from ploughing. Only then was Freydis free to roll off the furs of his bed, and inspect her new, grotesque wounds in the reflection of his mirror. The back of her foot bore a scratch-like wound from him standing on it with his boot, and up her legs from her calves to her thighs were small cuts procured by the swine straw she lay in for nearly two moons. The inner-part of her thighs were bruised black, and coated in dry blood emitting from her vagina. The young woman was thankful she grew a tolerance to Skjord's ploughing, for she would have cut herself long ago if she went through the same pain she felt the first night, over and over again.

Freydis tore a strip off of her tunic, and poured water from Skjord's drinking pouch onto the blood that coated her. The Dane was long past the dream cycle, so she was confident he would not awaken as she cleansed herself. Once her legs were clear of blood, she bitterly wiped them onto the dry furs of Skjord's blanket before pulling up her breeches, and tightening them over her starving waist. She then left the leaders tent to be met with Vikar, who awaited her leave just as he did every night Skjord summoned her. "I hope you did not kill him," he stated, locking a chain around her neck, and another around her wrists, and ankles. "Should I go and check?"

"If you wish," the Ealdorman's heir mused, "and when you find him peacefully asleep in his bed, I will choke you with these chains."

Vikar grinned, "I will take your word for it then, princess."

Adjusting the chains to fit over her already procured bruises, the young woman sighed distastefully, "Ní banphrionsa mé." The slaver pushed her forward, demanding her to speak in a language they both shared. Angrily, she restated, "I am no princess, cunt!"

The slaver scoffed, his turd-eating grin failing to dissipate. "With that mouth, you are not."

Exhausted beyond stubbornness, Freydis refused to comply with the Dane's instigation, and so she kept silent–something the young woman was becoming more and more inclined toward following her brutal enslavement. Vikar returned Freydis to the iron-barred wagon, and the young woman found Moray unconscious with a blood-soaked back, and the Welsh woman fast asleep at the farthest edge of the wagon. Once she was free of her chains, and knelt to inspect the young boy's wounds–they had long clotted, but wreaked of festering disease. Angrily, Freydis shook the Welsh woman, "Wake up!" When the woman did not wake, Freydis slapped her. "You did not care for his wounds!"

"T-They had stopped bleeding when we returned," she stated, coddling her cheek with a cool palm.

"Nevertheless, they still fester!" Freydis whispered, "You are forced to harm him, I understand. But you continue to let him suffer?"

The Welsh woman frowned, "There is nothing for I to do! Unless you wish I pack his cuts with manure-covered straw, and ale!"

Frustrated, Freydis knew that there were scarce options for the Welsh woman to have taken. Nevertheless, she still disliked the woman, and for that, she refused to learn her name. Freydis lifted Moray's tunic off of the blood it slackened into, and then pushed up the shirt of the sleeping boy so his wound was exposed to the night air. If there was any hope for the boy, it was in the generousness of the Gods, and so she made the wound reachable admist the shared moon of the Overworlds. Moray did not awaken when the sun rose, nor did he wake to Freydis' touch when she tried to shake him awake for breakfast. He hardly made any sign of life as Freydis poured her share of water onto his back to clean it of any festering infection, and when Vikar and Ubbein arrived to bring the slaves unto the ship sailing to Northumbria, Vikar drove a seax into the boys heart as he proved a liability.

Freydis kept her expression blank, and stared at his body as Vikar chained her neck, wrists, and ankles. The Welsh woman was screaming at her firsthand experience of death, the Danes swung her around by her hair in a game to silence her, and make her scream even more. The boy who proved to surpass the expectation of every other Dane was dead, and it was because he was too weak to awaken following the flogging he faced the night before at the expense of the Gods-traitorous Welsh woman. So, as Vikar maneuvered the chained woman toward the ship, she did not scream for the Dane's to stop harassing the woman, nor did she indulge in the woman's begging eyes as the men hacked off her hair with a battle axe. Instead, Freydis silently complied to Vikar's violent pushes, and throws, and silently sat at her spot beside an oar as the Dane's piled into the great, wooden vessel.

The trek across the Irish Sea was long, and not without peril. Several Danes fell sick, whilst multiple others were blown overboard by Taranis the Thunderers winds following the great storm three days into the voyage. Unfortunately, Skjord was not one of the casualties of Taranis' torment, the worst Freydis' slavers had faced was a fever—which Vikar quickly beat after coughing up a puddle of seawater. Whilst the sun set unto the fourth day at sea, one of Skjords men declared 'land-ho!' and soon enough, Freydis was allowed to stop bailing the seawater that had spilled into the ship, and rest until her slaver re-chained her sore appendages.

They continued, again, on another long trek. Only stopping to rest, and drink from the crisp Northumbrian streams.

Once they stumbled upon Dunholm's large, industrious walls, Freydis practically collapsed in a heap of relief. Whilst she would still face the ugly face of enslavement, at least it wouldn't be in the wilderness where spiders, and other gruelly beasts lie awaiting to feast on the rotting skin of her uncleansed figure. Dunholm walls were tall, made of a thousand bricks, and while they were impressive–they were miniscule compared to the indestructible walls of Linnasburgh. Nonetheless, both townships appeared to be susceptible toward Dane-conquership, as Freydis acknowledged the rotting skulls, of whom she assumed to be the past Christian inhabitants, rotting on top the crosses dressing the archer towers. Vikar noticed where she was looking, "If they wish not to be piked, then they must stop making pointy things."

Freydis scoffed, "They are to blame for your raping, and pillaging? Well then, let's hope the lepers take the Christians after all."

Ahead of where Skjord stood, the large Dane spoke to a woman standing on the ridge connecting the two archer towers. She shouted something unintelligible in their Danish mother tongue, and the gates to Dunholm began to slowly open. Standing at the center of the gates was a man taller than Skjord, and with a much longer braid. He was of blonde hair, dressed in warm furs and armored leathers, the center of his forehead, between his sea-blue eyes, was a Norse brand tattooed into his skin. Freydis found this symbol to be common amongst the Danish warriors, nevertheless, it was ugly and heatheneous, and the Celtic Pagan wished to never bear witness to it again.

"Skjord!" The man shouted, greeting the man, and his army with a wide grin, and outstretched arms. "Njǫrd treated you well within your travel overseas, I hope?"

Skjord hugged the man happily, patting his back in a way that would crack Freydis' spine. "Lost a few men to the ailments, but Njǫrd was otherwise merciful. It is good to see you, Ragnar."

"It has been far too long," Ragnar agreed, "how many men must we accommodate?"

"Fifteen," Skjord answered, "and two slaves."

Ragnar nodded, "Very well, you can stay in the Earl's house with me, Brida, Hæsten, and Bloodhair. Your men can rest at the inn. As for the slaves, they can stay in the slavequarters."

"No, not my slave, Ragnar." Vikar said, unexpectantly revealing himself from behind Skjord, and in the process, tugging on the chain that held onto her neck with a choking grasp. "Freydis here is a princess, the slavequarters would be too kind."

Ragnar approached Vikar, and his slave, "You've finally got yourself a woman, Vikar!"

"Not yet, Young Ragnar," Vikar said solemnly, "she threatens to cut off my cock."

"You always seem to capture the ones with sullied mouths," Ragnar laughed, "that, or you like the threats."

Vikar feigned an offended expression, but quickly betrayed his act and laughed, embracing the Dane who led Dunholm. All the while, Freydis' airway was cut off as the chains were pulled, and she collapsed onto her knees. "It is good to see you, Young Ragnar, now step aside, I need to shit."

"Very well," Ragnar laughed, "Reinn, bring the princess to the cells. No one is to touch her unless Vikar arrives to fetch her."

Freydis' chains were handed off to a shorter, fatter Dunholm Dane, and she was pulled merrily through the grim roads of Dunholm toward where the cells lie. Upon hearing Freydis was a 'princess,' Dunholm residents kicked mud-piles at her, others spat at her feet. Once they arrived at the cells, Reinn was not gentle when he pushed her onto the ground, and began unlocking her chains at the feet. Freydis allowed him to freely unlock her chains as she simultaneously fought not to vomit from the scent of the piss-stained ground. Once Freydis' neck was unlocked, she scrambled back into the hay to get away from the fat Dane who, fortunately, was not interested in raping the weaponless prisoner.

When he left the cell, she let out a long, relieved breath before allowing her tears to fall.

Chapter Text

The Dane's of Dunholm saw fit to torment the woman they began to call the "Irish princess." Though, fortunately, they did not touch her–for Vikar threatened to cut off any man's hand if they were to stain the porcelain skin of his Linnasburgh prize. Skjold even quit his incessant need to summon her every night, and plough her until he tired himself out; the Danish women in this viking town seemed to suffice better than the venom-tongued Irland girl that made no need to voice pleasure amidst their nightly meetings. So, as moons passed and the weather chilled from its Northumbrian summer heat, Freydis grew accustomed to being a simple slave alike the Welsh woman, and numerous other conquered women of the Dunholm township.

Freydis' cell was quite large, made of rotted cedarwood and finly-sharpened iron bars that divided herself from her Danish guards Alfgier, and Ogna. Alfgier was a short man compared to the other vikings of Dunholm, but he was built entirely of muscle mass and broken scarred tissue. Ogna, Freydis learned, was his sister–they were unbelievably alike; short and wide with muscletone. Freydis surmised Ogna was only ajoined by her brother to ensure he did not abuse his power as her cellkeeper, nonetheless, the two guards were fun to torment. Especially when it meant they could do nothing but comply with her needs of a washbucket, and daily breadloaves and water.

As Freydis rested in her high pile of fresh swine straw, she listened to the conversation amidst the brother and sister. "Drink no ale, brother," Ogna told her brother, "Vikar forbids it."

Alfgier, otherwise, took a swig of his horn of ale, "Vikar is not my Earl."

"Our Earl," Ogna sassed, "commands we listen to Vikar!"

"Will you snitch on me, sister?"

Ogna groaned, "I won't, but if Ragnar finds out you are disobeying his orders he will have your cock."

"You listen to the Irish whore ample, Ogna," Alfgier scoffed, "do not fall for her Celtic threats."

Freydis lips curled into the slightest of a smile, she pulled her arms from the sleeves of her tunic and wrapped them against her stomach for warmth. She had worked the early morning refilling ale, and cleaning tables for the Danes eating breakfast within the pagan halls, then she spent the afternoon shovelling horse turds and piss aside the Welsh woman, and a long-served Dunholm slave. When Vikar found Freydis' scent uncoming, she was allowed to wash in the nearby creek under supervision. Whilst most Danish women had furs, and leathers to coddle themselves into for warmth post-wash, Freydis had her own dirtied tunic, and pile of straw if she saw fit to cover herself in it. She did try that one of the first nights, and was left picking straw out of her hair and clothes for the next moons to come.

"Princess," Ogna called, Freydis opened a single eye in acknowledgement. "Dinner time."

Sighing, the young woman pushed her arms through her sleeve holes and slowly stood onto her feet. She was much thinner than when they first arrived in Northumbria. Her seasickness within the Irish Sea contributed wildly to her drastic loss of weight. Her belly shrunk, so each day she could only withstand less and less bread before vomiting up whatever her body could not digest. In the start, working during mealtimes was nearly impossible, now, however, the scent of foods was as distasteful as the scent of horseshite, and filthy hygeine. "What is it now, bison-cock or pig-brains?"

Ogna snorted as Alfgier unlocked her cell, and moved toward her with her combination of complex chains that limited the maleability within her wrists, ankles, and neck. "Meat stew, and ale," clarified the brutish man. When he locked the chains, he snared his yellowed teeth at the young woman. "You shall have the stale bread."

Freydis rolled her eyes, "Muc beag-coileach don inchinn." 'Small-cocked pig for brains.'

Ogna tugged the chains so Freydis' airways were cut off, "Stop that witchcraft, princess!"

Freydis curtsied her now oversized tunic, "As you wish, lady."

"Do not amuse her crudeness, Ogna," mused a new voice approaching Freydis and her brutish guards; Vikar. "She wishes to pull a rise out of you."

Freydis refused to look at her captor, "The siblings have lasted far longer than you had, Vikar. Does your cock still throb for me? I know my seax reciprocates."

Vikar ignored her, "Hand me her chains, she will join us at Ragnar's table tonight."

"I get to feast with the almighty Ragnar Ragnarsson?" Inquired Freydis, feigning excitement. "Oh my, what should I wear?"

As Alfgier and his sister walked the other way from Dunholm's main palace, Freydis heard the mention of another imprisoned woman of high value, with the same animosity of insolence. Freydis assumed this prisoner was in the cell behind herself, so they were divided by a wall. Nevertheless, the Celtic pagan was quite disgusted by the Danish obsession with capturing, and ploughing high-value women. "You will not speak unless spoken too," Vikar stated, breaking her out of her thoughts as they stood outside the great doors of the feasting hall. "You will not eat unless it is off the plate I give you. You will look no man in the eye, or speak any of that insolent Gaelic. Do you understand me?"

Freydis shuffled beneath her chains, and tilted her head sassily to the side. "I grew bored after 'You,' won't you repeat what you require of me?"

Vikar, swiftly and without hesitance, grabbed Freydis by the jaw and shoved her backward into a wall. The surrounding Danes entering, and leaving the feasting hall paid them no mind–this surely being a common occurance amidst their Danish brethren, and their captured 'princesses.' He held her jaw so tightly that her mouth was stuck in an 'o' shape, and he used his opposite hand to grab her by the center; somewhere he had yet to ever touch, a place where she forbade any man to touch. "If it were up to me, princess, you would be dumping my shite in the wood. But Skjold wishes to present you to our new guests. So, Freydis, will you do as I command, or will I be forced to disobey your demands as well?"

Freydis fasted her hand around Vikar's wrist, and used all her might to remove it. He helped, in part, as he expected a verbal answer, and when her jaw was free to move she massaged its side whilst quietly stating, "I will listen."

"Speak louder, princess," Vikar commanded, "I did not hear you."

Freydis looked her slaver in the eye, "I will listen!"

Freydis expected him to release her center, but he did no such thing. Rather, he shoved her from the wall onto the piss-stained ground beside the feast hall's wall. Before she could stand, he placed his boot over where his hand had been, "You've already disobeyed me so soon, princess. I said do not look any man in the eye!"

Freydis cringed, "Pardon me for the misjudgement."

He pressed his foot harder into her center, "What?"

"I said I am sorry!" Freydis lied, cringing at the desparate-tinge in her voice. Her pelvic bone will surely be bruised now. "Can we go inside now, it is freezing?"

Unsurely, Vikar lifted his boot and Freydis scrambled onto her feet. Due to being so starved, her vision was engulfed in stars, but she refused to be forced on the ground again. Suddenly, the woman was shrouded in warmth when a fur cloak was wrapped around her shoulders, "You arms are dirty, hide them." Stated Vikar, and without another word, he opened the tall doors to the feasting hall and pushed Freydis inside.

The feasting hall, unlike in the morning time, was lit head-to-toe in candles, and torches. The room smelt of warm stew, and despite her indifference to Danish cuisine, Freydis found her belly rumbling. She was frozen, at first, stunned by the large aray of evening-time decoration, and new faces of unconcerned vikings who ate like they had been starved all throughout their lives. Vikar grabbed her chain and pulled her like a hound on a leash, they stopped upon finding the main, long table where Ragnar Ragnarsson sat at the head, and Skjold by his side. Freydis, furthermore, recognized Ragnar's woman Brida, and down the table a bit the archer Ubbein who, Freydis came to learn, was the one to kill her eldest brother Padraig. On the opposite side of Ubbein were four other men Freydis could not recognize.

The first one was a sickly-looking man with long hair tied into a bun. He wore a loose tunic, a lot like Freydis', but much cleaner. He was dressed in furs, and wore Thor's hammer over his heart. Beside him was another man, a Dane-looking man, with short hair shaved at the sides. Alike his brethren, he wore the hammar of Thor with the addition of an iron brooch. Seated in the third row down was a man with a similar haircut to his friend, but this one was a Christianman; he wore a bronze cross tied in yarn around his neck. The last one was a monk with a weird bowl-haircut, he, undoubtedly, was a Christianmen as well.

"Vikar!" Ragnar cheered, slamming his cup of ale onto the wooden table. "I see you and your woman are still at odds."

"I fear we will never be even, Ragnar," Vikar said, pushing her in the seat opposite to the sickly-Dane. He sat beside her, with Ubbein on his other side. Freydis was squished between her captor, and her raper; she feared she wouldn't be eating anything for the next fortnight, or so. "She still threatens to castrate me."

The sickly-looking Dane spoke, "Who is this?"

"This is my slave, lord." Vikar stated, "Freydis."

The man seated ahead of Freydis looked toward her with a kind smile, "I am Uhtred."

Freydis did not look at him, as directed by her captor. And when she did not speak, Vikar nudged her rather hard in the arm. "It is a pleasure to meet you," she quickly stated, "lord."

Brida lifted a judging brow, "Do your slaves often join you for supper, Vikar?"

Before Vikar could speak, Skjold answered. "It is I who directed Vikar to fetch her," he said, smirking toward Uhtred, "I hoped you would take a liking to her, Uhtred. She is a princess."

"I am no princess." Freydis hissed.

Vikar made no obvious sign of disapproval, but the Celtic pagan refused to look at him.

The third man down Uhtred's line perked up his head, no longer staring into his ale, visibly uncomfortable by the amount of Danes sat by him armed. "Irish?"

"Indeed," Skjold stated, "she is the Ealdorman's daughter of Linnasburgh. Well, was. She is the last to live amongst her rabbit-bred family."

"Oh no," mused the Dane beside Uhtred, "Finan is wooed!" Finan stomped on the Dane's foot beneath the table, making his actions perfectly obvious to amuse the other Dane's in the room.

"You keep a princess for what reason?" Uhtred inquired, "if she has no family, then she has no importance for silver. What is your gain, Skjold Arinbjornsson?"

"A good plough." Skjord declared, receiving laughs from his men. "Otherwise, it is not me who wanted to keep her; Vikar was quite stricken with the princess. I fear my man has grown soft."

Vikar took a swig of ale, "Perhaps it is just her ability to shovel shit, lord. I've never met a lady so keen on cleanliness."

Skjold let out an obnoxious laugh before looking back at Uhtred, "So, what is it Uhtred Ragnarsson? Would you like to plough the shit-shoveling princess following your woe with the seer?"

Uhtred chuckled, "I am okay, Skjord. But you must hold your tongue, the princess looks ready to curse off your tongue."

Freydis hadn't realized she had been drilling holes into the side of Skjold's head until Vikar tugged on the chain that held her airway in its grasp. The woman choked, receiving laughter from Vikar's lackey Ubbein. As the other men fell into conversation, Freydis was left to massage her throat as she stared into the cedarwood ahead of her. Vikar had yet to offer her any dinner, fortunately, for if he had he would have amused himself by forcing her to eat until she grew too sick and weairsome. Only then would he return her to her cell so she vomited all over where she slept. The sound of ivory scraping wood caused her to lift her head, Freydis found a fresh cup of ale in her sightline. Curious, she glanced toward Vikar who was deep in conversation with Skjord, and Ragnar. Only then did she realize that he knew nothing of the matter, and she looked ahead to find Uhtred smiling softly, urging her to drink.

Slowly, the woman crabbed the ivory cup with two hands and drew it to her dry, cracked lips. The beverage wet her larynx, and a sweet flavoring fermented on her tongue, and throat. She nearly went heathenous as she began to chug the delicious substance, but when her chains didn't allow her to move the cup high enough, she took one last sip before setting it on the table. Vikar watched her closely, but said nothing; a gift from Uhtred Ragnarsson was out of his say, unless he sought to battle the fierce warrior. When Uhtred noticed her watching him, he tilted his head, "You are Freydis of Linnasburgh?"

Freydis glanced at Vikar before slowly turning back at Uthred, and speaking, "Linnasburgh is scarcely known, lord. In my township I was known as Freydis of Airgíalla."

"I never heard of Linnasburgh," chimed Finan, "in what part of Airgíalla does it hail?"

Freydis glanced toward the man, who she could now hear the tinge of an Irish accent coming from. She looked toward his cross, and nowhere else, abiding by Vikar's demand to look no man in the eye. "It is in the southwest, bordering Bréifne. It is not Christian, so it is not common amongst the Uí Néill." The Irishman appeared taken aback by her guess, so she assumed she had guessed his hailing correct.

"If it is not Christian, then it is pagan?" Uhtred inquired,

"Not in the way you are thinking, Uhtred," clarified Vikar, "there are more false Gods than the Christian one."

"Says the man who worships another with a big cock." Freydis quipped, she recieved a snort from Brida, who for the first time ever, acknowledged the other woman's existence. The monk, and Finan were fairly amused with Freydis' statement, and that only angered Vikar. Even if he did not visibly show it, Freydis could tell by how deeply his fingers dug into her thigh.

"It is a hammer, Freydis," Skjord mused, "and your fiercest God is a one-eyed giant?"

"That is funny, Dane," Freydis seemed to have lost the ability to control her tongue. "Balor is hardly our fiercest, he is but a killer amongst terminators."

Noticing the amused grin Freydis pulled from Uhtred, Skjord smirked, "The offer to plough the princess will always stand, Uhtred. If you find her charming enough, of course. Isn't that right, princess?"

Freydis looked at the cup of ale she could not finish, not daring to move her eyes in any other direction in fear she would warrant herself a punishment. Because, surely, if she were to answer truthfully she would say 'no.' Vikar jammed his thumb deeper into her thigh, and Freydis could feel his nail draw blood. Biting the inside of her cheek, she realized she would have no choice to answer. She first looked toward the monk, who stared down at his stew uneasily. Finan was taking a long, slow sip of his ale as Sihtric chewed some bread with his eyes on the young woman. Uhtred appeared conflicted, which was a major contrast to his brother who was calm, yet amused. Vikar brought her back to her wits, "Isn't that right, princess?" He repeated.

"That is correct, lord." Freydis sighed, not trying to hide her displeasure. "I would be honored."

"She will be honored," Ragnar repeated, "do you hear that, little brother?"

Uhtred sighed, "I have no need for a woman, Skjord. I am, was, a wedded man."

"Suit yourself, Uhtred," Skjord, "but the offer is always on the table for Uhtred, son of Ragnar the Fearless."

Finan snorted, "Yu' sound as if yu' wish to bed Uhtred, lord."

For the first time that night, Uhtred let out a genuine smile. Despite a seat apart, Uhtred appeared closest to his man Finan the Irishman. Similarly, Finan had the same protection that Ragnar provided for his brother. Supper continued to last for ages longer, and during that time, Freydis was acknowledged no longer. The young woman sat hungry, sipping diligently on ale as she eavesdropped on the vikings' conversation. Moreover, she watched nothing but her cup of ale in order to spare her thigh the pain of Vikar stabbing his eerie nails into her uncaullosed skin. As the men began to retire, only did the relentless conversing finish. Uhtred long retired to rest, for he was coming out of a great sickness that nearly took his life. His monk left with him, whilst the other two men sat and drank. She learnt the unnamed Dane to be Sihtric, a soft-toned Norseman only three years older than the young Irish woman. Furthermore, Brida retired when she found the mens conversation "shameless." Skjord was the last to leave, stating he had a courting with the whore house.

When Ragnar finally left, Vikar slammed down his cup of ale, "Well, that is all boys. I must not drink any more if I wish to wake up in the morning."

Finan, the least drunk out of the three men, lifted his cup and saluted Vikar off as he pulled Freydis to her feet. Sihtric had long fallen into a drunken slumber. Freydis took a final, desparate swig of the ale she saved for herself as Vikar stumbled out of the feasting hall whilst grasping the chain tied around her neck. As they stumbled through the torch-lit roads of Dunholm, Freydis silently prayed to her Gods that Vikar would want nothing more than his bed. Fortunately, her Gods proved fruitful as he jankily unlocked her cell, and threw her in once her chains were unlocked. "You best wish I do not remember this night when I wake," he stated, "you've disappointed me greatly." Without another word, he stumbled away. Moments later, Ogna and Alfgier appeared to watch over her throughout the night.

Freydis used whatever water she had left to soften the skin damaged by the wrist clasps of her chains, she left her ankles free for the Gods to heal. Soon after, the young Celtic fell into a restless sleep once she found comfort within the bed of swine straw the Dane's oh-so kindly offered her. That was until a light, 'Lady!' woke her out of her dream. Slowly, the young woman sat up. At first, she thought she had imagined it. But throughout the dark she saw the silhouette of a man, who then repeated his call. Hesitantly, the Celtic woman stood up, moving toward the iron bars that barred her from the outside world. Once she was close enough for the torchlight to light up the face of her visitor, she gasped at who she saw; Finan the Irishman. "Finan?"

"Ay," he whispered, shushing her with a finger.

Freydis glanced toward her guards, Ogna was fast asleep on the ground whilst her brother obliviously chugged ale several feet away, facing the whorehouse where another man ploughed a woman through an open window. "What are you doing here?"

Finan moved his hands through the bars, and Freydis recognized he was handing her a wooden bowl. It smelled deliciously of stew, and the woman gasped as she held out her hands to hold it, "I reheated it over the fire before bringing it over," he informed. "I saw they did not feed yu', I hope you find it to your liking."

"I will," Freydis stated greedily. "I am quite starved."

He nodded in understanding, "I know the feeling. Do not eat too quickly, but do try to savor it. I'm not sure if I will be able to do this again during my stay at Dunholm."

"I thank you, truly" Freydis smiled, glancing toward her roused guard. "You must leave me, Finan. Alfgier does not take kindly to visitors, nor does he take kindly to gifts."

"Ay, lady," he stated, moving backward out of sight. As he moved backward, he stumbled over a stick blocking the path. The Irishman quickly caught himself before he fell, and slid out of sight of both Freydis, and her guard. With a small grin shrouding her lips, Freydis sat in her pile of hay and began sipping diligently on her gifted stew. Internally grateful for the kindness of her fellow Irishman.

Chapter Text

Finan visited Freydis two more times since first bringing her stew in the night. The first time was three days after the first time, Freydis' guards were drunk on ale and too busy watching Ragnar's theatrics to notice the Irishman handing two apples, and a loaf of bread to the Irish lady. The second time was the night thereafter, Ogna was fast asleep, and Alfgier went off to piss. Finan gave her a pouch of water, a loaf of bread, and a stew to dip the bread into. In order to prevent herself, or Finan, from getting in trouble, Freydis would discard the leftovers of the gifts like apple cores, bowls, and spoons by burning beneath the swine straw pile. She kept the pouch, filling it whenever it rained or Vikar was too busy to notice her run off for a moment. As before, the Celtic pagan worked vigorously every day, thus, her weight had no improvement despite the increase of meals she had thanks to Uhtred's generous second-lieutenant.

"Princess!" A drunken Dane called, slamming his cup of ale onto the cedarwood table. "More ale!" Sighing, the Irish woman grabbed a pitcher of ale before shuffling toward the Dane, and pouring it into his cup. As she turned to move away, he made a great squeeze of her arse. "Why don't you sit with us, lady? We could use a pretty jewel like you."

"I will sit, if you like," the Celt began, disgusted by the elated look of the Dane. "and when Vikar comes, he will cut off your cock."

The other Norsemen laughed, and the Dane gripping her right side growled, "Vikar cannot have you all to himself, princess. I was there as well, when we destroyed your city."

"Valiant, truly," mused Freydis, "unfortunately for you, Vikar does not share this traitorous opinion of yours. You must release me, Dane, or else you will find yourself in an early grave."

Reluctantly, the Dane released her, but not before swearing; "Cunt."

Freydis ignored him and stumbled away, trying to even her breaths after the stressful ordeal. In this entire mess of things, Freydis was most thankful for the fact that Vikar had no interest in her body. Well, that he made no action toward ploughing her, at least. Furthermore, his claim of her proved to be both a curse, and a blessing; a curse, as she obviously had no freedom, and a blessing because it meant that she had a protection like no other slave; a permanent barring from ever being claimed as another Dane's woman at the expense of them losing their cock, or hands.

Toward the enterance of the Feasting Hall sat Uhtred and his men, out of every table in the room, they were the only ones to not summon her for ale, or more stew. Not wanting to be harassed any further by standing still, bored and alone in the room–she grabbed a fresh pitcher of ale and shuffled her way over. "Lord," she greeted, "lords men."

"Lady Freydis," Uhtred acknowledged, "we have no need for ale, thank you. My men will surely have enough with the feastivities later tonight."

Finan thought otherwise, "There is nothing wrong with too much ale," he grinned, pushing his cup toward her. "Would yu' like to join us?"

"I could stand here for a short while before I am summoned away, if your lord pleases." Freydis stated, glancing at Uhtred for his approval. "Otherwise, I cannot sit; Vikar forbids it."

Uhtred laughed, "Vikar is a turd. You will sit, and I will have words with my brother, and his men."

Unsure, Freydis slowly slid into the table's bench. It relieved her legs greatly, and she massaged the knots that had formed in her thighs. "I hear you have a knack for saving ladies, lord. Is that what this is? Save the poor slave-girl?"

"That is if you need saving," he stated, his smile unfettered. "Nevertheless, you appear too proud to need such rescueing, lady."

"We just want to offer yu' some ale, lady," Finan added, "baby monk, fetch the lady a cup."

The youngest boy with an odd haircut leaned back to another table, and stole the cup out of the hand of a Dane actively taking a sip. When the Dane turned, reading for a fight, Sihtric flashed his seax as a warning. Finan grabbed the cup, and poured the remnants of what was in the pitcher into her new cup, when it was in Freydis' grasp, she took a long sip of the warm, sweet substance. "So, what is your business here, lord?"

Uhtred raised a brow, "You know we are visitors?"

"Skjold and his men arrived much sooner than you, lord." Freydis explained, "besides, no township holds both an earl, and a lord. Not even in Irland."

Finan smirked, drunkenly leaning toward the lady opposite of him, "We're outlaws, lady. Held a seax to King Alfred's throat."

Freydis raised a surprised brow, "And you still live?"

"Apparently so," Uhtred mused, "so, lady, you are a Celtic pagan?"

"I am," Freydis nodded, glancing toward the wide doors of the feasting halls as both Vikar, and Skjold entered.

The baby monk seemed exasperated, "I hadn't realized there are so many variations of Dane."

"Dane would entail Danish, monk," Freydis informed, unamused. "I am Irish."

"The old Gods have been quelled for centuries," Finan stated, "I thought the entirety of Irland had gone to Christiandom."

"And that is why Linnasburgh fought so hard to keep the old Gods alive, nevertheless, the Dane's left no one but myself, and a traiterous Welsh woman alive," Freydis sighed, "but enough about Linnasburgh, my home is long gone. How did a group such as yourself come to be? Danes and Christians, that is akin to Scots fraternizing with Francs."

Uhtred laughed, "We are all bastards, lady. What is more lethal than a band of bastards?"

Freydis shrugged, "An army?"

"Not when yu' have Uhtred by your side," Finan said, smacking his brother on the shoulder joyfully. "Uhtreds a bastard of Bebbanburg, Sihtric a bastard of an Earl, and the baby monk here is the bastard of the king himself."

"What about you, Irishman?" Freydis inquired, "Cad is bastard ort?'' 'What are you a bastard of?"

"Irland, lady," Finan answered, his understanding of Irish gaelic adept. "Irland, ale, and silva'."

Freydis nodded, "A fair feat to be a bastard of, lord."

Sihtric, the ever-silent, snorted, "Finan is not a lord, lady. He is a weasel."

Freydis opened her mouth to respond, but Vikar had noticed her lack of work. "Freydis!" He growled, shoving his ale aside and marching toward her bench. "What are you doing?"

"She is sitting with us, Vikar," Uhtred calmly answered, "is there an issue?"

Vikar looked at Freydis, grabbing her by the chin and squeezing her jaw tightly. "Did Lord Uhtred invite you to sit, princess?"

Freydis tried to speak, but was limited in motion due to Vikar's tight grasp. Finan spoke, rather, "We did, much to her reluctance."

Uhtred put his hands up in surrender, "We were simply curious of what life was like in Linnasburgh, besides, she appeared in need of a drink. You have some unruly men, Vikar. Even the bravest man would need a drink to get through a night like tonight."

"With all respect, Uhtred," Vikar began, releasing Freydis and turning to Uhtred. Uhtred stood eye-to-eye with the man, and Finan stood behind him with his hand on the hilt of his sword. "She is not yours to command. She has been ordered to serve tonight, not take. Now I must limit her ale-intake to make up for what you have given her."

"She is not a hound, you arse," Finan stated, "she is a woman. Do yu' cherish all your women so?"

"I cherish my women how I see fit, Irishman, for they are mine to cherish." Vikar turned back to Uhtred, "Get ahold of your man's tongue, Uhtred. Or else I will be forced to cut it out." In one big cock-fight, Uhtred stepped forward so he and Vikar were nose-to-nose. Finan unsheathed his sword, and Ubbein joined the stand-off as Vikars back-up, whereas Sihtric boredly took a swig of his ale before standing, and holding a seax to the archers throat.

Desparate, Freydis grabbed Vikar by his hand. It was rough, and wrapped in a blood-stained cloth. Her delicate, smooth hand was like a cat's fur to the gruff of a man's hairy leg. "I am very sorry, Vikar. I do not know what I was thinking," he was now looking down at their hands, an unreadable expression on his face. "There is no need to fight, Uhtred and his men are being mere gentlemen. But I am undeserving of their kindness, I will take any punishment you see fit."

Vikar raised a brow, his voice low and gruff, "Where has gone the cow who threatened to cut off my cock?"

"I do not wish to see anyone get hurt, Vikar," she whispered, and when he seemed unconvinced, she moved closer to him. "I do not wish to see you hurt." I would much rather prefer to see you dead, Vikar the Scum.

The Danish slaver was silent for a few moments, thinking, before he pulled his hand out of hers and stepped away from Uhtred. "I may have... overreacted, lord." He offered a strained smile, "I apologize immensely, and I thank you for providing my woman a cup of ale. She works long, and hard, I am wrong to restrict her so."

"You are," Uhtred agreed, "but you are forgiven."

Vikar growled under his breath before covering it with a cough, "Thank you, lord. Will I see you at the festivities tonight?"

"If your eyes work, you will," Uhtred said, crossing his arms. "Will we see Lady Freydis?"

"The princess is tired," Vikar claimed, grabbing her wrist. "Aren't you, Freydis?"

"Truly exhausted, lord." Freydis agreed, looking anywhere but in Uhtreds eyes. That forced her to look toward his liutenant, who stood next to him stiff, with his sword half-sheathed. "I would prefer to rest tonight. But I wish you, and your men luck within the games."

Uhtred smiled, "Thank you, lady."

"I'm suddenly overtaken with the luck of the Irish," Finan mused, winking at Freydis. "I will win a game, or two, for you, lady."

Freydis smiled, and Vikar grunted as he tightened his grasp around her wrist, and pulled her away without warning. She nearly fell over, but Vikar's grasp of her kept her from falling entirely. They shoved past Ubbein, and ignored the calls of Vikar's mates as they exited the feasting hall into the wild roads of Dunholm, as the sun unhurriedly set for the night to come. Once outside, he shoved her against the wall of a back-alley shop, and her head throbbed with the impact it carried against the stone. "What was that?" The angry Danish man inquired, "you defy me, why?"

"I did not mean to," Freydis whispered, blinded by daytime stars. "Uhtred asked me to sit with them, I-I thought I was doing as Skjold commanded."

"Skjold offered you once," he seethed, "and you were denied, woman. For no one wants to plough an ugly cow as bony as you."

Freydis' heart leapt, "I am sorry, Vikar. Truly."

"You will not sit with them again," Vikar stated, "and if they try to speak to you, you will ignore their attempts and tell me right away. You are my woman, and I have a right to punish any man that tries to take you from me."

"I understand, lord. I am yours."

"Indeed," Vikar agreed, "now go and shovel horse shite, slave. I will send Ogna to watch over you."

When Vikar left, Freydis finally allowed herself to move away from the stone she smacked her head on. There was blood, and when she touched the back of her head a sharp pain riddled through her body as her fingers grew soaked with crimson liquid. Sighing, she tore a length off of her tunic and tied it around the wound before trudging along to her next, daily shore of shoveling horse shite into a barrel, to be used as fuel. As Ogna awaited her at the stables, a crude-grin shrouding her ugly lips, Freydis determined one thing; she cannot go on like this. Not only did it harm her, her physical and mental well-being, but it harmed her pride as well.

She could not let Vikar believe she is totally, and irrevocably faithful to his command. She would not allow it.

By the time Freydis finished shoveling shit, her hands were torn raw from the spliters of the makeshift shovel. Ogna made no effort to help her clean up, as she merely rechained the clasps around her wrists and shoved her forward to make her move quicker. "Do not touch me, cunt." Freydis swore, regaining her balance.

Ogna shoved her again, "Vikar says no man is to touch you, princess. I am no man."

"Really?" mused the Celt, "I would have never thought otherwise!" The ogreish Dane pushed her again, and Freydis saw fit to push her no farther. "May I wash?"

"You have a bucket." Ogna stated, unlocking her cell with a master key.

"Indeed I do," agreed Freydis, "as well as two massive Danes who enjoy watching me every minute, of every day."

Ogna turned to begin unlocking Freydis' neck, and wrist chains. "It is nothing we've never seen before."

"Doubtful," Freydis sassed, "nevertheless, if you wish to have a content Vikar then you must allow me to wash. I smell of ale, and shite, the sweet does not mix kindly with the sour."

Ogna knelt to key her ankle-clasps, "What is it my brother and I receive in return?"

"Freedom," Freydis shrugged. Ogna stood up, and Freydis stepped out of her chains as she looked the Dane in the eye. "Whilst I wash in privacy, you and Algae–"

"Alfgier."

"Yes, Alfgier. You and Alfgier will be able to enjoy tonight's festivities in the square."

Ogna pushed the Irish princess in, and jangled her key until the cell door was locked. "You will tell Vikar. You will get us in trouble."

Freydis sighed, "I am a woman of my word, Ogna. In return for clean water, and privacy, I will ensure Vikar figures out nothing."

"You only wish to wash?"

"Yes," Freydis stated, "that is all."

The Dane-woman glanced backward toward a group of three others who drunkenly laughed, and made their ways to the square. "I will be right back."

"Very well," Freydis grinned, shouting after the woman as she turned away, "thank you, Ogna!" Once the woman was out of view, Freydis quickly fell to her knees before shuffling through the swine straw and grabbing the empty water pouch Finan had gifted her. She quickly unscrewed the cap, and dug her hand into her trouser pocket. The Irish princess ignored the pain that singed her fingertips as they collided with the sharp splinters of wood she had stolen from her shovel. There was a bundle, at least, chewed sharp from termites and slinted axes. She quickly dropped the splinters into the pouch before re-screwing the cap, and hiding it beneath the straw like it had not been moved before. Freydis heard the snap of a twig, and she turned around with an innocent smile, "Ogna, my beloved!"

"Finan, lady," corrected the gruff Irishman, a cup of ale in either hand.

"What are you doing here?" Freydis panicked, "You must go!"

He smirked, holding out a cup, "Must I?"

"You must, truly," Freydis rapidly nodded her head, "my guard is coming back any minute! If they find you, Vikar will have your balls!"

Finan scoffed, "He could very well try!"

"I do not know why you are here, Irishman," Freydis began, shoving her hand through the bars of her cell and grabbing Finan by the scruff of his armor. "And I do not know why you are so interested in my suffering; but you must leave. Now. Or else, Gods forbid what Vikar will do to you if they find you standing outside my cell in the dead of night, with no guard keeping your cock at bay."

"I only wished to bring yu' ale, lady," Finan mumbled, his expression a mix of embarrassment, and guilt. "But I can tell where I am not wanted. So just take the ale, yeah? And I will go."

Freydis could hear voices approaching from the road opposite, "Hide quick, Irishman. I do not mean what I say, I am merely tired and anxious. Ogna will bring me a washbucket, and then leave me by my lonesome. When she is gone, bring me back that ale, yeah? Now go on, shoo, sula ndéanann an diabhal greim ar ya!" 'Before the Devil finds ya'.'

Reluctantly, Finan slid out of sight so he was squished between the wall of her cell, and the wall of the opposing building. A few seconds later, Ogna approached with a bucket splashing with crisp lake water. "What is your plan, witch?" She inquired, "If Vikar finds you without guards?"

"I plan to tell him that a drunken Dane tried getting in, and you and your brother chased him off." Freydis stated, "but it is your job to ensure he doesn't see you, or your brother at the festivities."

Ogna grunted, and gave the Irish captive one extra, long look before turning away and moving in the direction she came from. Once she was a far enough distance away, Freydis moved to the side of her cell closest to where Finan ran off too, "Finan?"

"Here, lady," he stated, stumbling out of the hidey-hole she shuffled into. Amidst his drunken stumble, one of his cups of ale slid out of his fingertips and splashed onto the ground. "What a waste of ale!"

Freydis chuckled, leaning through the bars and grabbing the ale he hadn't spilled out of his hands. "How much have you drunk, blasphemer?"

"I am not a blasphemer," Finan chuckled, "I am a good Christian boy, lady!"

"And I am a big, burly man." She retorted, taking a sip of the warm ale.

Finan waved a finger in the air, "And to answer yu'r previous question, three pitchers since dinner. Six since breakfast."

"Well then, good thing you dropped your cup whilst in a drunken stupor." Freydis stated, "have any more and you'll wake up with the Devil knocking on your head."

Finan raised a brow, "I thought yu' were not a Christian, lady?"

"I'm not," she smiled, "but you are. Doesn't the mere mention of the Devil send shivers down the spine of all good Christian men?"

"I am not like other Christian men," chuckled the drunk.

"I can see that," Freydis agreed. "So, blasphemer, what business?"

"I only wished to bring yu' ale," he boringly replied. "Wasn't so discreet about it though, was I? I should drink less when I plan on disobeying the rules."
"You really should, then again, did you not drink for the festivities?"

"I had," he stated, "but not at the expense of yu'r ale!"

"It wasn't at the expense of my ale," the Irish captive stated, "it was at the expense of your ale."

When Finan did not speak, but instead studied her face making her very uncomfortable, Freydis took a sip of her ale. This seemed to have triggered him out of his drunken stupor, "How are you not mad?"

Freydis nearly spat her drink, "Pardon?"

"Forgive me, lady," he stated, "but you are the slave of a Dane who watched her city slaughtered, how are you not mad?"

"I haven't had the time," Freydis stated, "surely if I am granted peace long enough I will go crazy as a bat, nevertheless, I must fight past what my oppressors throw at me. Or else Badb spared me for nothing."

"I could never imagine going through that, and the ruin of my home," Finan sighed, sitting on the ground. "Do you mind if I join yu' here?"

Following in suit, Freydis sat on the ground as well, "Have you no wish to join your bastards in the festivities?"

"I've no wish to play tug-o'-war with Danes again," Finan stated, "my arse still hurts from the last time."

"Ah, good to know," Freydis mused, "do you share such intimate details with all the ladies?"

"My apologies, I would be lying if I told yu' I've been around many ladies as of late." Chuckled the Irishman, "Sihtric rather enjoys my arse-jokes."

Freydis tilted her head, "How did you meet Sihtric?"

Finan seemed to hesitate before saying, "Through Uhtred."

"And the monk?"

"The baby monk was more recent," Finan explained, "walked up with this whole 'I want to be a warrior' speech, Uhtred let him in and he has not let us be since."

"A monk who wants to be a warrior?" Freydis laughed, "that is akin to a druid becoming a healer!"

"I haven't a clue what that means." Finan laughed, "could I get a sip of that ale of yours?"

Freydis handed her cup through the bars, and loud cheers coming from the square euprted as if applauding the man for his neverending crave for the alcoholic, headache-inducing substance. "Uhtred introduced you to Sihtric and the baby monk wanted to be a warrior, so how did you meet Uhtred?"

The Irishman was silent for a moment before answering, "You and I are more alike than you think, lady."

Freydis chuckled, "That is impossibly vague."

"I am an impossibly vague man, lady," Finan smirked, "'ave you ever left Irland before?"

"I have not," Freydis' informed, "father had always thought of marrying me off to a different land if things got too dangerous with the Christians. It appears the Gods had another option in mind."

"The divine are always cruel, but perhaps yu'r Gods had a reason for sending yu' to the Danes."

Freydis shrugged, "Have you found your Gods reason for sending you away from Irland?"

Finan nodded, "I have."

"Then very well, I shall await my reasoning with an open heart." Freydis promised, leaning her chin on her knee. "Why are you talking to me, Finan?"

Finan, not taking her eyes off of her, lifted a brow, "Must I have a reason, lady?"

"Perhaps not," she said, "but I am a slave, Finan. I am a slave, a prisoner, and a whore for the Dane's to plough. I do not see you conversing with the other slaves. Is it because I am this so-called 'princess?'"

"It is because I find yu' precious, lady, and I wish to learn more about yu'." Finan matter-a-factly stated.

Freydis lifted an unimpressed brow, "You find me precious in all my dirt, grease, and grime?"

"I do."

"Well then," Freydis mused, "you must find all the Dunholm ladies precious. It appears Northumbrians do not have a knack for soap."

Finan moved closer toward the captive princesses cell, "Do not belittle yu'rrself, lady. Do not allow yu'r captors to create such an image of yu'rself. If I am being quite honest, I've not stopped thinking about yu' since the first night I ever laid my eyes on yu.'"

Despite the man's hard, and scarred complexion, Freydis was caltivated by his soft, brown eyes. His drunken stupor left them glassy, which only enticed her greater underneath the starlight. An unfamiliar feeling swelled into the girls chest, but she refused to acknowledge, or even act on it. "Finan, I think you should go."

The Irishman sat back in surprise, "Have I offended yu,' lady?"

"Quite the opposite," Freydis stated, standing onto her feet without looking the man in the eye. "But I think you should leave. This is dangerous for you, lord. I wish not to see you hurt."

Finan towered over her, which only intimated her more. But it wasn't the type of intimidation she'd feel when Vikar threatened her, this kind merely made her eager for something she could not have. "I am not a lord, lady. Is there something wrong?"

Freydis looked him in the eye, "Go."

"Lady?"

"Go, Finan!" She whisper-yelled, "go or I will call for my master!"

The Irishman was silent, watching her with what Freydis could only imagine as a sense of betrayal. He then coughed, looking down to his feet before nodding and turning. "I wish yu' a good night of sleep," he gruffed, "and I will see you at breakfast." Without another word, he began walking and did not stop, nor did he ever look behind him where Freydis stood the entire time until she could no longer see him.

Not unsurprisingly, Freydis no longer felt the need to wash.

Chapter Text

Finan, Sihtric, and Osferth stood ahead of the maiden managing Odin's Alehouse. She took a pitcher from her collection of several, and dipped it into a drum, filling it with freshly-brewed ale. "One silver," the lady-viking commanded, eyeing the three Dunholm visitors. "From each of you."

"That is hardly fair," Finan stated, his arms crossed with an elbow resting on the hilt of his sword. "What of a single piece, and a 'thank yu'?"

The spiteful woman mimicked Finan's actions, crossing her own arms over her breasts stubbornly. "I do not serve Christianmen," she eyed Sihtric, "nor their pet hounds."

"We are guests of Ragnar the Younger, lady," Sihtric stated, ignoring her insult. "You will serve us as you serve the other Dane's of Dunholm."

The viking lady tilted her head back, "Two silver, or no ale. That is my last offer."

As the Irishman opened his mouth to bargain, the baby monk pulled a pouch from his pocket and slid out two thin pieces of silver. "Thank you, miss," he stated politely, "we are grateful for your generosity."

Not before eyeing the monk in disgust, the viking lady held out the pitcher of ale that Finan spitefully grabbed, spilling a few drops onto the leather of his armor. "Pleasure doin' business with yu,'" he sassed, "may God be with yu'."

As the Irishman turned with a satisfied smirk, the baby monk cheekily added, "God is good!" Before the three bastards made their leave.

The Irishmans head was throbbing from the night before, having drunk too much ale. However, not enough to leave a blankspot over the period of time he visited Freydis and was so rudely made to leave. The man took a swig of the ale out of the pitcher, and Sihtric snatched it away before the Irishman drank any more of their three silver ale. "Aye, yu' rat-bastard!" The Irishman swore, "I wasn't finished."

"You will never be finished when it comes to ale, Finan," Sihtric coolly stated, "at least drink it out of a cup, or else you'll drink half whilst leaving the rest to spill on the ground."

Finan ignored the Dane, a game he often played that left the Norsemen seething, and simmering with an enlarging greed to duel. The baby monk often ignored the Irishmans instigations, both calmer and wiser than the two warriors; but Finan would never confess that, for he would rather spend his time bantering with the less calm, and less wise Dane. "This place is mad," the Irishman stated, "two silver for a single pitcher of ale? I could get two pitchers for a bloody bronze piece in Winchester!"

"That large cross of yours is the reason she gouged the price so high," Sihtric grumbled, "I should have gone in there myself."

Finan scoffed, "Yes, like the monk with a cock-long wooden cross on his chest had no part in it."

"Do not bring me into your petty quarrels," Osferth said, looking over to where Beocca, and Uhtred sat. "What are they speaking about? Neither look too angered."

"I don't know, but I feel half-arsed to leave with Beocca and Thyra when they leave for Wessex," Finan grumbled, "this army will never stand, and Uhtred will end up taking the brunt of the chaos."

Sihtric nodded his head in agreement, "Bloodhair would never leave peacefully, not when Uhtred still has Skade."

"We should just kill her already," The Irishman grunted, "She's nothing but a Devil, a Devil cannot work if it has no throat."

Sihtric sighed, "Skade is mortal yes, but the curse will live on until it is broken by the seer herself. Their lives are entwined; Skade the worm, and Uhtred the apple."

"Hence the bloodshed that will come once Bloodhair grows too vexed," Osferth sighed,

"We must talk to Uhtred, we are his men, he will listen to us."

"But he is our lord," Finan stated, "he will listen, but whether or not he'll agree is a mystery unsolved."

"I will not fight in this army," Sihtric informed, "I have a wife, and a son in Winchester. I will not risk their lives, no matter how Uhtred chooses."

"Yu' will keep your mouth shut until we speak to Uhtred," Finan stated, "I don't like this place as much as you do, Sihtric. But we are Uhtreds oathsmen, we will leave him to fight by his lonesome. We cannot."

"We will talk to him now," Osferth chimed, watching as Beocca stood, and walked away. "Beocca is wise, and an ally of Wessex; there is no doubt he begged Uhtred to abandon the Dane army. If we choose our words wisely, we will have more an impact."

Finan clapped the baby monk on his back and they approached Uhtred, who now sat alone, "Knew we brought yu' here for a reason."

Sihtric sat on the left of Uhtred, whilst Finan sat on the right. Osferth sat beside Sihtric and began refilling their drinks with the overpriced pitcher of ale they bought from Odin's Alehouse. Finan leaned forward, looking his lord in the eye. He didn't even have to open his mouth, for Uhtred stated, "Say nothing."

"I won't so much as fart in your direction, lord." Finan replied cheekily, "I'll simply say to Sihtric here that this great army we're supposedly gathering can never hold."

Uhtred turned his head to Sihtric, as the Dane did not dare to look his lord in the eye. "Agreed."

Finan looked toward the baby monk, who sat stiffly with his hands clasped together.

"And I'll mention to Osferth that I did not come north only to turn and march south."

"Nor me, Finan," the baby monk agreed.

Bringing a swift end to the promise of saying 'nothing,' Sihtric looked to Uhtred and repeated what he told to the other two bastards, "Lord, I will follow you wherever you go, but I have a wife in Wessex. And men like Hæsen and Bloodhair are no better than Kjartan."

"If the north is your home, your birthright, then why are we not looking towards Bebbanburg?" Inquired the Irishman, his traiterous words falling into a whisper. "Now that is a fight we can believe in." Uhtred did not speak, staring straight ahead as his eyes did not allow him to look toward his friend. "Uhtred," Finan continued, his tone falling desperate, "I am begging you as your friend, do not do this. We should leave this place."

Uhtred looked toward the Irishman, "And abandon my brother? How can I do that?"

Finan gulped, choosing his next words wisely, "Yu' must."

Seemingly taken aback by his mens requests, Uhtred stayed silent. The bastards mimicked this behavior, occasionally sipping their ale or sharpenening the blades of their swords, and seax's. Finan sat back, nursing his ale as he watched one of Skjords slaves, the Welsh woman Freydis oh-so despised, rake the turd-infested pig straw of a nearby gated pasture. The woman was badly bruised, dressed in a wool dress with multiple holes, and no shoes. The womans state; bruised, battered, and with cracked skin, left the Irishman reminiscent of his past, when he first met Uhtred of Bebbanburg as a slave amongst Sverri's Trader. He thought of Freydis who walked with a permanent limp, her tunic torn and dirtied, face and hands littered with cuts and bruises. He thought of the beautiful Irish princess, now at the unconditional mercy of heathen Dane's that spared no clemency toward their prisoners of war.

"Lord," Finan called, breaking the silence amidst Uhtred and his men. "Can I talk to yu'?" He looked toward Sihtric, and Osferth, adding; "Privately?" Uhtred nodded, motioning for Sihtric and Osferth to leave them. Once the other two were out of earshot, Finan spoke, "Forgive me, lord, but I cannot ignore what I see."

Uhtred glanced where Finan was looking at the enslaved Welsh woman of Linnasburgh. "Finan."

"It is nearly mid-winter, lord," Finan continued, "do you remember how cold it would get on the Trader? When we were beaten and starved, allowed no rest for days at a time?"

"Finan, you already ask that I abandon my brother," Uhtred stated, "I could not betray him further by stealing his prize."

"They are not his prize, lord." Finan stated, "they are Skjord's stolen women. We have no alliance with Arinbjornsson, nor Vikar, thus we could save them, lord. If the time arises."

"Skjord would kill anyone who steals his princess," Uhtred stated, "you bring her food, Finan. Do not tell me you have grown feelings for her?"

"It is nothing like that, lord." Finan told half-heartedly, shaking his head. "But I feel for her. An Irish lady taken from her homeland and forced into a life of servitude; lord, we can change that! As yu' and Ragnar did for me!"

Uhtred pinched the points aside the bridge of his nose, wiping away a stress-induced headache that came with his indecision. "You make this impossible, Finan."

Finan watched him hopefully, "Lord?"

"If the time arises," he began, "you may go and release the slaves. But I cannot spare you Sihtric or Osferth, I can't. I am not making them targets for Skjord, and Vikar."

"Agreed, lord," Finan grinned, "thank you."

Uhtred grunted, grabbing Finans cup of ale and chugging the rest of the fruity-substance in despair.

Later that night, Finan lied in his bed with his chin resting on the hilt of his sword that was hugged tightly to his chest, his eyes rested shut as he listened to Osferth try to teach Sihtric the mechanics of Tæfl. His ale-induced headache had long gone, but left behind an exhaustion that the man could not conquer. So, as a result, he attempted to sleep as Uhtred spoke to Ragnar. For some reason, however, he felt that he would not be getting a good night's sleep in a while; not as the Great Dane army grows, and Ragnar conspires to conquer Wessex, and the unbeatable township of Winchester.

"The king sits in the middle, surrounded by his warriors," Osferth informed, knocking Sihtrics piece out of the way with his king. The two used wood chips dipped in fire ash to decipher whose piece was their own; Osferth's was cleaned of ash, while Sihtrics left grey residue on his fingers. "You must protect the king, Sihtric. Or else all will fail."

Sihtric lifted his warrior piece and knocked Osferths king out of the way, "Your king is dead."

Leaning back in exasperation, Osferth sighed, "That is not how you play! Only a king, or a knight can conquer anothers, Sihtric. A warrior piece cannot become king."

Sihtric lifted a brow, "Says who?"

"Do not anger the baby monk, Sihtric," Finan gruffed without opening his eyes. "He will curse yu' to the Devil."

"Your Devil does not scare me," Sihtric grinned, "he is but a horned goat to align Christanmen to their king. Hela, moreover, will leave you filling your breeches, monk."

Osferth rearranged the Tæfl board and knocked Sihtrics king down as his first move. "Hela is not real, Sihtric. It is time you abandon your childsplay bedtime stories."

Finan heard the unsheatment of a seax, and opened a single eye to glance at the Dane, and the monk. "Do not, Sihtric. The baby monk is only toying with you." Guffawed, the Dane re-sheathed his seax and crossed his arms bitterly at the board. "Besides," Finan smirked, "Hela was not a bedtime story, baby monk. But a devil to scare a man's bastard child into obeying their father."

Sihtric threw the knight of his Tæfl pieces at the resting Irishman, which hit the man square in the shoulder. "I did not mean to miss," the Dane grumbled, "next time I will not."

"Yu' frighten me so," Finan feigned, grabbing the piece thrown at him and throwing it back at Sihtric–it hit him in the throat. "Now leave me be, yu' rat-bastard, I'm tired."

When Sihtric proved to follow Finan's request, Finan shut his eyes again with his cheek resting on his fist. His seax was now sheathed, no longer providing the comfort he hoped it would. Moments later, a knock sounded on the door of their room of the inn. "Finan?" Asked one of Uhtred's men, a warrior by the name of Hibald who followed them from Coccham. "It is Lord Uhtred, Finan."

Finan sat up in bed as Osferth quickly opened the door to let Hibald in. "What is it? What has happened?" Finan inquired, grabbing his cloak and tying it around his neck.

"There is a commotion in the feasting hall," Hibald answered, "Æthelwold is actin' a priss, and now Ragnar is questioning Uhtreds honor."

Finan stood up and placed his hand on the hilt of his sword, beckoning for Sihtric and Osferd to follow as he left the inns-room for the feasting hall. "Hibald, fetch Kenelm–pack the things in this room and prepare the horses. We may need to leave swiftly."

The roads of Dunholm were scarcely filled, everyone had either retired to bed or entered the feasting hall to watch the commotion between Uhtred, his brother, and the Wessex-traitor Æthelwold. Tilwald, and Torold, two other men of Uhtred, stood at the doors awaiting the lord's bastards. Upon spotting Finan marching forth, they opened the doors and allowed Finan, Sihtric, and Osferth through. They seemed to have caught the men at a standstill; Æthelwold nursed a sore jaw, as Uhtred and Ragnar stood ahead of each other with undecipherable expressions. Making a quick glance throughout the room, Finan spotted Freydis standing behind her master Vikar; shackled with her chains tied around a post like a leash. Further down the table was the Welsh woman behind Skjold in a similar predicament, holding a pitcher of ale with a shaking, weakened wrist.

Uhtred glanced at Finan before turning back toward his brother with a long, exasperated sigh. "I will be leaving," he stated. "I will be leaving, though I will not be returning to Wessex. I am needed."

Brida wore a disbelieving smile, as if appalled by the lord's decision, "By a princess." Uhtred gave a single nod, and the warrior-maiden scoffed, "You are no more a Dane than the priest here. You are a whore to the crown of Alfred!"

Rangar stepped off his podium, closer to his brother, "You would do this to me?" He inquired, "Again?"

Heartbroken, Uhtred frowned, "I must."

"Yes, of course you must." Ragnar stated, his anger rising, "You swore an oath. You gave your word. And that is about reputation, and honor! What my father gave to you, I now take back." He moved closer to Uhtred, and Finan took a small step forward with his hand on the hilt of his sword, preparing to unsheath it if chaos were to ensue. "You are no longer Uhtred Ragnarsson," Ragnar declared, his sister Thyra began to call out in disagreement. "You are no longer my brother! This was a game to you?"

Uhtred shook his head, calm despite the sacrifice he had given, "Never."

"Go," Ragnar stated, "before I kill you."

Bloodhair, next, stood up where he sat ahead of Skjold at the corner of the room. "He does not leave with Skade," he stated, "Ragnar, she belongs to me!"

"Yes, Bloodhair," Ragnar agreed, "we shall make the square." Finan moved closer to his lord as the feasting hall grew unbearably filled with the promise of batte, but he did not speak. Not yet. "And you can fight for the witch... to the death."

"Agreed." Bloodhair eagerly stated, a small smile threatening to shroud his lips.

Finan placed a hand on Uhtreds shoulder, "Lord, say nothing." He begged, Uhtred was still healing; Finan could not dare bear witness to his lordship fall.

Uhtred, nevertheless ignored the Irishman, and looked Bloodhair in the eye. "Agreed." Finan dropped his head in disappointment, releasing the warrior's shoulder. "We fight."

"Tomorrow," Ragnar decided, "at dawn. For now, we rest."

Both Uhtred and Bloodhair gave agreeing nods before Bloodhair sat back down at his table, and Uhtred joined his men outside of the feasting hall. "Finan, ensure the horses are packed and ready," he stated, "fed and watered, as well."

"Already on it, lord." Finan nodded, "we should just leave now, lord. We must not risk things going south in the square!"

"I gave my word, I will fight," Uhtred sighed, "all of you return to the inn," he told the other men. "And Finan, you best speak to the princess. We make our escape tomorrow."

Chapter Text

Overnight, Dunholm shifted from a Vikings living-Valhalla, to an arena of broken men, and shattered spirits. Lord Uhtred of Bebbanburg withdrew his loyalty to the Great Dane Army, and in return, Ragnar took his fathers name from Uhtred's surname. Uhtred was no longer Uhtred Ragnarsson, but simply Uhtred; true lord of Bebbanburg, and outlaw to Wessex. In the midst of chaos, a square was called between Uhtred, and Bloodhair that would commence at dawn. Freydis feared that she would be harmed in accordance to her friendliness toward Uhtred, however, Vikar simply drank the night through whilst listening to Bloodhairs drunken words of menace. And Freydis was forced to listen, and occasionally fill their cups with ale until Vikar retreated to bed, and returned Freydis to her cell.

The Irish pagan had picked off sharpened wood chips from the pitcher she carried throughout the night, and tied them onto her makeshift shiv that had accumulated over the days from splinters, and swine straw to tie it all together.

When she went to sleep, she hid the shiv beneath the pile of hay to hide it from Ogna, and Alfgier if they were to expect something amiss. Nevertheless, Freydis did not expect that to ever happen; for the siblings shared a single half of a brain cell that progressively rotted the more they drank ale. Through the course of the night, Freydis had half-hoped Finan to show up with food, and ale. Alas, the Irish princess was left to starve. It wasn't that she expected him to come, for she was fairly rude to him a few nights before, but the rumble in her tummy gave her a false sense of hope. She went to bed hungry, thirsty, and dirty, finding comfort in nothing but her shiv of splinters.

The next day she awoke to Ogna kicking at her iron bars, the sun had hardly risen but alas; it was time for work. She didn't start this early every day, but every few moons Freydis found herself shoveling shite in the horse stables so the hunting parties could return to clean hay to dispatch their horses too. When she was finished, she was allowed to eat a few of the horse's carrots; Freydis hardly ever ate one, for she despised the taste of carrots. But today was different, she was ravenous. Plus, she felt weaker than she had in days. Whilst Ogna and Alfgier sat at the entrance of the stables sipping ale, and eating a hearty breakfast of plums, and pastry; Freydis scarfed down as many carrots as she could. Furthermore, she grabbed the handle of a broom and placed it over her knee, snapping it in half with great effort to provide herself an assortment of splinters to steal.

She couldn't take the entire broom handle, for her guards would suspect something awry by the newfound bulge in the Irish princesses' breeches.

"What are you doing, princess?" Ogna asked, startling Freydis as the girl was on her knees picking up astray splinters.

Freydis looked back at the grisly beast, "I am no princess."

Ogna kicked Freydis over, causing the woman to clutch her stomach in pain, "What do you have there?"

"I fell over, you bitch!" Freydis swore, "snapped a broom in two. I was trying to clear the splinters so a horse wouldn't be harmed."

"Horses have hooves, girl," Ogna stated, seemingly believing the lie. "They feel nothing."

Freydis coughed, pushing herself up so she could draw herself to her feet, "I was speaking of the men."

Ogna scoffed, pulling Freydis the rest of the way by her hair. "If the men find your work unsatisfactory, they will make you the horse. We go back to your cell, the square commences soon."

"Can't I have something to eat?" Freydis asked, allowing Ogna to reattach her ankle-chains. Freydis couldn't wear them in the stables, as she needed more range to carry the massive, iron shovel that grew heavier the more Freydis lost muscle weight.

Ogna raised a furry brow, "Do you not like hay?"

"Not particularly."

The large woman rolled her eyes, and pulled Freydis outside to meet her brother. Ogna grabbed Alfgier's leftover breakfast roll and handed it to the Irish princess. "Enjoy, there are maggots."

"I'd rather lick my boot, thank you." Freydis grumbled, dropping the worm-infested bread. Ogna gave a belly-laugh as her brother chortled, they then pulled on the shackle that was chained to Freydis' neck, causing the girl to gasp as her airway was cut off. "Okay, I give in, you halfwits!" Ogna grunted, and they started toward Freydis' cell. "So Ogna," she looked toward her brother, "Alfgier, will you be watching the square?"

"We have no interest in lordli-business," Ogna sniffed, "we will be watching you."

"Lovely!" Freydis snarked, "as if I thought I couldn't get enough of the captivating Ogna. You are truly a sight to behold, bó." 'Cow.'

"Only Völva knows what I will do to you once Vikar grants me my request." Alfgier stated.

"And what request was that?"

"To hump you." Ogna smirked, "day through night, until you are bloody and his cock is raw."

Detested, Freydis frowned, "You must think about your brother's cock often, Ogna. Is that why your palms are so callous?"

Ogna turned, and slapped the Irish princess. After that, she held her tongue as the sibling Danes meneauvered her to her cell, and unlocked the shackles from her neck, wrists, and ankles. Alfgier positioned his hand on her arse, and pushed her in. Freydis fell to the ground, using her elbows to losen the impact of the fall. The Danes laughed, and locked her cell, taking their respective places in Ogna's sleep spot and Alfgier's barrel that provided him a place to sit, and an everlasting supply of ale. Once the Danes were positioned, Freydis slowly got up and returned to her straw-pile. She sat with her back facing the bars of the open cell, and pulled out her shiv whereupon she attached the new thick splinters with another piece of straw. The courtyard loudened as Danes collected within for the upcoming square. But alas, Freydis could not watch as it was outside of the cell opposite of the wall opposite to Freydis' own cell bars.

"Girl," Ogna's grisly voice called, "What are you doing?" Freydis tightened her grip on the shiv, fastening her pace to tie the knot that withheld all the pieces, and would destroy the entire mechanism if let loose. "Princess!"

"I'm wall-watching, Ogna-dear," Freydis mused, "there is no need to fret."

"Turn around," she ordered, standing up. "Now!" Freydis used her teeth to fasten the knot, and Ogna noticed that. "What do you have?"

"A carrot," Freydis lied, "I told you I'm hungry!"

"Alfgier, the key!" Freydis heartrate fastened as Ogna's obtuse brother handed over the iron key. She gripped the shiv tighter, sending a prayer as the lock jangled, and cell-door opened. Ogna's vehement feet verbated through the floor as she approached, grabbing the young woman by her shoulders and pulling her to her feet. Before Ogna could even open her mouth to speak, Freydis swung around and shoved her makeshift shiv into the neck of the giant woman.

It worked exactly as planned.

Blood sprayed all over Freydis' face, and Ogna released her hold on the Irish princess as her hands went toward her neck. She pulled out the shiv, causing more blood to squirt out, and went wide-eyed at the pointy weapon revealed to her. Almost simutaneously, she stumbled backward into the bars of the iron cell, slamming her head and falling unconscious as she bled out from the neck. Upon all the commotion, Alfgier turned, "Ogna? OGNA?!" Freydis panicked, lifting the shiv that was all but broken. Desperately, she moved farther to the wall of her cell as Alfgier rushed in. He went to his sister first, growling like a menacing Dubnos beast before turning to Freydis, "YOU BITCH!" Freydis blocked her face with her hands as Alfgier came marching forward with his battle axe. She had hoped to kill Ogna quietly. The shiv in her neck would make it hard to scream, and Freydis planned to softly place the grisly woman on the ground without another word. Then, she would use the same shiv to kill Alfgier while his back was turned.

Alas, Ogna fell whilst Freydis was in a panicked stupor, and the shiv broke immediately after penetrating Ogna's skin.

Rather than the searing pain of a rock-hard fist, Freydis felt the splash of a warm substance on her face. She opened her eyes, and ahead of her was Alfgier; wide-eyed, and his mouth pooling with blood. His throat had been slit open, which accounted toward the splash Freydis felt on her face. Alfgier took a final step forward before falling face-first into Freydis, who was stuck in an amazed, and disgusted stupor. She fell with the man, but easily managed to push him off of herself. "Ay, are yu' alright?" Asked a familiar voice, placing a hand on her shoulder.

Freydis gasped, "Finan?"

"I'm here to get yu' out," he quickly stated, "are yu' okay? Are ya' injured?"

"I-I'm okay," she stuttered, "the blood isn't mine."
"'Course not," he chuckled, "I'm sorry yu' had to see that."

"It's not all his," she said, licking her dry lips. Her mouth was filled with a metallic taste that caused her to cringe. "I got to Ogna first."

Finan had already been unpinning his water pouch from his sword belt, "Suppose I wasn't the only one planning to get yu' out?"

"Spur of the moment," Freydis stated, happily using Finan's water to clear her face of any splattered blood. "You were planning to get me out?"

"Aye," He nodded, "Osferth's getting the other slaves. Once Uhtred wins, we're leaving."

"Does Vikar know?"

"Of course not," Finan scoffed, "yu' think me a fool?"

"He best not see me," Freydis stated, "for if he does; yes. And you would not only be a fool, but a dead fool."

"Not for I, lady." He disagreed, shrugging off his cloak. "Wear this, hood up. We're watching the square, and then leaving." Freydis nodded, doing as commanded and following the taller man as he rushed out the cell. She stopped following him midway, and crouched aside Ogna as she began rummaging through her clothing. Finding what she was searching for, she grinned. Finan had stopped outside the cell, "What are yu' doin?" Freydis held up the seax as an explanation, and he nodded. "Good thinking, lady. Pointy-end first."

Freydis rolled her eyes, and hid the seax beneath the cloak as she followed Finan to the crowd that stretched around the square. The fighting between Uhtred and Bloodhair had already commenced, and standing by Ragnar and Skjold, Freydis could spot Vikar. The woman quickly ducked her head, grabbing Finan's hand so she could continue following him without revealing her face to anyone. "Come on lord, that's it!" Finan shouted, taking his place by Sihtric with Freydis by his side. Bloodhair swung an axe that quickly caught Uhtred's shield, he yanked it back causing the much slimmer man to crash forward right into Bloodhairs headbutt. Finan squeezed Freydis' hand anxiously at the sight of Uhtred stumbling back, and Freydis watched in worry; if Uhtred dies, his men would be captured. Thus blowing Freydis' cover, and returning her to Vikar's wrath following the slaughter of his two men. However, Uhtred quickly regained himself, and Finan released Freydis' hand elated, "Yes, yes, get him lord!" Uhtred was knocked to the ground, his sword falling in the mud. He attempted to stand back up, but another Dane stepped on it so he was forced to abandon. Uhtred was now sword-less, fighting with only a shield. "Yu' dirty bastards, ya!" Finan yelled, stepping forward as if he were going to join the fight himself. Sihtric quickly stopped him, placing a tight grip on his shoulder.

"Come on, lord, get his shield!" Sihtric yelled, and Uhtred did exactly as instructed.

Freydis must have missed it, but the Dane withholding Uhtred's sword picked it out of the mud and hid it behind his back. "Right!" Finan swore, moving away from his position and pushing himself through the other cheering Danes. "You want to play that game!" Freydis witnessed as Finan grabbed the Dane, and headbutted him square in the face. Blood splat out of the Dane's nose, and a cut opened on Finans forehead, but he was not disheartened. He grabbed Uhtreds sword and threw it into the square, "Lord, his shoulder!"

Uhtred caught the sword by its hilt, and swung it around directly into Bloodhairs shoulder. The area, without armor, split open immediately giving Uhtred the upper ground. Finan returned to his place, grabbing Freydis' hand once more to ensure she wasn't lost in the heat of the crowd. Uhtred knocked the man down by kicking the inside of his leg, and stood over him with the blade of his sword directed toward Bloodhair's heart. As he brought it down, he was pushed out of the way as Ragnar joined the square. Finan swore, and Sihtric let out his own wail of disbelief. "It's over," Ragnar declared, throwing his shield into the mud.

Bloodhair moved off his back, standing up with his battle axe in hand. "No! It is not over until he is dead!"

"I say it is over." Ragnar repeated.

"I demand my woman!" Bloodhair growled.

Ragnar increased his tone, "I will not lose one single man before the true battle has even begun." He stated.

"It was to the death!" Uhtred challeneged, now on his feet.

Ragnar turned on his disowned brother, "If you disagree with me, Saxon, then fight me."

"Kill him, Ragnar!" Brida shouted, "and be done with it!"

Finan placed his free hand on the hilt of his sword, to which Freydis squeezed their entwined palms. He looked down at her, and she spoke, "Do not make a move, Finan. Both of our lives are at stake." Reluctantly, he released his sword.

"It is over," Ragnar stated, "it is done." He held out a hand, motioning toward the chained seer Skade. "Take what belongs to you, take your witch."

Bloodhair took a threatening step forward, "She belongs to me!"

Ragnar ignored the warlord, and looked Uhtred in the eye, "I shall see you across the battlefield, no doubt. I will kill you."

"Leave while you are still alive," Brida stated, "Alfred needs his ass to be wiped."

Uhtred, giving in, moved toward a big red-haired Dane who withheld the ropes tied around Skade's wrists. Uhtred took the rope as Sihtric fetched Uhtreds sword, and shield. Finan wrapped an arm around Freydis' shoulders as he moved her around the crowd. Once far enough away, he released her and they fell into a light jog, "We will meet them at the gates, lady. Osferth will have the horses ready." Freydis nodded, following along. A few moments later they approached the large gates of Dunholm, and as promised, the baby monk stood with six different hoses.

"The others are released," He told Finan. "They will find their own way out." Finan quickly thanked Osferth as he helped Freydis upon her horse; a shite-brown nag hardly as tall as the others. "I am sorry, lady," Osferth apologized, "there were not many to choose from."

"It is fine, monk," Freydis stated, out of breath from running. Down the street, Uhtred, Skade, and Sihtric were approaching with an amassing crowd. Panicked, Freydis turned to the Irishman, "Are we to go?"

"Yes, lady," he said, looking back toward Uhtred who nodded. "Pull up yu'r hood." Freydis did as told, and moved her horse aside as Uhtred moved to the front. The man nodded to a guard, who looked behind the group atop horses toward Ragnar to officially give the command. Freydis' ears rang with nerves as she glanced from her horse's head, toward the unopening gates.

"Who is that with them?" A familiar voice inquired, "who is it, Ragnar?!"

"Uhtred," Ragnar's exasperated voice called, "who has joined your party?"

"A whore," Finan cut in, "an ugly, borish whore. Do yu' wish to keep her, Ragnar?"

"They're lying!" The voice said, louder. It was surely Vikar, Freydis nearly fell from her horse in fright. "My princess is gone, Ragnar, my men slaughtered! They have her, they have Freydis!"

"Is that true, Irishman?" Ragnar inquired.

Finan jumped off his horse, and placed his hand on the hilt of his sword. Sihtric followed closely behind, and Freydis slowly dismounted her haggish nag in preparation to take out her stolen seax. "It is, lord," Finan stated lowly, "lass escaped herself. It is clear she does not wish to stay here, so let me take her, Ragnar."

"She is mine!" Vikar shouted, raising his battle axe. "You will give her back, Irishman!"

"She is a prisoner of war," Ragnar stated, "she is not yours to claim."

"I am no one's to claim," Freydis announced, allowing her hood to fall. "I escaped by myself, Vikar. With a weapon I fashioned myself. I am no less a prisoner of war than you are a prisoner of concequence."

Ragnar stepped forward, "You achieved your own freedom?"

"I did," Freydis stated, her confidence withdrawing in face of the tattooed earl. "I stabbed Ogna in the neck, and then slit Alfgiers throat whilst he was in a madenned rage. I do not know much Dane-law, lord, but I do know a good warrior appreciates anothers vehemence. Thus, I beg that you let me go." She looked back at Vikar who was red in the face with anger, "Do one deserves more to master my own fate than myself."

Vikar was enraged, "NO!"

"She is right," Ragnar announced, "you are free to go, princess. But I will not hold protection over you. Once you exit these gates, you are a runaway slave. Vikar has every right to hunt you down, to kill you if it may be."

Freydis' mouth went dry, "I understand."

"I will find you!" Vikar shouted, being hled back by Skjord.

"Thank you, lord," Freydis rushed, Finan helped her back on top of her horse. "Your kindness is truly appreciated."

Ragnar tilted his head, giving both his command to open the gates, and a 'you are welcome.' Once the large doors were open wide enough, Uhtred kicked the side of his horse, signaling it to go. One by one the others followed in suit until it was Finan, and Freydis. "Yu' go first," Finan told her, "I will be right behind ya'." Freydis nodded thankfully, and kicked the side of her stallion. With the first kicks of his feet, Freydis finally felt the break of her shackles. But it was not long-lived as she passed the gate, and was returned to a different stage of her terror within Northumbria; the life of a hunted slave, for Vikar was not one to give up.

Chapter Text

It was early in the evening when Freydis, and Uhtred's bastards saw they had traveled long enough to procure a great distance between themselves, and Dunholm's acrimonious Danes; and so they set camp for the night, needing to refresh the horses and fulfill their ravenous bellies. Sihtric and Finan had gone off to hunt as Freydis sat on top a boulder, cleaning the mud from her nails with fresh lakewater as her legs remediated following the long ride upon her short, ghastly nag. Mid-through the trot, the Irish pagan had determined a name for the horse stolen for her by the baby monk; Ogna. For the shite-brown stallion was ugly, stout, and provided her fresh, incessant discomfort at every bleeding moment of the day. Currently, Ogna stood alongside the other horses feasting on the dead grass beneath their feet, a meal fit for the ugly beast.

Despite Freydis glee following her escape of Dunholm, Freydis was not as happy as she would have surmised. Yes, she no longer felt the wrath of Vikar; or the blight of Skjold's perpetual horniness, but now she was overtaken by fear. Fear for her life, for her livelihood, and most of all; fear for Uhtred and his men. They deemed a great sacrifice saving Freydis from her captivity, and all the while they gained new foe's; Skjold, Vikar, and the men who followed the Danish invaders. Not only would Freydis be flogged, or even executed upon re-capturing, so would Uhtred and his men. So would Finan, the Irishman so-kind to kill upon the threat of her welfare, and fight when Vikar threatened to re-take her as they left Dunholm.

The Celtic princess scrubbed harder at her nails, rubbing her fingertips raw as the cleanli-rabbit hide drew blood. Calmer now, Freydis sighed as she dropped the hide into the dirt, and wiped the blood onto the rim of her breeches. They stunk of horse shite, kudos to the unceasing work of the horses colon, and her boots stunk even worse as they were used to treat directly into the horse turds, and back into the equally shite-ridden roads of Dunholm. It was safe to say that Freydis was on the verge of going mad, whether it was due to her heightened paranoia, or unfaltering stench. From the fire in the midst of camp, Osferth the baby monk trudged over with a wooden cup, "Drink, lady," he commanded, "I doubt you've had nothing but ale these past months."

Freydis gratefully took the cup, "That you are right, monk."

"My name is Osferth," he informed, "if you did not know."

Freydis sipped, smiling, "I did. We have met before, at Dunholm."

The monk sighed, "At least you do not call me 'baby' monk, for that is what the others insist on calling me."

"That is because you are a pup, monk," Freydis stated, "not a hair on your chin, or odor from your pits; what are you doing with these overt pigs you are traveling with?"

"Becoming a warrior, lady," He eagerly informed, "life at the monastery does not gratify my needs; I am the bastard son of a king, I should at least hold some reputation if it is not as the beloved son of Alfred the Great."

"Alfred does not sound too great," Freydis told truthfully, "I have never heard of him."

"Well you are Irish, lady," Osferth laughed, "and a pagan, at that. There is no need for you to know his eminence, as there is no need for him to inform himself on the kingdoms of Irland."

"Fair, monk," Freydis laughed, "but is it not a Christian practice to live holy, and without bloodshed all of their lives?"

Osferth shook his head, "If it were that, Wessex would have no warriors, lady. God allows us bloodshed if we fight in accordance to his holiness the king; there is nothing keeping us from becoming the warriors with reputations men die to grasp, but our own devotion to the lord. Some believe God can only be appreciated from within a monastery, whereas I hope to serve the lord all across the four-corners of the world."

"In Irish creed, unless you are a mother you are not accepted into Albios by the Gods unless you are a warrior, fighting for Irland." Freydis stated, "Druids, moreover, must have had at least three hundred kills before accepted into the Order of the Bards. One hundred to represent the three universes of the Overworld; Albios, Dubnos, and Bitu."

Osferth tilted his head, "Excuse my ignorance, lady. But I thought Irish paganism would be similar to Danish paganism; with Niflheim as your hell, and Valhalla as your heaven."

"You amuse me, monk," Freydis grinned, "the druids educate that the Danes stole aspects of our creed following their invasion of Europe thousands of years ago. It is Irish paganism that proves true, confirmed by Balor himself when he emerged in Bitu to win Irland the Gallic Wars."

"Respectfully I disagree, lady," Osferth told, looking toward the treeline of the camp where Finan and Sihtric entered carrying a dead fox, and assortment of hunted squirrels. "God is the only true God, for he outnumbers the Irish, and Danish Gods alike."

Freydis swallowed the rest of her gifted water, and handed the cup back to the bastard monk. "Your god is an pup compared to His predecessors," she stated, "nonetheless, He proves stronger by the day. So we will see who prevails, baby monk, whether it is my Gods or your God."

Before osferth could speak, a new exceptionally Irish voice cut in, "Baby monk, go make us supper yu' bastard, we dinn't bring ya' for nothin'!"

Osferth rolled his eyes, seemingly unaffected by the Irishmans rude tone, "I will see you later, lady. I must make broth, and stew for the vultures." Freydis smiled as he turned to leave, Finan now approached the Irish princess with a heavy strut that often accompanied the men of Linnasburgh following successful battles; the Irishmans fight against the fox must have been tiresome, and debilitating.

When he sat down, Freydis spoke before he could even muster a thought, "You are mean to the boy, why?"

Finan shrugged, "Can't be a warrior if he's put off easily. Why? Did the baby monk complain to you?"

"He did not," Freydis shook her head, "he went as far as calling you, and the other men 'vultures,' truthfully. It is I who finds your impoliteness overt."

"I'll try to be nicer when you are around then, lady," grinned the Irishman, "do your legs tire from the long ride?"

"They do," Freydis nodded, sighing as she rubbed a knot in her thigh. "Ogna is as audacious as her namesake, it proves."

Finan leant back into the grass, using his elbows to prop him up as Freydis faced him from her boulder. "Do yu' intend to keep the horse?" Asked the Irishman, "We could get yu' a much better one from the nunnery."

Freydis frowned, "I do intend to keep the horse, Finan. And I am thankful for you, and the other mens kindness; but I do not intend on staying."

Finan sat up straighter, his leisure diminishing and becoming overtaken by stupefaction. "Then where do yu' intend on going?"

"Back to Irland," Freydis revealed, "to Linnasburgh."

"Respectfully, lady," Finan began, concerned, "but Linnasburgh is gone. Unless yu' have a thousand men by yur' side–it's now the prize of Danesmen."

"I cannot abandon my city, Finan," Freydis remarked, "I am a lady of Linnasburgh, the last-living hier of Ealdorman Cian, if my people still live; I must fight. It is the will of the Gods, for Linnasburgh to thrive. I intend to ensure they are satisfied, it is but all they deserve."

Finan groaned, "Lady, think rationally. Yu' are but a single woman, not even the Gods can protect yu' from the hundred Norsemen who rule."

Freydis piqued a curious brow, "How do you know it is one hundred Norsemen?"

"Skjord, lady," answered the Irishman, "He spoke highly of his endeavors in Irland, he wanted to ensure all the kingdoms of Airgíalla were held by Danesmen, and for good."

Freydis' felt her heart shatter, her determined expression falling as she looked Finan in the eye, "Airgíalla falls to the Danesmen?"

Finan nodded, frowning, "Linnasburgh, and two others were the last kingdoms to not be overtaken. The fall of Meax, and Dorneshire soon followed."

"I was not informed that Airgíalla was so unprotected," Freydis told truthfully, "my father spoke nothing of it."

Finan sighed, "Most men would rather die in silence than divulge in their failings."

"My father did not fail, Finan," Freydis frowned, "he must not have known. The rest of Irland so rarely convened with Linnasburgh; daunted by our indifference to Christiandom."

"Nevertheless," Finan diverted, "have you come to your senses?"

"Afraid not, Finan," Freydis shook her head, "I will not abandon my people."

"You still would not be accepted as a lady, lady," the Irishman retorted, "men may follow yu' to battle, but they will not serve under yu'r rule."

Freydis noticed Uhtred approaching them where they sat, but did not say hello for she was responding to Finan's obvious statement. "I do not wish to rule, I merely wish to take back Linnasburgh from the Danes."

Uhtred stood behind the Irishmen, and kicked his arm whereupon Finan lost his arch, and fell onto the fround. "Finan, are you bothering the poor woman?"

"She's acting dense, lord!" Finan exasperated, looking up at the man where he lay.

Freydis tilted her head in the air stubbornly, "I am not the one lying in an ant hill."

Uhtred laughed as the Irishman rolled onto his stomach, and quickly pushed himself into a kneeling position. "What is it that the princess is disagreeing with, Finan?"

"He wants me to abandon my lands." Freydis quickly replied, adding, "and I am no princess!"

Finan groaned, sitting on his arse with a knee drawn beneath his elbow. "I don't want you to abandon yu'r lands, lady. I just don't want yu' to lose yu'r life after we went through all that trouble to free ya!"

"He is right, lady," Uhtred told kindly, being handed a bowl of stew from one of his men. "Linnasburgh has a hundred men, it would take that and then some to re-take Linnasburgh, assuming it has walls to shield it."

Freydis bit her lower lip, and nodded, "It does..." She sighed, taking some stew as well when a man dressed in leather armor approached her with a bowl for herself, and Finan. "But Uhtred, I cannot leave my land to the mercy of grimy Danes. Linnasburgh has been a home to my family line for centuries, I cannot allow such a travesty!"

"I understand that, lady," Uhtred stated, sitting beside Finan on the ground. "It is true, I do. My land lies occupied by traitors, and killers; but one day, when I have the strength, I will re-take Bebbanburgh."

"Yu' are but a single warrior," Finan chimed, "not even Uhtred could win a battle so askew."

Freydis sighed, "Then what is it I should do?"

"First, gain your strength, lady." Finan said, his voice warm to match the attentive smile on his face. "Yu'r practically skin and bone; after that, we will decide what it is that we do next."

Freydis swallowed some warm broth, "'We?'"

The Irishman glanced toward his lord, who spoke next. "Will you join us, Freydis? To the nunnery, and wherever else the Gods take us?"

Freydis placed her bowl of stew on her lap, allowing the warmed wood to relieve the knot in her thigh. "Lord, I appreciate the offer; but what is it you need with a runaway slave like me?"

"Yu' are a slave no longer, lady," Finan stated unhesitantly, "yu'r a bastard."

"He's right," Uhtred grinned, "A renegade shieldmaiden-bastard of Irland."

Freydis looked between the two men with a doubtful smile, "And the real reason?"

Uhtred laughed, offering a shrug, "We are hoping you brew better ale than Osferth, lady." He joked, glancing toward the baby monk who sat by the fire eating stew with Sihtric.

"Pup can make a mean bone broth, but his ale somehow tastes of piss," Finan continued, "all jokes aside though, lady, we enjoy yu'r company. And we don't want to see you killed, so stay with us until you get some meat on those bones, yeah? Then we'll help yu' make a plan to take back Linnasburgh, maybe even steal yu' a ship to get yu' 'cross the sea."

Freydis looked between the men, who awaited her answer, and glanced toward her hands. They were thin, dirtied, and riddled with cuts that would surely scar. She struggled to make a fist, and went as far as gasping when she bent her thumb, only to re-open a wound. Succumbing, the Celtic princess nodded, "Very well."

Early the next morning, Uhtred, his coterie, and the new addition of Freydis resumed their trek to the Mercian nunnery Winchombe where the lady of Mercia would hopefully be. It was still dark when they awoken, due to their early night following a tiresome escape from Dunholm, and when they arrived to Winchombe the sunhad begun to set. They entered through a side-door unprotected by Mercian guard, and wholly scared the nuns half-to-death. "We are friends, sister!" Finan yelled to one veiled woman who ran for the door, "we are friends!"

Freydis placed a hand on the armored Irishmans shoulder, "You say that, Finan, but hold your hand over the hilt of your sword!"

Finan smirked at her, "If you knew the nuns I do, lady, then yu'd know I'm holding this for my own protection." Across the kitchen, Uhtred began climbing a cupboard that led to an open space accessing the feast hall. Sihtric aimed to follow, but was dismissed; so he, instead, went toward raiding the nunnery's winter store with Osferth. "Don't plunder the place, yu' heathens!" He swore, picking up multiple apples that fell from a basket knocked over by his Dane friend. "And give God yu'r thanks, he's watchin!"

With a mouthful of bread, Osferth placed his hands flat together, "Tfhank you, lorb!"

Freydis stayed close to Finan, deterred by the unusual place of worship. "What is Uhtred doing?"

"Being dramatic," answered the Irishman, taking a bite of an apple and handing a different one to the Irish princess. "For his lovely Æthelflæd."

Freydis tilted her head, "Uhtred humps the lady of Mercia?"

"Occasionally," grinned the Irishman. The door accessing the feast room opened, and he partly unsheathed his sword. However, he quickly released it when he found Uhtred standing there with a grin. Finan, Sihtric, Osferth, and Freydis proceeded to leave behind the raided kitchens so the nuns could get by and gather them all portions of dinner. Finan greeted the lady of Mercia first, and hugged her. Sihtric next, bowing his head, and Osferth last with a shy, disgruntled smile. Freydis was last, and thankfully Finan took the initiative on introducing her, "Lady Æthelflæd, this is Lady Freydis."

Æthelflæd wore an impressed smile, glancing at Freydis with an elegant smile, "Of?"

"Linnasburgh, lady," Freydis answered, "an Irish kingdom."

Æthelflæd glanced to Uhtred with surprise, "You traveled to Irland?"

As the nuns re-entered the room with bowls, and platters of food, Uhtred, Finan, Freydis, Osferth, and Sihtric all took their seats at one side of the table, with Lady Æthelflæd on the other. One of Uhtreds men then entered with Skade, who was given a seat toward the end of the table. "We arrived from Dunholm, lady," Uhtred said, pouring himself and Æthelflæd some wine. "Stole ourselves an Irish-lady."

Æthelflæd looked back at Freydis, "Is that so?"

"I achieved my own freedom, lady," Freydis smiled, "they helped, I suppose."

Æthelflæd nodded, "I dare say that you and I have something in common, Freydis. As stolen ladies of the Danes. I do, moreover, hope they treated you as fairly as they had treated me."

Freydis offered a polite smile at her statement, but it did not meet her eyes. Finan noticed this, and changed the topic of conversation, "Yu'r guards are not, lady."

Æthelflæd glanced toward the Irishman, "Not what?"

"They're not guards," he clarified, taking a bite of his porridge.

Sihtric smiled in amusement, "Their swords are trinkets."

"It's true." Finan agreed.

"They're good men," Æthelflæd retorted, devoted.

Freydis poured herself a cup of wine as Finan continued, "I'm sure they're loyal, but they are not guards."

Uhtred smirked, "They are barely men."

The nun sitting opposite of Freydis scoffed, "I do not like you, young man. You have a very high opinion of yourself."

Uhtred squinted his eyes at her, "I am heathen, I am godless, and an enemy of Alfred... but I will keep you alive."

Unfettered, the nun blinked, "And who is it that wishes me dead?"

Finan leaned toward Freydis, "Several people, I imagine."

Æthelflæd turned to her devoted nun, "What Uhtred is saying is that the lands are changing. Men are becoming sick with greed, and we must all be on our guard."

"Well, perhaps," the nun agreed, "But I know when I'm hearing half-truths. I do not like him." She turned to her food only to see Skade watching her with a devilish grin, "I like her even less."

"Nor I you, hag." The seer retorted, her tone venemous.

The nun stood up to leave, and Finan laughed, "She reminds me of my mother, and that woman was never wrong either."

"When it comes to you, Finan," Freydis began, taking a bite of her porridge, "I'd think she never was."

"She's been with us less than a week, and she already knows how blatantly foolish you are, Finan!" Osferth mused, receiving a thrown loaf of bread to the face.

The rest of the meal continued as so, full of banter, rekindling, and shadowed quips by the baby monk that earned him smiles from the two ladies. When the meal was over, Æthelflæd directed several nuns to bring Uhtred and his men to uninhabited rooms within the nunnery; for the first night in a long time Freydis felt the comforts of a soft bed. The wool and feather-filled mattress provided Freydis a comfort that enticed her wholeheartedly, and after a long, warm bath, the lady of Linnasburgh dressed in clean linen and went to sleep. Freydis slept through the next morning, and did not re-emerge until lunch; she found the feast hall wholly filled with men; Uhtreds men, Æthelflæd's guards, and the lady of Mercia herself. Finan stood and approached her, holding out a cup of water, "Good morning, lady."

"Afternoon, Finan," she replied, taking the cup gratefully and sipping. "What is for lunch?"

"Grain and squash," he said, directing her to a clear seat. "Sleep well?"

"I did," Freydis smiled truthfully, "truly beats the Earth-floor by a precipice."

Sihtric disagreed, "No Christian-made bed will ever beat the Gods cushion," he said, "I slept on the floor."

"Yu' look like yu've been picked off the floor, Sihtric," Finan retorted.

Toward the end of the feast hall, a panicked nun quickly shut the doors; "What is it?" Uhtred inquired, standing.

Æthelflæd stood beside him, "Abbess?"

"Danes, outside!" The Abbess stated, "I just witnessed them kill a man!"

Freydis grew stiff, and squeezed her healing hand in a tight fist. Finan placed his hand over hers, "They're not here for yu,' lady, they're for Æthelflæd."

Freydis looked up at him, "How do you know this?"

"They were searching for her first," Finan said, "we covered our tracks, Vikar and his men have no reason to've found us."

Freydis did not feel entirely reassured, but she relaxed her fist. Feeling these, Finan lifted his hand to the hilt of his sword and gathered by the door with Uhtred, and Sihtric. "Why are they not bursting in?" Sihtric inquired.

Uhtred held out a hand, "Finan, hold. Sihtric, they might not know we are here."

The Abbess denied this, "They have asked for the lady Æthelflæd."

Osferth, entirely unaffected beside Freydis, spoke, "They know someone is here."

"There are two other hostages," the abbess continued, "they killed the first one."

Uhtred nodded, "We wait inside and will remain silent. Abbess, you will go to them and talk to them."

"No, no," the Abbess said, moving behind Æthelflæd, "I... I... I will not."

"Yes, you will," Uhtred stated, "because you must"

"Did I say I do not like you?"

"You did," Uhtred nodded, "Allow them to believe you are unprotected, and deny Æthelflæd is here."

Æthelflæd stepped forward, "And we will do what, hide?"

Uhtred turned to her, "We will make an advantage out of this." He turned back to the abbess, "Abbess, the hostages they have are dead men breathing, you cannot save them. What we must do now is save the lives of your nuns and my men."

"And Æthelflæd." Osferth added, still unaffected by the predicament they were in.

Freydis watched him curiously, observing his movements and wondering where this monk stole his confidence. The Abbess eventually agreed to do what Uhtred required of her, and confronted the Danes outside as Finan and Sihtric rebarred the door. "It is Hæsten" Uhtred revealed, "with no more than forty men. Forty that I can see."

"Let us through!" Sihtric commanded, his sword held in his hand.

"No, we wait." Uhtred said, but Freydis had half the heart to deny him first.

Freydis stood by the wall closest to where Finan stood at the ready, "Finan!" She whisper-yelled, gaining his attention. "Will you fight?"

Finan glanced toward the door, and back at the lady, "Most likely, lady. You should return to yu'r bed and wait until this is over."

"I am no stranger to death," Freydis reminded him, grabbing a seax from the table. Simultaneously, Æthelflæd gasped; the abbess outside had been killed with a spear. "I shall fight with you."

Finan walked over in a rush, and grabbed the seax from her hand. "No yu' will not," he said, and he glanced toward Uhtred, "lord, now?!"

Freydis placed her hand on the hilt of the saex in his hand, "I will!"

"We do nothing," Uhtred answered, "yet."

With his entire focus back on Freydis, he raised his hand, and the saex, over his head far from her reach. "Yu' will not, lady. Yu' cannot! Yu' are still weak, do not think I missed how great it ailed yu' to hold your spoon last night."

"They're coming in," Uhtred urgently stated, "everyone at the ready."

"Let me fight, Finan!" Freydis said, "I can do it, I have before!"

The men had all gathered around the door with raised spears, swords, and battle axes; Finan stayed back to deter Freydis from fighting. Uhtred grew impatient as the Danes kicked through the kitchen doors, "Finan!"

"Get under the table, lady!" He said desperately, "please!"

Freydis glanced at the men standing readily for a fight, and back at Finan before ceasing her attempts to regain her saex, and sighing. "Do not die."

Pleased, Finan nodded, pushing past the other men to position himself beside Uhtred and Sihtric. The doors soonafter opened, and spears were thrown into the bellies of the Danes–a battle commenced that Freydis, Æthelflæd, Osferth, and a few other nuns were forced to watch from beneath the long table. Freydis lost Finan amidst the chaos, but watched as Uhtreds newly-freed seer Skade slit the throat of one of Hæsten's men. Upon finding his men slaughtered, the Danish warlord quickly exited the nunnery with a few of his surviving people and the battle was over as quickly as it had started. Freydis quickly scrambled from beneath the table, and entered the room outside the feat hall riddled with bodies. Æthelflæd followed, "We're trapped."

"We're alive," Uhtred stated, picking up the axes of the fallen men. "And they are twelve or thirteen men less."

Freydis moved toward Finan, who was one of the only survivors amongst Uhtreds men. "Finan? Are you well?"

"Fine, lady," He said, out of breath. His face was painted red with blood, and he pressed his arm to his belly. "You?"

"I am untouched," Freydis stated, "you have blood all over your face!"

Sihtric walked by her, carrying six new swords. "That often comes with war, lady."

Uhtred engaged in a conversation with Æthelflæd, as Freydis turned to the Danish bastard. "That it does, Sihtric. Are you well? There is a cut on your face."

Sihtric shrugged, walking by her, "I do not feel it."

Uhtred turned to his Irishman, "Finan, check the doors. Sihtric, allow Freydis to attend your wound we cannot have you blinded with blood."

Eager to do something fruitful for the battle, Freydis took the Norsemens hand and directed him to where they once sat, and ate lunch. She ripped a piece of fabric off of her new tunic, and dipped it into someone's abandoned cup of ale, she then dabbed it against the Dane who cringed. "You do not feel when a blade hits you, but only when ale touches it?" Sihtric ignored her, rolling his dark eyes and glancing to Finan as he walked by with Skade in tow.

"All doors have been blocked on the outside apart from that one," he told Uhtred.

Æthelflæd took a step forward, "Will they set a fire?"

"No, not yet." Uhtred responded, "He will want you alive."

Freydis dabbed the rest of the wound, and stuck a fresher strip of tunic onto the blood that remained on his forehead to use as a bandage. Sihtric sat hardly long enough for the Celtic princess to ensure it stayed on, as he stood up and walked toward his brothers, "We should fight, lord." He urged, "We should open the doors and fight."

"And die?" Impuded Osferth, his arms crossed over his chest.

"It's as good a plan as any," Finan said, backing Sihtric.

Freydis moved so she was standing beside Finan, "If we fight, I will join this time."

Uhtred gave her no acknowledgement, and looked toward the door expectantly, "Osferth, you will open the door on my word and retreat. We form a shield wall and then we negotiate."

Angered, Sihtric turned, "Negotiate?!"

Uhtred glanced calmly from his man, to Skade, "Hæsten will want his prize." He looked beyond her to his men. "To the door!"

Finan eagerly moved to the front of where the shield wall would amass, and Freydis stood readily behind him. "What are yu' doing?" He inquired, peering back.

She flashed her saex to the man, "What do you think?"

"Yu' won't need that," he said, his voice unprecedently truthful. "But if you insist on joining the shield wall, make sure to stay behind me."

"I had no other opposing plans." Freydis grinned, tightening her grip on the seax.

Uhtred returned from his conversation with Skade, and ordered the doors to be opened. Sihtric leaned forward, unbarring it, and then they moved. Finan counted no more than thirty men, which, despite being small, greatly outnumbered the count of warriors within the nunnery. They moved outside slowly, and surely, Freydis ensured she stayed close to Finan. Uhtred, from behind the wall, bargained with Hæsten who cockily diminished Uhtred, and his warrior spirit. Ever the protective bastard, Finan shouted a few quips that would most likely put his name on a hitlist for the warlord Dane. As time passed, and Uhtred and Hæsten made word, they finally made an agreement; in turn for Skade, Hæsten would take his men and leave. Despite her anger, Skade agreed and peacefully left upon horseback with her new captor and the nunnery was left in once piece; uncharred, and still holy in the eyes of the Christian God.

Chapter Text

Following the squirmish at Witchombe nunnery, Uhtred saw it urgent for everyone to leave; to bring Æthelflæd to safety. Freydis, again, found herself shrouded with worry as they traversed the rough east Mercian countryside on horseback. The Celtic rouge comforted herself within the reassurance of her seax; Finan offered her the sword of a fallen warrior but Freydis had yet to find herself able-bodied enough to wield it. After everything she had gone through as the captive of the Danes, and leaving her homeland for the frenzied Northumbrian milieu, she did not fancy the idea of dropping a sword mid-battle and the blade going directly through her foot. Ogna winnied below her, and Freydis had half the heart to kick her in the side, but then she reminded herself that Ogna was a horse and not the insufferable Dane-lady. That Ogna was dead, fortunately.

It snowed as Uhtred, and his crew traversed up a Mercian hill; snowflakes danced through Freydis' lashes whilst she warmed her nose with the inner of her palm. The men had sought to camp, but Uhtred had nothing of it. He had just learned of the death of his brother Ragnar Ragnarsson, and whilst Freydis felt no glee she was nonetheless relieved by the news. Howbeit, she did not share her joy with anyone else as no one appeared to share her bias; Uhtred the most obvious as he chastised his men for any miniscule wrong move, and rode them half-to-death in the extreme winter.

A bird flew out from the cover of the trees, diving at the erect ears of Sihtrics horse; the Dane was forced to pull on the reins of his horse to divert it back on course, but the horse was nonetheless frightened as it paced around anxiously on the hoof-print road. Freydis aligned her horse with him, looking up at the Norsemen from the shorter height of her own horse, "Are you well, Sihtric?"

"Fine, lady," Sihtric stated, "Þorir is only agitated."

Freydis chuckled, "She is a warrior horse frightened of birds?"

"Swords don't fly, lady," Sihtric mused, "nor do they nibble at your ears."

"Fair enough," Freydis concurred, "in Irland we have a bird known as the 'catbird,' named after their cat-like songs. If you are not careful enough, they will let out a mighty cry before diving from their bushes and entangling themselves within your hair. We had to cut my brother's hair after his brush with the warbler, my sister mocked his boldness relentlessly."

Sihtric lifted a brow, "You have a brother and sister?"

Freydis glanced back as Finan, on top of his ivory-stallion, aligned himself with Freydis and the Dane. "Indeed, three brothers, and three sisters to be exact."

Finan chewed on a weed that hung out of the corner of his mouth, "Are yu' the youngest?"

"No," Freydis nodded, "I am the middle child; I have three elder siblings and three younger."

Sihtric sniffed as the crisp air toyed with his sinuses, "Were they at Linnasburgh when it happened?"

Freydis tightened her grip on the reins of her horse, "They were, yes. I'm afraid that I am the only one of my family to survive. That is if my brother Darragh was found, too."

Finan glanced at her, "One of yu'r siblings live?"

"I am not sure," Freydis sighed, "before the Dane's took me away from Linnasburgh, I had seen the bodies, and heads of each one of my family members besides one; my six-year-old brother Darragh. Whilst I rejoice in the idea that he may be alive, there is a part of me that hopes he is dead. For I would not want him to suffer as I did, if found. Nor would I wish for him to live a life unstable, as I am now."

"It would be a kind mercy, lady." Finan stated, his voice gentle.

Sihtric shuffled uncomfortably ontop Þorir, and Freydis tilted her head at him, "Do not feel guilty, Sihtric. It is not you I blame. I understand the tactics of war, and the outcome your people hope to achieve; I only blame Skjord, and his men for what has been done against my family."

"And Vikar," Finan chimed, "thinking of any ways to kill him yet, lady?"

Freydis lifted her seax from her belt, "With this, most definitely. Possibly through the throat, but I am unsure if I should castrate him before or after in doing so."

"Before," Sihtric said, "let him feel it wholly in horror, doing it afterward would be too kind a mercy."

Freydis smiled at him gratefully, and turned her head affront when Uhtred called upon his man. "Sihtric!" Uhtred called from ahead, "ride ahead, alert Steapa of our presence." As Sihtric rode ahead, Freydis observed the emerging walls of Aegelsburg. They were built wholly of upright log sharpened to skewer any man who attempted to climb over them, and whilst unattractive to the public-eye, they certainly conveyed their message; ungranted entrance led to the means of a slow, and painful death.

"I am immediately chugging a pitcher of ale once I'm off this bastard horse," pledged the Irishman, "then I may throw myself into the nearest fire."

"That is if we are not instantaneously executed," Freydis smiled, "I was under the impression that Uhtred is an outlaw."

"Of Wessex, lady," Finan clarified, smirking, "not of Mercia. Alfred has got no jurisdiction over Æthelred's lands, even if he is the king."

Freydis piqued a brow, "And what stops Æthelred from executing us?"

"Uhtred," he mused, "the pig's-arse is scared stiff by em', Uhtred could make a face and the kid would go runnin' behind his man's back."

"That is weirdly comforting," Freydis said, offering a grateful smile toward the Irishman. "As an ally of Uhtred, at least."

"Besides, lady, Æthelred's got nothin' when it comes to yu'r saex skills," Finan stated, "I saw how macabrely yu' butchered that squirrel last nigh', nearly filled my breeches I did."

"Do not remind me of that," Freydis chuckled, "I did not mean for it to die so grotesquely. I thought it would simply die when I cut it, not run off as if blessed by the Gods!"

Finan feigned grief, "I still hear its screams!"

Uhtred leaned back from his horse to face his Irishman, oblivious to his exaggerated act, "Finan, with me. You too Freydis."

Osferth, from behind both of the Irish-nomads, lifted his head, "And me, lord?"

"I suppose." Uhtred mused.

Finan moved ahead of Freydis and grabbed the gnozzle of her horse to guide it up front with him, Osferth followed diligently behind. On either side of the path leading up to Aegelsburg there were the campsites of soldiers bearing the Wessex sigil; which Freydis came to learn when Osferth explained the origins of his own warriors shield. As they grew closer, Freydis noticed Sihtric sitting boredly on top of his horse ahead of nearly ten soldiers bearing pointed spears in his direction. Still, Uhtred led calmly, even when the gates of Aegelsburg opened to reveal a curly-haired boy near Æthelflæd's age, the same angry-Saxon from on top the arches, and several accompanying soldiers. Despite wanting to wholly run away, and find herself the safety of a shieldman, Freydis stayed on top of her horse. That was until Uhtred stepped off his own, followed by Finan and the rest of his brigade.

"I ought to kill you where you stand, lord." Said the largest, angry Saxon.

Uhtred looked him up and down, "You can try, my friend. I'm here to see the king."

The curly-haired blond approached the front, glancing toward Æthelflæd directly, "You ride with outlaws, my dear."

"He's an outlaw of Wessex," she retorted, stating the same words Finan had told Freydis moments before. "Not of Mercia. We're here to see my father."

Appalled, Æthelred scoffed, "What is it you have to say to the king that you cannot say to your husband?"

Æthelflæd smirked, expecting such a question, "I wish to speak of treachery and traitors. The Dane Hæsten did attack the nunnery at Witchombe, it was his purpose to kill me."

"Hæsten claims to be a friend to Alfred," Uhtred added, "he is not."

Not daring to look Uhtred in the eye, the blond Freydis could only assume to be Æthelred licked his lips, and looked to the dirt, "Let the outlaw pass," he commanded, now glancing toward Uhtred's left and right-hand Sihtric and Finan. "No weapons," he glanced at the newcomer Celtic princess, and allowed his eyes to trail along either her thighs, or her saex, "none at all."

"Lord Æthelred," Finan called, "like yu,' we stand against the Danes."

Lord Æthelred, in all his short-statured might, ignored him and continued his way back into the safety of Aegelesburg. His angry-Saxon stepped forth instead, "No weapons is the command, Irishman." He reitterated, nodding his men forth, "none at all."

"I do not want to give up my saex," Freydis told truthfully, glancing toward Finan, "can I not say it is for peeling apples?"

The Irishman sighed, handing his own sword to a man in chainmail, "Afraid not, lady."

Begrudgingly, Freydis willfully handed her saex to a soldier that peered curiously into her eyes. "You are not one of the Dane-slayers men," he said, his eyes dazzled with curiosity.

"I am not," she agreed, stepping aside and entering the gates of Aegelsburg. "I am a woman."

"My father cannot suspect that my husband is the traitor," Æthelflæd stated, confiding in Uhtred.

Butting in, Finan stuck his head between the Dane-slayer, and his Mercian companion, "We should kill your husband and be done with it."

"Agreed." Freydis voiced from beside him.

Æthelflæd scoffed, "And behind a war between Wessex and Mercia now?"

"Lady, I'm joking," Finan chortled, glancing at Freydis, "We'll kill him tomorrow."

Freydis offered him a smile before glancing back at the Lady of Mercia, "Lady, I do not know much about Wessex, or Merica, but I do know a thing in foolish men; they are better off dead."

The foolish Irishman beside Freydis opened his mouth to speak, but was interrupted by the angry-Saxon Steapa. "We halt. Stop!"

Finan turned his attention toward the man, "We know what 'halt' means, big man." He sassed.

Æthelflæd glanced at him kindly, "Steapa, we are both thirsty and hungry.

Steapa, with a kind tone Freydis never expected the giant to have, turned to the Lady of Mercia, "You may enter the hall, lady. The outlaws do not."

"Then I choose to remain here with the outlaws." Chided Æthelflæd.

Giving the Irishman a venomous glare, Steapa nodded and turned to re-enter the hall. "As you wish."

Finan, goaded by the glare, spoke, "Um, what if I need to piss?"

Steapa turned, and Freydis stepped back to stand beside Sihtric. "Then take out your cock," Steapa challenged, nose-to-nose with the infuriating right-of-hand.

Finan took an intimidating step forward, "And if yu' mistake it for a weapon, what then?"

Stepping into the standoff, Uhtred placed a hand on Steapa's shoulder, "Steapa, food and ale would be appreciated."

"And a bed," Freydis added, "Steapa."

Steapa looked past Finan, and toward the woman with a familiar accent, "Another Irishman," He acknowledged, "yours, Finan?"

"I am no one's," Freydis answered, "and I am not an Irishman, I am an Irish-lady. I expect to be called as such."

Steapa glanced toward Uhtred for confirmation, and when the warrior nodded the giant sighed, "Very well, lady. I will arrange food, ale, and quarters for you to rest in."

"Us to rest in, Steapa," Freydis corrected. "Do you expect the men to sleep in the barns?"

Steapa flashed a pained smile, "Of course not, lady. I will only be a moment."

As Steapa walked away, Æthelflæd raised a brow to the Irish princess, "I had gone by the assumption that you did not enjoy the authority of a lady, Freydis?"

"I don't enjoy it," Freydis stated, glancing at Finan as the Irishman requested incredibly specific, and outlandishly taxing dinner ideas toward the fuming Saxon. "But I do not appreciate his tone when speaking of the Irish."

Æthelflæd chuckled, "He does not ill-favor all Irish, lady. It is just Finan; they have been rivals since the day they met." Freydis hummed, half-listening to the woman. "Lady?"

Freydis drew her attention off Finan, and turned to Æthelflæd, "Pardon?"

"I just wanted to inform you that Steapa does not chastise all the Irish, it is only Finan," she re-stated, "are you well? Your face is red."

"Oh, erm, yes," Freydis smiled, "I am well. And thank you for telling me, Æthelflæd. I am glad to hear Steapa is not as hard-headed as he looks."

"Of course," she chuckled, "and if he were as hard-headed as he appears, I would have been sure to reprimand him for his tone."

Freydis flashed the Lady of Mercia a grateful smile, and diverted her attention back onto the Irishman who was always so kind to her, even if it were at the expense of his own safety. When Steapa returned, he directed the group of outlaws toward the longtables the soldiers ate at and cleared them all a space to be waited on by a stewardess. The food, none alike to what the Irishman requested, was nonetheless fulfilling as Freydis had spent her recent weaks feasting on nothing but fruit, bread, broth and grain. Midway through the meal they were interrupted by a beady-eyed man in a hurry demanding the presence of the outlaws at a Witan, which turned out to be the accumulation of old men speaking about politics. When that had ended, Finan was summoned to stay behind with Uhtred and Æthelflæd whilst Sihtric, and Osferth were free to leave. And so, having nothing else to do, they returned to an inn where Steapa reserved them rooms. Freydis was given a room to herself, but did not feel comfortable being so far away from the others when she was without a seax; so that is how she found herself drunk on ale with the monk, and Dane as they awaited the return of Uhtred, and Finan. "And that is how I killed my first man," Said Sihtric, tispy and shrouded with laughter. "Truly an accident."

Osferth placed down his cup of ale, his expression confused and face red from drunkenness, "You carried a seax with the intention to kill, but it was wholly an accident?" He asked, "You are as drunk as your hair is ugly, Sihtric!"

Sihtric splashed some of his own ale in the baby monk's face, "I didn't mean to kill him. I meant to kill his brother! I had not known he was a twin."

Freydis sat on top of balled-up furs on the bed, relaxing against the cedarwood headboard, "You never saw them together?"

Sihtric looked toward the ceiling as if deep in thought, but he quickly shook his head with a palm against his forehead. "I cannot think so far back, it pains my head."

"Like usual," Osferth mused, drawing his knee to his chest to lean on.

"You sound like my brothers," Freydis laughed, pointing at the two with either hand. "Constantly bickering, calling one another fools and whatnot."

"Oh, give me the mercy of being an only child, lady!" Osferth wailed, placing his hands together in a praying motion.

Sihtric rolled his eyes, chuckling at the monk's actions; he must have been wholly drunk, for he hardly ever showed amusement to anyone so blatantly. "Very well," Freydis agreed, "you are hereby orphaned, monk."

"There goes the king of Wessex," Sihtric derided, "I thought he had another year, at least."

Freydis took a sip of her ale, "At least." She repeated, amused. "How did you even begin serving King Alfred, anyway?"

"We do not serve Alfred," he stated, "we serve Uhtred."

Freydis rolled her eyes, "Then how did Uhtred begin serving the lord king? He is a Dane, is he not?"

"Originally Saxon, lady." Osferth informed, "kidnapped by Danes as a child. He has ties in both creeds, and has fought as a warrior for both. Even if he got nothing but plight in return."

"My Gods would never allow such biligerance towards a warrior of the crown," Freydis frowned, "why hasn't Uhtred kill Alfred yet?"

"Because Wessex needs Alfred, lady!" Osferth said, utterly appalled by her question.

"Wessex needs none other than a bar of soap, and a new recipe for ale." Sihtric mused, earning a chuckle from Freydis.

"The Celtic rogue groaned, leaning her head back on the wood. "Wessex bores me," she began, extending the 'o' to further prove her point. "Mercia is cold, and Northumbria is the unliving chaos of Dubnos–is there anything worthwhile on this forsaken land?"

Sihtric snorted, "Whores."

Osferth glared at the Dane, "Prayer."

"Hmph," Freydis sighed, sitting up again. "So Osferth, you are the bastard of the king?"

Osferth rolled his eyes, throwing his head back, "Great discussion starter!"

"And you," Freydis said, pointing to Sihtric, "you are the bastard of a warlord?" Sihtric nodded, nursing his ale. "Uhtred is the bastard of his whole kingdom... and Finan? Who is he the bastard of?"

Sihtric shrugged, "Irland, I suppose."

"How did he come to meet Uhtred?" Freydis inquired, "Irland and Wessex are not, by any means, anywhere close. How did the two bastards come to meet?" Sihtric glanced uncomfortably toward the monk, who, in turn, looked to the floor whilst tapping his fingers against the wood of his cup. "What is it?"

Sihtric sighed, "That is not our story to tell, lady."

"It was not a good meeting?" Freydis inquired, frowning. Sihtric nodded in confirmation, so the Irish princess kept her mouth shut. "I am sorry, I do not wish to intrude. I am merely curious."

"It is not nothing they would not tell you if you asked, lady," Osferth stated, "we just... we were not there, therefore our retelling of the story would be insufficient to show how truly vigorous the meeting was."

"I understand, monk," Freydis nodded, smiling kindly. "I envy the bonds you have with Uhtred, and the Irish bastard. It makes me regret being so tormentful as a sister; the only way my siblings would have lied down their lives for me is if they were flayed, and lied as a placemat for me to walk upon."

Sihtric, who had been sipping ale, ended up choking and sneezing as the sweet, fruity substance had shot out of his nose. The rest of the night went as so, the conversation topics switching from lighthearted, to dark, to light again over and over until one by one they all fell asleep; Osferth on the floor, Sihtric on the table, and Freydis on the bed. As the moon reached its height, Uhtred finally freed Finan to get his nights rest and that is exactly how Finan found the room; riddled with sleeping bodies, and the scent of spewed ale. The Irishman, being entirely sober for the first time in his bastard life, fetched cups of water for them to wake up to. He placed one on the table beside Sihtric where the Dane slept with his face pressed against the emblem of Thor, and then another on the floor by Osferths head with the slight-hope the baby monk would roll over in his sleep and spill it over himself. Then, he glanced at Freydis who he had been slightly surprised to see in the room.

She rested ontop a bundle of furs intended for Finan, and Sihtric to share. Her hair brain tangled with the splintered wood of the headboard, and her share of ale threatened to spill from her hand at any moment. Softly, he grabbed the ale and placed it on the window, and placed a fresh cup of water on the table at her bedside. Utterly exhausted himself, the remorseful Irishman grabbed his cloak and laid it on the floor as a mattress; something the baby monk appeared too drunk to manage himself. Then, sober as a pup with nothing but regret on his mind, he fell into a restless sleep of disapproving Irish princesses, seawater, and skin-splitting strapwhips.

Chapter Text

Freydis awoke on a stiff pile of furs with a throbbing headache beneath her temples, and sunlight shining irritadingly into her eyes. The woman lethargically sat up, rolling her shoulders back to loosen the knots burgeoning in her shoulders. When she found herself better awoken, she peered open a squinting eye to observe the room around her; Sihtric and Osferth lied ahead of her, the Dane sprawled out on a table whilst his monk counterpart was curled up on the floor. Freydis heard a light snore closer to herself, and peered beside the bed she slept on throughout the night to find Finan asleep on the floor using a cloak as a pillow. Furthermore, on the table was a cup of water the Celtic rogue merrily chugged to satisfy her dry mouth, and ale-stained taste buds.

Feeling her stomach rumble, Freydis decided to get breakfast for herself, and the boys. They would surely wake up to an ache in their minds similar to hers, and if Freydis hadn't woken up first she would particularly appreciate a good warm meal to wake up to. The woman slowly stepped out of bed, placing her bare feet on the open floor around Finans sprawled limbs. She tip-toed to the door, stepping over Osferth in the process, and sat on the floor to tie on her boots. Only a fool would walk barefoot in a public inn; Freydis was sure she had witnessed multiple inconspicuous whores strutting around the wood looking for men to satisfy and silver pouches to purge Once the woman's boots were efficiently tied, she grabbed her fur-cloak from the stool beside the door and softly opened the door to avoid panic in the slumbering warriors within the room.

When the door was patently closed, Freydis let out a deep sigh as she could now freely stumble and yawn like how her oh-so sleepy mind desired. She stumbled past a man unconscious on the floor, cringing when she accidentally stumbled upon his unmoving digits. Nevertheless, he remained unconscious and Freydis was free of the confrontation that would come if he had awoken. The alehouse below was scarce of patrons, there only being one morning-time drinker, two soldiers fetching meals, and a single stewardess at the counter. She approached the woman, swiftly glancing at the forearm-length scar dressing the woman's otherwise unmarked ivory skin, "Good morning," Freydis greeted, pulling a pouch from the pocket of her cloak. It withheld several silver coins Finan had gifted to her; she initially disagreed to take it, but nevertheless stopped denying to take it when the Irishman proved insufferably stubborn. "What is for breakfast?"

The stewardess looked at the woman, seemingly unimpressed by Freydis' unintentional show of wealth, "Porridge."

Freydis piqued a brow, "Just porridge?"

"Just porridge," confirmed the woman, "and water."

"Lovely," mused the Celtic rogue, "then I will take the latter four times over. As well as a single pitcher of ale."

The stewardess nodded, pulling out four bowls from underneath the counter, "Four silver," she said. "And two shillings."

Freydis nodded, pulling coins from the pouch and counting them on her outstretched palm. Behind her, the afamed Dane-slayer approached with his hand on the hilt of his newly-returned sword, "Freydis," he greeted, startling her. He glanced toward the four bowls the stewardess actively filled with porridge, "hungry?"

"I am bringing them for the boys," responded the girl, nodding to him in acknowledgement. "Would you like a bowl?"

He shook his head, leaning on the wall as Freydis placed down her coins. "I am alright, thank you. Are they awake yet?"

"No," Freydis said, "I am unsure of Finan, but Sihtric, Osferth and I drank ourselves into a slump. I thought some morning porridge would thwart away any lasting headaches."

Uhtred nodded, "I intended to awaken them coming here, I will join you."

"Very well," she said, "but you must carry some of the grub; I am afraid no good will come from carrying all this myself." Uhtred chuckled, agreeing as he took two bowls of porridge, and the pitcher of water. Freydis, similarly, held the pitcher of ale to her chest as either hand carried the next two breakfast bowls. "You best be careful, there is a sleeping oaf on the stairway." She warned, "I would rather not start a morning brawl."

"I would not dare, lady," mused the Dane-slayer, "will you be joining us at Beomfleot?"

Freydis' brows scrunched as she glanced over to the Dane-slayer who easily danced around the sleeping man's limbs on the floor, "You are still going?" She inquired, remembering the Witan from the day before, "Did King Alfred not deny your request for men?"

"Even if I had no men, I would still be going," he said, "for Skade. Nevertheless, the aethling approached Finan, Sihtric, Osferth and I last night and granted us the promise of five hundred men. I thought Sihtric and Osferth would have told you during your activities last night?"

Freydis frowned, "They did not. When will you be leaving?"

"This afternoon," he said, "we will leave today, and Edward's army will meet us where we shall fight."

As they approached the room, Freydis placed the pitcher of ale in her hand onto the floor and pulled a key from her pocket to unlock the door. "I will join you," she determined, "if you will have me with your crew."

Uhtred shrugged, "We can use any extra hand," he said. "But you do not need to go if you have to gain enough strength. "Æthelflæd would be honored to let you stay, she has desired a ladies company since her leave of Wessex to become a Mercian lady."

Freydis leant down to grab the pitcher before pushing the door open with her food, "I will think about it, Uhtred. Whilst I do respect Lady Æthelflæd's desire for a domestic friend, I am but the opposite; and I have always been so. I fear there will be no instance where I stay in Aegelsburg when there is a battle afoot."

"Your loyalty towards us is shocking, lady," confessed the Dane-slayer, entering the room with Freydis and planting the objects he carried on the free part of the table where Sihtric slept. "And quickly generated. Most ladies are appalled by our foulness, yet you appear nonetheless intrigued."

Freydis followed in Uhtreds steps and placed the rest of the porridge, and the pitcher of ale on the remaining space of the table by Sihtrics head. She did not look at the Dane-slayer as she spoke, but rather bent down to grab the cup of water beside Osferths head in one hand, and the water by Sihtric into her opposite. "I am thankful for what you, and your men did to help free me from Dunholm." She said, splashing one cup in Osferth's direction and the other in Sihtrics. "Besides, I have always been a restless spirit. Whilst the conditions that I face today arise from ill circumstances, I quite enjoy traveling with your band of misfits. Even if the amount of horse riding makes me want to cut off my legs with a dull blade." Soaking wet, Osferth and Sihtric stared at the unconcerned Irish princess with bewilderment as she plainly spoke to their Lord Uhtred. When Freydis noticed them looking at her, she turned, "Good morning."

Osferth sat up, swinging his head like a soaked hound, "What was that for?!"

Sihtric, ever-the silent one, gestured to Osferth to prioritize the baby monk's question as she ran his fingers through his wet hair, and cringed at the headache pounding against his skull. Freydis looked at the baby monk as she proceeded to kingly hand him a bowl of warm porridge, and a cup of fresh water, "That was for not telling me."

"Not telling you what?" He asked bizarrely, "You were with us the entire night!"

Sihtric glanced at Uhtred, "Lord, what is she speaking about?"

"She," Freydis began, glaring at the Dane, "is speaking of Beomfleot. I was with you the entire night and there was not one mention of it; I had to hear it from Uhtred!"

Uhtred leant against the wall with his arms crossed over his chest, watching the commotion between Freydis and the boys in amusement. If Finan had awoken, he made no show of it, but Freydis had the inkling of another set of ears listening in on the interaction. Osferth stood up out of the puddle he lay in, and sat onto the stool opposite of Sihtric. "There was nothing to tell, lady!"

Freydis was taken aback, her brow piqued intimidatingly, "Nothing to tell?"

Sihtric, smartly deciding to keep his mouth shut, glanced wearily toward the baby monk who only seemed to make matters worse. "Lady, I meant no harm! What I meant was... we assumed you would not have wanted to go!"

Freydis turned to Sihtric, arms crossed, "Is that so?"

"Not I, lady," he quickly stated, earning a glare from the monk and snort from Uhtred. "Finan."

Freydis swung around to face where the Irishman lied, and found him sitting up leaning on his elbows. "Finan!"

The Irishman groaned, sitting up more as the Celtic pagan stomped her way over. "Mornin, lady." He greeted, stretching. Freydis stepped around him to grab the cup of water gifted to her on the table, and proceeded to splash it ontop the Irishmans head. "Seven hells!" He shouted, jumping onto his feet soaking wet. "What was that for?!"

Freydis pointed to Sihtric, who systematically clarified; "Beomfleot."

The Irishman made an 'o'-shape with his mouth, and glanced over to Uhtred, to which Freydis grabbed his chin to direct his sightline back to her. "Do not look at him," she stated darkly, "explain to me, Finan, why was I not informed of Beomfleot?"

Uhtred walked over from the wall and placed a hand on Osferth's shoulder, directing the young man to stand up and follow; Sihtric was constructed to do the same. Soon enough, the room door was closed and the two Irish emigrants were left exclusively on their own. "Yu' hardly stand without quivering, lady!" He said, "Yu' cannot fight in a battle!"

Freydis placed a hand on her hip, "So, let me get this wholly; you deemed me unfit, and therefore instructed Sihtric and Osferth to deny me the knowledge of an upcoming battle?"

Finan tilted his head, guilt visibly overtaking his expression, "Lady..."

"Thus, you intended to up-and-leave without telling me, leaving me desolate in a city I have only just learned of, in a kingdom discredited toward its hostility with foreigners?"

Finan pushed by her, moving toward the stool where Sihtric previously sat. "I was going to come back for yu' when we took Beomfleot," he stated, looking toward one of the two remaining bowls of porridge. "Is that for me?"

Freydis nodded, taking the stool opposite to him. "I am going with you, Finan."

Finan took a bite of porridge, swallowing it before responding, "Respectfully, no yu' are not, lady."

Freydis laughed in disbelief, "You believe you hold authority over me, Finan?"

The Irishmans eyes softened at her tone, "Of course not, lady. But yu' cannot deny that yu' are still weak. Beomfleot is a strong city with over a thousand men; it would simply be too dangerous for yu' to fight!"

"That is not for you to determine," Freydis lowly retorted, "you envision me too frail, Finan. I may quiver, but I stand upright nonetheless. I cringe when I hold my seax, but I wield it nonetheless. My thighs ache, and pelvis agonize, but I ride that bastard horse of mine nonetheless."

"I–"

"I have known you hardly a month, Finan," Freydis continued, "you do not know who I am, or what I can handle. You do not know my swordskill, or resilience toward hegemonizing men. Whilst I do wish you come to learn these aspects of myself, and I, you, you have no authority over my actions, or lust for battle."

Finan frowned, "I understand that, lady. I did not intend to take authority of your actions, I know what it is like to be out of control. I am merely worried for you, lady. I do not wish to see you hurt."

Freydis leant forward, placing her palm over Finan's hand that rested on the table, "You will not see me hurt, Finan, for I have experienced will not be hurt. The Gods oversee my actions, and protect me from possible foe; how else can you explain myself being the lone survivor of my beloved Linnasburgh?"

Finan glanced at her hand, pulling his thumb over hers and caressing the uncallaused skin of the back of her hand. He looked up to her, smirking, "Luck."

"Fate," Freydis corrected, smiling. "And my fate continues to strengthen. Now, my fate guides me to follow you, Finan. You and Uhtred to Beomfleot, and wherever-more to gain the skill, and loyalty required to re-take Linnasburgh from the Danes."

Finan sighed, begrudgingly nodding his head. "Very well, lady," he said. He then looked very seriously into her eye, his expression fervent, "if yu' insist on joining us, yu' must acquire yourself something other than a saex."

Freydis laughed, the squint of her eyes and width of her smile causing the Irishman's heart to momentarily stop. "I can do that," she promised, taking her hand off Finan's and concealing her playful smirk with her cup of water, "not."

"Lady!"

"I jest!" She laughed, "I will retrieve a new weapon, I promise."

"Vow it."

She rolled her eyes, "I vow that I will get myself a new weapon before we leave Aegelesburg."

Finan huffed, "Good."

"Great." She retorted. Finan did not respond, but instead rolled his eyes as he took another bite of porridge. "I win!"

"I was not aware we were playing a game."

"And that is why I win," Freydis stated.

The Irishman scoffed, "Yu' cannot win a game if the other player is not aware that there even is one!"

"Welcome to the world of politics," Freydis mused, "just be grateful I hold no lands, or warriors over your head."

"Not yet," Finan smirked, sipping his water.

Surprised, yet flattered, Freydis nodded agreeingy, and took a deep breath before repeating the Irishman's veritable response. "Not yet."

Chapter Text

The winter air froze the rogue Irish princess to the core, prompting her legs to quiver and arms to stiffen as she held onto the reins of her horse. After days of riding they finally stood outside of Beomfleot, commencing the first stage of their plan to overtake the heavily fortified township. A fat Dane stood on top the ramparts with a shite-eating grin on his face, the seer Skade, and several men by his side; equally, Uhtred spoke to him with a lightheartedness that would, in due time, commence the second stage of the Dane-Slayer's plan. Uhtred had around thirty men, in the farthest row where Freydis stood were around eight on horseback with bows. Freydis wasn't particularly trained in bow-skill, but Uhtred had promised that she would not have to use them during the goading period.

When the goading was completed, Uhtred would challenge the Dane Hæsten to a ful-fledged battle across the field in the barest of fields and he, and his men would await Hæsten's arrival upon said hill. Then, only then, will King Alfred's aethling Edward reveal his five hundred troops from the wood and officiate the exchange of power of Beomfleot from Hæsten to Alfred. Uhtred, in his own victory, would reclaim his seer Skade and break the curse that preyed upon his soul.

"Lord Uhtred!" Called Hæsten, his voice feigning delight. He glanced at Uhtreds accumulation of thirty men, smirking at his view of an unloseable fight. "Such a frightening sight."

Uhtred scoffed, his demeaner laidback, "You are a coward, Hæsten. Hiding inside your fortress... When the priests of Eoferwic did rise, you fled? When Sigefrid attacked Alfred, you fled. And at the nunnery, again, you fled!

Hæsten spat off the ramparts, causing Freydis to grimace at the visible chunk. "I have your woman!" Hæsten declared, his feigned delight vanishing altogether.

Uhtred smirked, unaffected, "And as long as I live and breathe, she is still my woman." The Dane-slayer continued to goad, bored and flashing a smirk to his right-hand Irishman, "Fight me! I will wait for you in the clearing there. Bring a guard and no more, let us make the square and let the two of us fight."

"That is what you want, Uhtred, to die?" Hæsten inquired, leaning against the railing.

Uhtred sighed, "What I want is an end to this," he informed, "What is most likely to happen is you will remain a coward. You will remaind in your fortress," Finan and Sihtric ignited the cue to laugh, a bash intended to further anger the fat Dane of Beomfleot. "Song will be sung about your cowardice," he continued, "I shall pay for them to be written!"

Visibly angered, Hæsten ungripped the railing and chauffeured his fist to the hilt of his sword. "I am no coward, Dane-slayer! If death is what you want, then you shall have it!" Akin to his childish fury, the great fat Dane marched away to the cealment of the tower.

Skade followed her new master as Finan approached Uhtred, "Lord, the job is done." He stated, urging that they should move. Hesitantly, Uhtred nodded and turned his back to Beomfleot, and Skade, and his horde of thirty men followed the Dane-slayer into the field a couple yards from where Beomfleot lay. The group waited for what felt like hours, receiving no sign of Hæsten's wrath or Edwards' promised army. Finan paced back and forth with an eagerness of battle, shivering as snow dressed his armor and hair. Similarly, Sihtric paced with an akinness to a disappointed father; his hands clasped behind his back and spine upright to express superiority. Osferth sat on top of his shield, wrapped in the wool of his monk's overwear, and Freydis sat with her legs crossed in the snow; using the chill to soothe her aching thighs. Ogna, amongst the other horses, were hidden amongst the trees from afar to shield them from injury or death from the upcoming battle.

Freydis cupped her bare hands over her mouth, exhaling to allow the warmth of her breath soothe her freezing digits. Their entire ride from Aegelesburg to Beomfleot Freydis had worried over the concept of a battle, but now, with her fingers frozen and toes nearing amputation all she could think about was getting the fight over with, and standing by a fire. Finan, pausing his pace mid-step, glanced toward the seated Irish rogue, "Yu' alrigh'?"

The woman nodded, "Y-Y-Ye-Yes."

"It's been half a day!" Uhtred irritably stated, sighing.

Finan knelt down beside Freydis, taking her hands and sandwiching them into the warmth of his much larger ones. "Maybe he's scared of the priest." He mused to Uhtred, running his hands up and down Freydis' to provide extra warmth from the friction. Freydis sighed, and he looked at her, "Too much?"

"Not at all," Freydis replied. "Perfect."

Uhtred lifted his shield from the ground, turning from the direction of the castle; "We leave!"

Freydis swung her head back irritably, sighing. Finan chuckled and pulled her onto her feet from either hand, leaning over to grab her sword and shield so she didn't have to put her hands in snow. Gratefully, Freydis smiled and sheathed her sword onto her belt, and then attached her shield accordingly. It was uncomfortable, and particularly painful when horse-riding, but the Irish princess ignored her discomfort to prioritize the matter on hand; they were returning to camp, and she could finally get warm with a fire. As they walked in the direction of where they hid their horses, Osferth's voice broke out amongst the whistle of the winter winds, "Lord!" He eagerly called, "LORD!"

That is when Freydis heard it, the drum of a thousand feet. Horrified, Freydis turned to the foe approaching them; Hæsten led a horde of what looked to be a thousand men, and it coud have very well been so. The ground beneath the Irish princesses feet began to rumble, and the woman jumped when she felt a hand grab her elbow and pull. Uhtred's army of thirty sprinted farther to re-group appropriately, as if his group could dismantle Hæsten's loyal infinity. "Halt!" Uhtred called, and they all turned to face the approaching army. "Two lines!" He ordered, and Freydis was struck clueless as the men loyally realigned. Finan grabbed her elbow, directing her beside him in the front of two rows. "Shields up!" Freydis unhooked her shield, taking it in one hand with a sword in another.

Hæsten stopped a few yards ahead of them, directing his own men; "Surround them!" He stated, "Give them no escape! And then we will kill every last one of the bastards!"

Shouting in a simultaneous war cry, Hæsten's men shot out from either side and began encircling Uhtreds lesser group. "Turn!" Uhtred ordered, and his second row of men faced the opposite way. "Circle!" The front row arched, which the second row proceeded to follow. Freydis' breath quickened as she grew nearer to Dane Hæsten's right-hand, a long-haired rotten-toothed man he had once called Dagfinn. The ugly Dane smiled at her, his yellow teeth cracked and mangled with festering rot. Protectively, Finan placed a ready hand on her shoulder, sending a message the rotten Dane evidently understood; he smirked, bloodlust overtaking his eyes. "We hold!" Uhtred further commanded, his sword held at the ready. "We give them no ground!"

Nerved, Finan replied, "We've got no ground to give, lord!"

"Give up, Uhtred," Hæsten smugly commanded, "and the rest of you will live. All I want is the Dane-slayer!"

"What yu' will get, Hæsten, is my sword up yu'r hairy arse!" Finan retorted.

Hæsten laughed, "Got yourself a woman, Irishman? When I cut off your head I will be sure to add her to my collection of plundered women."

"I am no one's woman!" Freydis retorted, she did not understand the romanticization of a man taking claim over their wives when it functions in scenarios such as this.

Hæsten lifted a brow, dials visibly turning in his head as a giant, shite-eating grin sprouted along his mucky lips, "I see that now, princess," he said, a throaty-laughed emerging from his belly. "Join me now, Lady Freydis, and I will ensure no harm comes upon you. Otherwise, my men shall put you on your knees aside your traiterous companions, and you will meet a fate too premature for a beautiful prize such as yourself."

Freydis' face went red, a pool of irate blood thumping against the wardrums of her ears, "Fuck you, muc!" 'Pig.'

"Very well," Hæsten smirked, "swords at the ready!"

The Beomfleot's leaders men began cheering, raising their swords and axes over their head in eagerness for battle. "Lord, where is Alfred's army?" Sihtric urgently asked Uhtred, "Why are they waiting?"

Freydis turned to Finan, "If any man takes me, you must kill me, Finan."

"Lady, I cannot do that!" The Irishman replied, his eyes widened in haste.

"I will not be taken as a slave again," Freydis stated, "or a whore. If you do not kill me, Finan, I would face a fate far worse than any devil could provide."

Finan shook his head, "I will protect you," he said, "Edward will bring Alfred's men, and we will get the upper-hand. We will not die, Freydis. Yu' will not die."

Hæsten raised his own sword above his head, turning his horse in the direction his seer, and right-hand trotted off to. "I want the head of Uhtred Ragnarsson!" When he moved, the army encircling Uhtred and his men began to enclose around the defenseless horde.

"Stand fast!" Uhtred yelled, whereas Finan cried readily and Sihtric slammed his axe against his shield. Osferth stood in the center of the circle, not yet comfortable with the concept of killing.

Freydis glanced at Finan, and then looked toward a man that grew toward Finan with a greater speed. "Pointy end forward?"

Finan rammed the edge of his shield into the chest of the Dane opposite of him, lifting him up with brute strength and throwing him into the circle with Osferth. He then moved to slice open the belly of the man opposite to Freydis as the Irish princess turned, and threw her sword through the neck of the Dane attempting to stand following his near meet with a collapsed lung. She swung back around, using all her might to swing the blade of her sword into the shoulder of another man; she watched as blood spewed out from the sliced artery of his neck. She placed her foot on his pelvis, pushing him back into the man behind him to remove the dying meat from her weapon. From beside Freydis, Sihtric was thrown back into the circle with another Dane on top of him. Finan turned, stabbing his sword through the Dane's back and catching the tip into Sihtrics's shield as Freydis cut open the abdomen of the Norseman ahead of her.

Uhtred's circle rapidly diminished, the second row dying easier than the first. Freydis turned, protecting her back as Dane's now approached her from both sides. She swung her shield into the face of a tall Norseman, knocking him down and shattering his skull with its edge. Her arms grew heavy from wielding, and her fingers threatened to drop one of her weapons for the other; after a nasty hit to her elbow, it turned out her sword was the one destined to remain. She leant over in an attempt to reclaim her shield, but was forced to instead dodge a Dane coming at her with a battle axe. Finan swung around, slitting another man's throat with his saex before digging it into Freydis' attacker's neck. He was without a shield, too, a sword as well. He quickly held out a hand for Freydis to grab and she urgently took it, allowing him to pull her up and throw her into Finan's oncoming foe. She dug her sword into his chest, not stopping until the hilt of her sword was held back by his sternum; her blade dug into another man as well, making Freydis' swing a double kill.

"Are you well?" Finan urgently asked, making use of their few seconds of solidarity. "Your elbow..."

Freydis looked to her elbow to find the cloth of her tunic torn, replaced by torn skin and secreting liquid. "It is fine," she said, pointing behind Finan to alert him of a man coming forth. "We will take care of it when the battle is over – now fight!"

Freydis gripped her sword with either hand, and swung it behind her as if it were a massive sledge hammer. It dug itself into the side of a Dane fighting Sihtric, to which the Danish man quickly thanked her for. Toward the treeline a light glint caught the eye of the Irish rogue, and Freydis looked beyond the sea of fighting men to find another horde rushing forward on foot, and horseback. Noticing this as well, Uhtred slit a man's throat before shouting, "Edward! It is Edward and his army!" And as quickly as Hæsten determined Uhtred's swift defeat, the Danish lard was greatly outnumbered by soldiers of the crown.

Freydis ran toward Finan, not wanting to be trampled or accidentally killed by Wessex soldiers. The two Irish gallivanters stood back-to-back, fighting as such and butchering any man who came their way. In desperation, Hæsten sent more of his men into battle; his right-hand Dagfinn went directly toward Freydis on horseback. "He is on horseback!" Freydis yelled to Finan, urgently. "I cannot reach him with my sword, what do I do?"

"Cut down the horse!" Finan yelled, ramming his seax into the eye of a blond-haired Dane.

Freydis looked to the great black stallion, frowning with a clenched heart as she ran forward and drove her blade into its front leg. The horse let out a nettled scream, falling onto its front leg and collapsing onto its face. Dagfinn was forced off the great beast, and landed harshly on his head. The Irish rogue hadn't even had to fight him, for he lay unconscious in the mud being trampled on by his panicked brethren. Ensuring she was momentarily alone, Freydis walked over to the horse and inspected its wound – in its great fall, the leg had broken at the point of its cut. Whilst the cut could have been healed, the bone could not; cringing, she drove her sword into the center of its skull to put it out of its misery.

When she turned around she found the battlefield to be diminishing at a rapid pace. Hæsten had long abandoned his people, and half the people who lay on the ground were being put out of their misery like how Freydis had just done for the horse. Sihtric fought one last resilient man as Finan slit the throat of a different Dane. Uhtred and Osferth were nowhere to be seen; Freydis only hoped they were missing together, and not as corpses riddled across the sea of bodies. Swiftly, the Irish lady dodged the fist of an unarmed Dane and drove her sword into his abdomen, pulling it and his intestines out as she wrapped it around the neck of Sihtric's opponent and sliced his neck open. "Thank you," he quickly said, turning to jump into another fight.

The battle went as such for another thirty minutes, but for the last fifteen it was primarily Uhtred, and Alfreds men putting the last remaining fallen Dane's out of their misery. Sihtric emerged unhurt, amazingly, whilst Freydis had acquired a slice on her elbow and back, and Finan earned himself a nast cut on the center of his chest. Uhtred, as expected, was entirely uninjured; Osferth, on the other hand, could not be found. As Sihtric looked on one end of the field, Finan and Freydis searched through the area with the most toppled bodies. Freydis watched as Finan winced, "I can look for him myself," she offered, "you must get that wound attended to."

"It's fine," he gruffed, turning a Dane's head with his sword and sighing. "I've had worse. Yu', on the other hand, should get that elbow patched up. It has been cut open for far too long."

Freydis shook her head, looking toward a Dane that was toppled on top of another. Thankfully, Osferth was not there. "Mud is good for the wound, unless a man poisoned his blade I should be okay."

"That is just not how it works." Finan replied, appalled by what he was hearing. Freydis smirked, amused, but said nothing. "So, how was your first battle?"

The woman sighed, "Tiring."

"Well, that won't change for yu'r next." He mused, "I saw yu' killed a horse."

"I had too," she stated, "it was suffering with a broken leg."

He nodded in understanding, "The horses are the worst part. Killing a man is simple, but a horse? I wept my first time."

"I did not have time to weep," Freydis frowned, "And I am afraid I am far too exhausted to do it now."

Finan bristled, "Fair enough, lady."

"Just call me Freydis, Finan." Freydis sighed, "we have fought in battle together; does that not earn you the privilege?"

Finan opened his mouth to speak, but was instead interrupted by Sihtric running toward them. "I found him!" He panted, "He is injured, but alive. They brought him to the tents, Uhtred is there now."

Urgently, both Finan and Freydis rushed off with Sihtric to the tent Osferth was being kept at. Finan ran in first, pausing slightly at the sight before him. Freydis frowned; on the bed was Osferth smeared in blood, as if he were a poached pig. Finan fell to his knees, urgently pulling the monk's wools off. Osferth coughed, clutching his cross desperately as he looked toward his lord, Sihtric, and Freydis. "Did you see me fighting, lord?" Osferth asked, glancing toward Uhtred with a pained expression.

"I did," Uhtred calmly stated, "It was a sight to behold."

"Oh I hope I killed no man," he grunted, trying to rearrange himself to mask any pain.

Uhtred leaned over him, smirking, "You gave many a sore head."

Osferth coughed, unimpressed by Uhtreds attempt at a joke. "I feel cold."

Finan scoffed, "Because it is winter, yu' fool!"

Uhtred placed a hand on the monk's chest, "You were a warrior today, Osferth."

"Am I to die, lord?" Osferth gave his question a second thought, "I do not fear it."

Uhtred grabbed him by the chin, and Freydis cringed at the memories it brought forth. "I forbid it," he said keenly, then lightly slapped him on the jaw.

"You dare die, baby monk, and I'll kill you myself." Then stated the Irishman.

Osferth looked to Uhtreds right-hand, "Right. I'll try not to, then."

Uhtred then looked to Sihtric, and Finan, acknowledging Freydis with the slightest of nods, "We will return to Ætheflæ's estate. You will recover there."

"Yes, lord," Osferth nodded, his breaths ragged.

From beside Freydis, Sihtric spoke, "What of Skade?" Glancing at him, Freydis noticed a cut on his forehead that bled a line down his face, and over his eye. If it hadn't meant he was injured, Freydis would have thought it beautiful.

"She's been taken by Hæsten." Uhtred gloomy told.

"Then nothing has changed," Sihtric concluded, "We remain cursed still."

Uhtred turned, walking past the taller Dane, "I am cursed."

Sihtric looked to Osferth, glancing primarily to his wounds, "It touches us all, lord." Freydis hadn't the heart to interject, and state how mad they sounded; the gods of Norseman do not exist, thus, there was no curse casted upon the Dane-slayer. "It continues."

Sihtric proceeded to walk out the tent, followed by Uhtred who aimed to rejoin Alfred, and his aethling Edward. Freydis sat beside Finan, rubbing the monk's arm as he held onto the Irishmans chainmail. "Are you okay, Osferth?"

"I-I'm okay, lady," he replied, teeth chattering.

"Good," Freydis smiled, leaning her head on Finan's shoulder tiredly. "I have hardly gotten to know you, it would be a shame for this bastard to inform me of yourself."

Osferth laughed, coughing as Finan rolled his eyes with a disbelieving scoff. "I am an amazing story-teller, thank yu'."

"And I am a burly man."

"Yu've used that saying already!"

"Exactly," Freydis stated, lifting her head off his shoulder and looking him in the eyes. "And it is still untrue."

Beaten and battered, Hæsten returned to Hunstanton with scarce men and a fuming seer who hadn't any urge to be with him. He was quickly approached by Cnut, Skjold, Vikar, and Bloodhair – Hæsten jumped off his horse and yanked the blonde-haired seer harshly onto the hard, wintery floor. "Lord Hæsten, my friend," Cnut greeted, curious to Hæsten's apparant disheartyness.

"Cnut." Hæsten acknowledged, grabbing a pitcher of ale and pouring himself a much-needed cup. He noticed Bloodhair watching his woman intently, "You will point your cock somehwere else, Bloodhair. The woman is mine, make no mistake."

Skjold stepped forward, pushing past his right-hand, "What has happened?! Where are your men?"

"I have lost everything, bar what you see." Hæsten truthfully stated, his expression befallen.

Vikar scoffed, "You lost more than half your men!"

"And my man, Dagfinn." Hæsten sighed.

Cnut, ever-the calm, questioned him, "How?"

"Alfred lives, that is how." Hæsten angrily stated, "they came at night in their thousands."

"He lives?!" Cnut asked.

Hæsten took a sip of ale, "And Uhtred is with him."

Vikar took a step forward, "And of Freydis?"

Hæsten leaned back, an amused grin overtaking his expression, "You know she is gone?" Vikar growled, and he laughed. "Yes, Vikar, she is there too. She, in fact, killed many of the men lost in the battle."

"Impossible!"

"Not impossible," Hæsten dejected, "you underestimated your princess. Perhaps that is why she was allowed to escape so easily."

Vikar ran forward with his hand on the hilt of his sword, but Skjold held him back. The man looked to Hæsten, "Who says the bastard king lives?"

"I say!" Hæsten angrily stated, standing up. "I saw him on horseback, as strong as he has ever been."

Æthelwold, the Dane's English informant, scoffed. "That is a nonsense, it must be."

Hæsten stomped toward the smaller boy, "He lives!" He stated, splashing him with his leftover ale. "And half my men do not!"

Æthelwold looked to Cnut, "If Uhtred is with Alfred, then it is over before it has begun."

"I will take care of Uhtred," Vikar declared, stepping forward. "And that Irishman of his, too. I will re-claim my prize, no man will ever deny me that right."

"Nothing is over!" Cnut agreed, glancing toward Vikar. He then looked to the formulating crowd, "We are strong still!"

Bloodhair glanced back to Hæsten, "How did you come by Skade?"

"Skade's not important," Hæsten said, silencing the warlord.

Skade disagreed nonetheless, "Hæsten spared Uhtred."

"You will shut your mouth!" Ordered the Dane, his expression fervent.

"It's true," Skade continued.

"We do not care," Cnut nevertheless dismissed, not wanting conflict to arise amongst his men.

Skade smirked, "He could've easily killed Uhtred, and the princesses, but instead, he desired me. He thinks with his cock."

Bloodhair chuckled, and Hæsten stepped toward him, "You find that amusing, Bloodhair?"

Bloodhair looked toward the man with a disgruntled expression, "I've missed her sharp tongue."

"She is mine, I will lose nothing more!"

Cnut stepped toward Hæsten in face of his abruptness, "We are meant to be one army. Hæsten, rest. Then the five of us shall sit and decide how we are to proceed. A war council."

"I will not be joining you, Cnut," Vikar told matter-of-factly, "I shall instead be preparing some men to take with me to Beomfleot. I will retrieve my woman."

"That is fine, Vikar." Cnut stated, placing a hand on the taller Dane's shoulder.

Æthelwold took an eager step forward, "Then I shall join?"

Cnut scoffed, turning around and walking past the smaller lord toward the camp, "Æthelwold, another word from you and I shall take your head."

"Very well," begrudgingly agreed the Englishman. "Not another word."

Chapter Text

Freydis and Finan stayed with Osferth until the healer arrived, and tenaciously removed them from the tent so they could work on patching the monks' wounds peacefully. When they left the sun had begun to set, King Alfred had willfully re-taken Beomfleot and the wives, and children of Danes were forcefully removed from the premices in chains. Freydis watched with a frown as a woman struggled to hold her infant, her mealleability restrained from the shackles trussed around her wrists. The Irish rogue took a step forward, and the woman flinched at the sudden movement – carefully, Freydis held her hands out for the baby, a safe and reassuring smile on her face. Reluctantly, the Danish woman handed her baby over and Freydis held the sleeping infant in one arm as she gestured toward the woman's chains with the other, "Push them up your arm as far as you can," she instructed, "it will help with mobility. Also, when you can, tuck your sleeves under to prevent chafing." The Dane did as instructed, sighing in relief as her wrist bones were given rest from the persistent steel of shackles. When the woman was more comfortable, Freydis carefully laid the baby back into its mothers arms; "I bid you luck, miss," truthfully told the freed-woman, "you shan't suffer too much, King Alfred, as I have heard, is much kinder to his prisoners of war."

"Thank you, lady," the Danish woman spoke, her voice raw with grief; she had lost a husband, and two sons within the Battle of Beomfleot. "Truly. May Odin bless you in your adventures."

Freydis smiled kindly, watching the Dane off as her line of incarcerated wives was forced to move as they traveled unwillfully to a lifetime of servitude within the walls of Winchester. The Irish rogue flinched when a hand was placed on her shoulder, she turned to find Finan looking down at her with a small smile, "I did not know you were still here," Freydis sincerely stated, "your wound, it is not yet cared for."

"I tried searching for a healer, but they are all busy with the mortally wounded," he said, "does yu'r elbow still bleed?"

Freydis had truthfully forgotten she had a cut on her elbow, the woman quickly glanced at it to find it unbleeding, but plastered in dryed-old blood. "We will take care of our wounds in the city – I doubt Sihtric had his cleaned either, do you know where he would be?"

"Alehouse," Finan snorted, "c'mon, I'll show you."

Freydis nodded, allowing the Irishman to take her head and direct her into the captured city. It was much better well-kept than Dunholm, nevertheless, Freydis could tell it had been formerly Dane due to the overaccumulation of Odin statues, and piked goat heads outfront homes for protection. They had not lasted long, however, as Alfreds men destroyed and burnt whatever heathen-decoration they found, drunk with the reward of a won battle. A few soldiers nodded to Finan as they walked by, but the Irishman ignored their gestures as he opened the door to an alehouse with one hand and allowed Freydis through with the gesture of another. "Why thank you, kind sir." Freydis mused, courtsying at his playful bow.

The Irishman smirked, "I'll go grab a room – we'll need a fireplace to clease the wounds."

Freydis nodded, seeing him off to the counter as Freydis searched the alehouse for Finan. Toward a window, she found the Dane asleep with his head tipped back against the wood of a pillar. As she had hypothesized, Sihtric ignored his head wound and hadn't even gone as far to wipe the blood from his face. Smiling softly, the Irish-lady stepped over and sat beside him on the bench, she placed a hand on his shoulder and shook him arm, "Sihtric?" The young Dane swiftly inhaled, his head lifting up in alarm as she glanced around his surroundings. He calmed down when he noticed Freydis, and released the hilt of his axe that Freydis hadn't even noticed that he withheld. "Finan has got us a room," she calmly stated, "come up, I want to clean that cut of yours."

Sihtric sniffed, and nodded, standing up off the bench and following Freydis to where Finan stood readily by the stairs. "Mornin' sweetheart," teased the Irishman, smirking at Sihtric. "Sleep well?" Sihtric rolled his eyes and took the key from Finans hand, pushing past him to climb the stairs. Finan chuckled, and as Sihtric had just done, Freydis pushed past him to follow the Dane. "Oi!" She heard him call, "un-mannered barbarians..."

Freydis smirked but kept walking, following Sihtric into the room he had just unlocked. The room was small and windowless, having nothing but a bed, fireplace, table and stool. Nevertheless, Freydis happily took off her weighing armor and dropped it to the floor. Next, she unhooked her weapon-belt and hung it on a hook that hung from the wall. There was a pitcher of ale on the table, which the Irish rogue willfully took and poured herself a cup with. "Does anyone have a clean saex?" Finan pulled one from his pocket, flipping it in his palm before handing it to the Irish-lady by the hilt. Freydis smiled gratefully, and cut a strip of her tunic from beneath her second layer. Next, she dipped it into her unfinished cup of ale and moved to Sihtric. "May I?" Sihtric shrugged, most likely too tired to speak. Freydis moved her hand to his forehead and moved his hair back, getting a full view of the silver-sized wound a few inches above his eye. She dabbed the ale-soaked strip of tunic on the cut, inquiring, "How did you get this one?"

"Sword-hilt," he answered, cringing at the pain. "Someone swung their sword too far back, caught me right in the eye."

Finan laughed, "Good thing it wasn't the blade that caught ya'."

When the wound was directly cleansed, Freydis continued to wipe the dried blood and mud from his face. By the end of it, the cloth was black with grime. "I got off as much as I could," she said, "but you should still bathe. I do not doubt you are coated in filth."

"I've got no time," Sihtric said, standing up and stretching. "Uhtred wants me to keep watch on the ramparts – I am supposed to be up there now, but I... fell asleep."

Freydis smiled, "He will not blame you. Do try, moreover, to wash tomorrow. There are infections just fervid to fester." Sihtric smiled gratefully, and pushed aggressively by Finan as he took his leave. In return, the Irish bastard shoved him out of the door, to wish the Danish man laughed and slammed the door in Finan's face. "You two are childish."

Finan shrugged, "Pull up yu'r sleeve, lady, let me take care of that elbow."

Reluctantly, Freydis sat on the stool where Sihtric sat previously and pulled the sleeve of her tunic above her elbow. She cringed as the sound it made as she had to peel the fabric from her elbow, and cringed even further at the pain that engulfed her. Finan frowned, but stayed quiet as he grabbed a discarded window curtain and tore a corner off. Freydis gasped, "The innkeeper will be irked, Finan." She said, "That is why I cut off a piece of my tunic!"

"Well my tunic is too dirty," he chuckled, dipping the curtain fabric into the pitcher of ale. "This is going to hurt." Freydis nodded, and closed her eyes as the man placed the wet cloth against her sword-made cut. Her arm twitched, and she was forced to bite her inner-cheek to prevent herself from yelping in pain. When the woman stopped shaking, Finan proceeded to wipe the ale-soaked cloth up and down to discard any dried blood, or bacteria that sought to turn her blood poisonous. "Are you okay?"

"Perfectly swell." Freydis said, "My arm merely feels as if it were on fire."

"It will pass," informed the Irishman, "shall I go fetch a lady to help with the slice on yu'r back?"

"No, it is okay," Freydis said, "I would rather not waste any more silver." She then turned, looking him in the eye, "That is if you feel comfortable cleaning it yourself?"

Finan gulped, nodding. Freydis smiled, and turned back around whilst pulling her tunic up to her neck and shielidng her breasts with her soot-lathered arms. He carefully dipped the cloth in ale again before placing it flat against her back – it did not hurt as terribly as it did on her elbow, but the Irish rogue still shivered at the cold touch, and light pain that singed around her open cut. "There is most likely no bandages left," he informed, "we'll have to just make sure the cuts are kept clean."

"You've already destroyed the curtains," Freydis sighed, "we can use that."

Finan laughed, "The innkeeper won't mind; she's grateful we re-took Beomfleot. The Dane's were cruel to her."

"That does not mean we defile her property." Freydis scoffed, "now go cut a strip of curtain, will you? It is cold in here."

"Yes ma'am," Finan chuckled, without looking at the slightly-shirtless woman he moved toward the curtain and cut a long piece from the black fabric. With his hand covering his eyes, he swung back around and returned to his spot behind Freydis.

Freydis giggled, "I am covering my breasts, Irishman," she said, "you do not need to cover your eyes." Without her seeing, the man's cheeks rushed with embarrassment as he coolly laughed the woman's words off. He handed one end of the fabric to Freydis, and she pulled it around so he could grab it with his other hand. He then tied and knotted it, tightening the gall ontop the cut to cover it completely. "Ouch."

"All done," he said, "you can pull your tunic down."

Happily, Freydis did so as she turned to face him. They were practically nose-to-nose as her knees rested against his hips. The Irish rogue hopped off the stand, and moved out from ahead of him, "Your turn."

Finan shook his head, "I can take care of it myself, yu' go rest, lady."

"Freydis," The Irish-lady corrected, "and I will do it. I may need to burn it – your cut looks deep." Sighing, the Irishman sat down and pulled his tunic over his head, dropping it to the floor beside him. Despite his constant intake of ale, his belly did not protrude like most drunks. Rather, it was thin and sculpted; a thin layer of chest hair coating his chest, and trailing lightly to his belly button. Slicing above his nipple was a cut stretching from his collarbone, down to the center of his ribs – blood painted his torso, and dirt dressed the torn layers of his skin. Freydis cringed, "I will have to burn the infection."

Finan cringed, "Very well... have you done it before?"

Freydis nodded, taking Finan's clean knife and dipping it into ale before resting it at the fireplace and lighting a fire. "I have," she said truthfully, "I grew up in a den of heathens... brothers. My mother grew squeamish at blood, and my father hadn't a clue in medicine so it was left to me and my sisters to heal my brother's wounds. My eldest brother once annoyed my other brother so much that he stuck a seax through his hand – I had to burn his skin to stave off any infection, a grueling process, but not too terrible, for me, at least."

"U-huh," Finan grumbled, Freydis smirked as she wiped blood from his chest with her fresh strip of ale-soaked fabric. "Yu' must know then, that you only have to burn the deepest parts of the cut, yes?"

"I know, Finan," she sighed, wiping up the blood that began to bleed freely again. "Are you frightened?"

"Frightened? No." He laughed, "Dreading Satan's fire entering my insides? Possibly."

"I will ensure I am quick," Freydis said, she placed the blood-soaked cloth back on the table and moved to the fireplace. She grabbed the saex by its hilt, and removed the blade from the fire – it burned red, signaling it was ready to be used. She turned, carrying it over to the Irishman carefully, "Should I get you something to bite onto?"

Finan shook his head, closing his eyes as he gripped his hand on the table readily. Freydis moved forward, placing her hand on his shoulder as she angled the blade to enter the starting end of the wound by his collarbone, "Three... two–" she did not finish her countdown as she swiftly dug the burning blade into the hole. Finan growled, his teeth gritted and other hand reflexively gripping her elbow. Freydis cringed as his blood sizzled, and twisted the knife slightly to cover every aspect of any possible festering infection. After a few more seconds, she pulled out the blade and placed it on the table. Finan was breathing heavily, his face sheathed in sweat as his wound freely bled as if it were re-cut. Freydis placed a hand on his cheek, her fingertips resting on the lobe of his ear as her thumb carrested his upper cheekbone. "Are you okay?"

Finan gulped, nodding his head slowly, "I am," he said, looking up to her with bloodshot eyes and pollar face, "thank you."

Freydis smiled, "Drink some water," she instructed, pouring him a cup. "I shall cut some curtain to wrap your wound." Finan did as told as Freydis cut a piece of curtain, it lengthened nearly as long as her leg and she hoped it would fit wholly around Finan's chest. When she returned to the man he appeared stronger than before, having regained some strength following his strife with a burning blade. "Arms up," she instructed, sliding one end of the piece under his armpit, and the other over his shoulder. It only just fit, and Freydis tied a knot that rested by his neck. She proceeded to ball up another piece and tuck it into the area of his cut that bled the most, he cringed at the movement but did not make her stop. "All finished." She said, smiling softly. "How does it feel?"

"Sore," he told truthfully, standing off the bench and leaning down to grab his tunic from the floor. When he turned, Freydis caught sight of multiple scars lining the center, and edges of his back. She recognized them to be lash marks, having seen many on the boy-slave taken from Linnasburgh when she was first brought overseas to Northumbria. She gently placed her fingers against one as Finan straightened up, and he flinched at the unexpected touch.

Freydis quickly retracted her hand, "I am sorry, I did not mean to startle you."

"N-No, it's fine," he said, carefully stretching out his arms to put on his tunic. "I did not expect it, is all."

Freydis frowned as he avoided eye contact, "May I ask where you got them?"

Finan raised a surprised brow, "Sihtric did not tell yu'?"

"I suppose they relate to your meeting with Uhtred, then," she surmised, "I asked, but he told me I should ask you, for it was not his story to tell."

Finan nodded, slightly grateful for his Danish friend. "Well, uh, do yu' remember when I told yu' we are not so different from each other?" Freydis nodded, taking a seat on the edge of the inn's bed and listening to the Irishman as he sat across from her with the moved stool. "Well," he smiled softly, "I did not entirely mean it is because we are both Irish."

Freydis frowned as she was overcome with dread, "You were a slave as well?"

Finan nodded, "Five years," he said, "met Uhtred two years in, but I only knew him then as Osbert."

"That is why you helped free me?"

Finan nodded, "Partly, wholly because yu' intrigued me."

Freydis rolled her eyes, "Because I am a princess?"

"No," he shook his head, "because you were defiant. No matter what yu' were put through, yu' stayed strong-willed and confident. It was a sight to behold, truly, it took me a mere winter to lose all hope."

"Yet you stayed alive," Freydis smiled, leaning forward and taking him by the hands. "You survived five years, Finan, that is remarkable!"

"It is the will of God, I suppose," he said, smiling softly. "I was meant to serve Uhtred."

"How did the two of you get out?" She inquired, she tuly wanted to ask how Uhtred got in but determined it would be better for her to learn it from Uhtred rather than his right-hand.

Finan looked toward the fireplace, "Uhtreds brother Ragnar. He, Hild, Sihtric, Steapa, and a few other men had been tracking the slave ship we were on for months. He freed us, and then I killed our slavemaster. All of the other slaves chose to leave, but I stayed – Uhtred and I were bonded, and I was destined to serve him until the day I die."

"It was fate," Freydis smiled, "I thank you, Finan. For saving me. I am unsure if I have thanked you before – nevertheless, I want you to know how grateful I am. I am glad to have met you, for I would have lost hope in both life, and the Gods."

Finan had been bouncing his knee anxiously, and surprised Freydis when he stood up. "Your welcome, lady," he said, his notorious smug grin returning, "I am ravenous, shall we drink and eat ourselves into an oblivion together?"

Smiling, Freydis nodded, and the Irishman took her by the hand as he kicked out the fire in the fireplace and directed her to the door. When they returned downstairs, they had ordered stew and ale; moments later a group of Uhtred surviving men entered and joined them at their table. They drank, ate, fooled around, and bet all throughout the night – by the height of the hour, it hurt Freydis to laugh as she had been laughing so much already. Two of Uhtreds men left, retiring to the room they reserved in the inn across town. Furthermore, the next of Uhtreds men passed out on the floor with a stray cat sprawled sleepily on his chest. Freydis rested on the bench where Sihtric had sat hours before, resting her head on the pillar beside her with exhausted, fluttering eyes. Finan, long-asleep, rested his head on Freydis' lap as her hands unconsciously swept through his hair, and danced along the resting features of his face.

Chapter Text

The next morning, Uhtred awoke the sleeping warriors with a splash of cold water. Freydis took the brunt of the water, seeing as Finan was asleep in her lap. She sputtered in surprise, her head throbbing at the sudden jump that trailed her rude awakening. Uhtred grinned, looking at the Irish-lady and equally grinned at his right-hand who startled awake simultaneously. "We're leaving for Saltwic," he said, amused. "I want the two of you to lead with me."

"Couldn't you have... I don't know... shook us awake?" Freydis inquired, adding the last part when she noticed Sihtric standing behind the Dane-slayer. So much for the kindness she showed waking him up the night before.

Uhtred shrugged, "Not as fun." He looked to the Irishman, "Sober up, Finan. You will lead the line of prisoners."

"Yes, lord," The Irishman tiredly gruffed, nevertheless, he took a final swig of the leftover ale from the night before. When he finished, Freydis took the cup from his hand and stood up, splashing the last few drops in Sihtrics face.

The Dane laughed, "Your hair is a rat's nest."

"Says the bastard Beocca calls 'young man with rat-hair'," Scoffed Finan, standing up and stretching. "Lord, can we leave Sihtric behind?"

Uhtred rolled his eyes, re-positioning his cloak on his shoulders, "No, Finan. You two hurry up now, it is cold so take your furs."

"Aye, lord," Finan said, saluting the man as he danced around the rest of Uhtred's sleeping men. Freydis followed behind him, making less of a spectacle as she moved around the bodies. As they climbed the stairs Uhtred and Sihtric left, when Freydis entered the inn room she found it littered with dirtied cloth, and blood.

She frowned, "We should clean this up."

Finan shook his head, carefully placing his armor over his shoulders without unraveling the knot that protected his chest wound. "I paid extra, the innkeeper will clean it up. Take the fur blankets too, we can use them on the ride to Saltwic. It is cold."

Reluctantly, Freydis dressed into her discarded armor and re-attached her weapon belt to her waist. She then moved over to the bed, taking the top layer of furs and tying it around her neck like a cloak – she handed the other blanket to Finan, to which he did the same but with the blanket covering his head as well. When they returned outside Freydis was hit with a cool breeze that soothed the ale-induced ache in her head, nevertheless, the cold did not stay comforting as she climbed onto her horse Ogna and was pelted by the new wintery addition of freezing rain. Moments later, Osferth was carted to the head of the line in a wagon, and Finan was handed the chains that aligned the Danish prisoners to one another. And then they left, crossing the gates of Beomfleot and entering the trail that would bring them to Saltwic.

By mid-afternoon, the walls of Saltwic appeared over the hills they traversed. Freydis glanced at Finan, smiling at his huddled posture beneath the stolen blanket from Beomfleot. He returned the smile, and tugged the chain attached to the wrists of the leading prisoner; Dagfinn. Freydis grinned as the man stumbled, amused by the uncharacteristic predicament the Dane was stuck in. As they approached the gates, Æthelflæd greeted them eagerly from the ramparts – smiling in the particular direction of Uhtred. Entering, Freydis was greeted with the warmth of multiple ongoing fires – she eagerly jumped off her horse, handing it to one of Æthelflæd's guards and flattening her palms above the flames of the fire.

Soon enough, Finan found her and re-directed her into the warmth of an alehouse. They proceeded to eat stews and grains alike, drinking as they told stories from the Battle of Beomfleot to Mercia's fledgling soldiers. Uhtred disappeared, of course, moments later after Æthelflæd retired to her quarters, leaving his men to guard the prisoners in the alehouse and await his further direction into the night. Freydis now sat across from Sihtric, as the Irishman sat at the edge of a long table, "Osferth is resting," she informed them, "the healer redressed his wounds, and got him to eat some stew."

"Good," Finan tiredly stated, running a hand through his hair. "Your elbow?"

"No infection," she stated, revealing her own fresh bandages. "Go get your chest checked out, Finan, before you fall asleep."

"He cannot," Sihtric stated, begrudgingly eating a piece of bread. "Uhtred wants us to watch the prisoners."

"I'm sure he would understand if Finan redressed his wounds," Freydis frowned, "the cut was deep – a primal habitat for infesting bacteria." Sihtric shrugged, downing some more ale and rubbing his face to keep himself awake.

"I'll be fine, I've got a bastard's blood," Finan mused, "never got an infection before, and I never will."

Freydis rolled her eyes, "When I find you puking, poisoned with acidic blood, I will laugh."

The group of three stayed silent, and Freydis began to feel the exhaustion of sitting so still bearing down on her. Finan sat with his chin in the palm of his hand, his eyes sliding unwillingly shut before he would shake his head, and reposition himself into a less-comfortable position. Sihtric, better resilient to the exhaustion, stared off into space with a cup of ale in his hand he occasionally sipped on. As the sun began to set outside, Uhtred finally returned from his adventures with Æthelflæd; "How's Osferth?" He asked, removing his gloves from his hands.

"Sleeping," Finan replied, his voice gruff. Freydis smiled softly at the sound, finding it both amusing and beguiling. "As we should all be." Uhtred sighed, sitting beside Sihtric who avoided any eye contact. "Just as soon as he's recovered, we should attempt to recover Skade."

"Once again." Sihtric replied, his voice slurred from his intolerance to ale.

Finan continued, ignoring the Dane, "So long as she is free, lord, you are cursed."

"Skade is with the Danes," Freydis stated, "We cannot reach her, not unless we enter their camps ourselves."

Uhtred shook his head, "We will not chase her to our deaths."

Sihtric sighed, blinking lethargically as he turned to look toward Uhtred, "Death will find us regardless."

Uhtred tilted his head, "Do you have something to say, Sihtric?"

Finan noticed the growing tension between the two, "He does not."

Sihtric ignored him, not taking his eyes off Uhtred, "Except that enough of us have died already."

Freydis sighed incredulously, "You are a warrior, Sihtric. Death is a hazard."

Uhtred took his eyes off the Danish man, "I have decided to go to Ragnar, I must help him find peace."

Sihtric ripped another piece off of his bread, "All you will find at Ragnars graveside is ghosts."

Uhred ignored him, looking to Finan and Freydis, "You will keep watch of Æthelflæd and you will rest." He ordered, standing up to take his leave.

Sihtric sighed, "No man who serves Uhtred can rest," he said, "not until Skade is reclaimed."

Finan grabbed Sihtric by the shoulder, "Sihtric, you are drunk and you are tired."

"Yes." the Dane agreed, "I am tired of marching north and then south, of being called a traitor – of abandoning my wife! For what?"

Freydis grabbed Finan's arm anxiously as Uhtred approached Sihtric, and Sihtric stood face-to-face with him, "Then leave, boy." Uhtred said, his voice dangerously low.

The Irishman looked betrayed himself, "You don't mean that."

Uhtred did not take his eyes off of Sihtric, "If you are unhappy in my service, leave!"

Sihtric stood up, his anger exploding in a pandemonium of ire as he shoved his lord backward, "I have fought for you!"

Uhtred, unaffected, laughed, "You fight because you enjoy it!" Finan stood up and moved behind Sihtric in case the Dane went any further than shoving.

"You'd dismiss me as easily as this?" Sihtric asked, seemingly betrayed himself.

"Stay or go, I do not care." Uhtred mused.

Finan, ever the mediator, moved between them, "He does not mean that, he does care. Now let us all sit."

"Stay or go, Sihtric Kjartansson," Uhtred said, "It is your choice. Make it!"

Sihtric took a step back, and for a moment Freydis thought he would let up. Instead, he looked confidently back toward the Dane-slayer, "If you wish to make the square, Uhtred of Bebbanburg, let us do it."

Freydis stood, "Sihtric, do not be dramatic!"

"There will be no squared made," Finan agreed, "No fighting, just sleep! Jesus..." He turned to Sihtric, taking initiative, "Get the prisoners back with the pigs, bound."

Sihtric moved to listen but Uhtred called to retake his attention, "Sihtric! I will leave at first light, but I will return. And if you are here still... then I will kill you." With that, Uhtred left.

Finan shook his head at the Dane, "Why?"

"The two of you are ridiculous!" Freydis seethed, "dramatic-arses, truly. I cannot believe the amount of idiocy shared between the two of you!"

Sihtric growled, hitting a pitcher of water off the table and nearly into the shin of a guard. "He has cursed us all!" He yelled, looking at both Freydis and Finan. He continued to turn, and sat on the table with his feet on the bench in some bitter attempt to avoid looking at the two Irish emigrants.

Dagfinn, seated amongst the other prisoners, laughed, "She has cursed you all, and Uhtred allows it." He said, speaking of Skade.

Finan ran his hand through his hair as Freydis angrily poured herself some ale, "Shut your mouth."

"Abandon him, boy," urged the Dane, speaking to Sihtric. "It is your only chance. You are a Dane, first and last." Finan made a gesture, and the guard behind Dagfinn grabbed the Dane by the neck and slammed his nose into the table to silence him.

Freydis stood out of her spot on the bench, and moved around Finan to stand ahead of Sihtric. "He does not mean what he says, Sihtric. He will not kill you, he cares far too much to disregard you so."

"Yet he has done it." Said the Dane, sipping his ale.

"And you challenged him to a square," she said, "it is the instinct of man to prove who has a bigger cock – this was merely Uhtred's attempt at it. Nevertheless, it proves that Finan and I have the largest seeing as we did not start such a foolish quarrel."

Sihtric, despite the anger that pooled in his chest, smiled while looking down to his hands. "It doesn't matter any longer, if I stay he will kill me nonetheless." He looked back up, staring her in the eye, "Uhtred does not break his oaths."

"If I am not mistaken... I thought Uhtred was an outlaw of Wessex because he does sometimes break oaths." Sihtric did not speak, so Freydis smiled, "You will stay, Sihtric."

"And in the meantime tie the bloody prisoners in the pig pen." Finan chimed, snatching Sihtrics ale from his hand.

Sighing, Sihtric did as told and Freydis took his seat on the table, crossing her legs in the process. "That was fun," she mused, "I want to skewer myself now." Finan chuckled, stretching his arms out and lying his head on the inner-arm of his elbow. "This is not your bed."

He shrugged, "Close enough."

Freydis rolled her eyes and hopped off the table, "You are not sleeping in an alehouse again," she said, "you complained the entire horseride of a backache, I will not go through that again."

Finan groaned as Freydis took him under the armpits, and tried with all her might to pull him off the bench. "Alrigh', alrigh'!" He said, standing up. Freydis nearly fell over from all of her unutilized momentum but Finan quickly caught her.

"Thank you." She chortled, "do you have nails in your arse or something?"

Finan rolled his eyes, suppressing a laugh as he grabbed her by the hand and lead them both out of the alehouse.

When Freydis woke up the next morning, she was appalled to find that Sihtric had left in the night with all of the Beomfleot prisoners. She was so upset that she could not face the idea of eating breakfast – so she skipped it, and instead went out to the woods outside of Saltwic. Before leaving she had acquired herself a cup of ale, a wooden bowl filled with water, a candle, piece of silver, and a woven bead Sihtric had gifted her moments before their initial ride to Beomfleot. She planned to pray to Dagda for the Dane's safety, no matter how angry she truly was with him. The Irish rogue placed the bowl of water on the forest floor, placing the lit candle in the center; "His harp, Four-Angled Music: it guides me, His club, Lorg Mór, protects me," she began, dropping the piece of silver into the flame of the candle, "His cauldron, it fulfills me, as I pray and offer to Him. May my devotion be done in Duty and Truth." She then placed the bead into the water, careful it was not close enough to burn. "Bíodh sé amhlaidh!" 'Be that as it may!'

Freydis looked to the sky, observing the forest roof above her and smiling at the bridge that intercepted into the grass below. "Dagda Mór, Please accept this Offering!" She yelled, gesturing to the bowl of water, fire, and silver. "Dagda Mór, alert all of the Gods and Godesses as I ask You this. O' gracious Lord of Lords," she began, "thought he is not loyal, or devoted, protect my dear friend Sihtric Kjartansson with all thy Might. Watch over him with care, so he may avoid dangers snare. Hail Lord-King, Protector of Worlds – banish all evil from his sight. Silence whatever greed enswarmes Lord Balor, and sent it away from my dear Sihtric Kjartansson. So it is and So it mote be!" Freydis looked to the wooden bowl ahead of her, and lifted the candle from the water – dipping the flame into the Offering. "Thanks be to the Kindred Three, let the ways be closed. Bíodh sé amhlaidh!" 'Be it so!'

The crunch of a branch caused the Irish rogue to swiftly turn, and she jumped to find a giant pair of boots standing behind her. However, she quickly identified them as Finan's and looked up to watch the Irishman, "Gods, Finan, you scared me half to death!"

"Yu' should carry a seax if yu' leave the estate alone," he said, kneeling down and dropping the blade into the grass. "What are yu' doing?"

"Praying," she said, feeling blood rush into her cheeks. "For Sihtrics safety and protection."

"Who did you pray to?"

"Dagda, the Lord of Lords," Freydis answered, "however, I requested he spread my prayer amongst all of the Gods. If Sihtric has gone where I think he has... he will need the protection of all of the Gods."

"Would the prayer extend to him?" Finan inquired, curious. "He is a Danish pagan."

Freydis bit her inner cheek, "I relayed that to Dagda already, so I hope He will abide by my request.

Finan smirked, leaning closer to the Irish rogue, "Did you pray for me?"

Freydis saw the game he was playing, and copied his actions by getting even closer. "No."

"Pity," he gulped, sitting back uncomfortably. Freydis frowned, but said nothing. "Does yu'r creed have a heaven and hell?"

Freydis nodded, "We do, Tír Tairngire is our Heaven; Albios. Tír fo Thuinn is our hell; Dubnos. And Tír na mBeo is the overword; our world."

The Irishman wrapped his arms around his knees, "What is Albios like?"

Freydis opened her mouth to speak, but cut herself off before she could say what she wanted too – instead, she tilted her head with a smirk, "You wish to know about paganism, Irishman?"

Finan laughed, "Because I do not believe it does not mean I am not curious."

She nodded, "I will tell you if you do something for me in return."

He piqued a curious brow, "What is it?"

"Swordskill," Freydis answered, "I want you to teach me swordskill, and in return, I will teach you of the Gods."

"Yu' already know swordskill!" The Irishman incredulously stated, "was Beomfleot a mere accident?"

"I know the basics," Freydis informed, "but I do not know proper dueling swordskill – not enough, at least."

"I will teach yu'," Finan agreed, "but why do yu' ask me now?"
"I wish to challenge Vikar to a square."
Finan was silent, his expression apparent with surprise, "What?"

"Do not tell me 'no,' Finan," Freydis frowned, "I will fight him, and I will kill him. If you do not wish to teach me I will ask someone else."

He raised his hands in surrender, "I will teach you, just... couldn't we just break into his camp and kill him in his sleep?"

Freydis shook her head, "I want all of his men to witness his demise – I want Skjord to see."

"Cruel," Finan muttered, grinning, "I like it. Then, when you kill him, I will take the balls off of the bastard and tie them around Vikars neck."

Freydis unexpectedly stood, "So, we are in agreement?"

Finan stood, using her hand to help himself up before shaking it in agreement, "We are. Now will you tell me what Albios is like?"

Freydis smirked, releasing his hand and turning to lift up the supplies she had brought from Saltwic, "How should I know, Finan? I have never been there."

Chapter Text

Freydis' arms weighed heavy as she carried her sword with one hand, and her shield with the other. She, and Finan, had been practicing swordskill since the early morning – it was now well past lunchtime and the Irish-lady was heavily regretting her decision to negotiate with the virtuous bastard. Freydis side-stepped as Finan swung his sword in her direction, she turned in the mud with her foot catching on a stone as she then blocked her back-end with her shield and swung her own sword back at the Irishman. He caught it in his shield, and tugged to the point that Freydis was hastily unarmed; before she could have a moment to prepare, she felt the point of a blade pressed against her jugular to which she sighed angrily.

"Dead." Finan smirked, "What did yu' do wrong?"

Freydis lifted her foot out of the mud, losing her shoe in the process, "I agreed to practice swordskill with a bastard."

"Ha-ha," Finan mocked, "yu' kept yu'r foot in the mud to avoid getting yu'r foot dirty, lady. In a swordfight yu' cannot worry about such atrosiousness."

Freydis rolled her eyes, hopping on one foot as she leaned down to retrieve her boot from the sunction of the mud. "Good to know – I'll be sure to apply this knowledge to our practice tomorrow."

Finan shook his head, "No, we keep going. We may not be here too much longer, we must practice before Uhtred gets back and tells us where to go next."

Freydis sighed, "Fine, Finan," she said, strapping her boot back around her foot. "But after all this I must be the greatest warrior to ever live."

The Irishman smirked, and stood at the ready with his sword in his left hand and shield in his right. Freydis, equally, cracked her wrists to relieve some pressure before mimicking his actions in a ready stance. Over their course of training, there had been many onlookers – most of which had been intimidated men subjugated by the concept of a woman wielding a sword. Finan took a step forward, swinging his sword backward as Freydis lifted her own protectively to counteract his attempt. She drew back her sword, allowing his to collide with her shield as she swung the blade at his legs. Finan jumped, knocking her sword out of her hands with the smack of his shield and placing his blade, again, against her neck. He laughed, "How did yu' survive the battle, lady, if yu' are so easily defeated?"

Freydis' face flushed red, "Quiet, south." 'Bitch.' "I am tired, Finan. I cannot fight well if my arms challenge to deceive me!"

"And what does that matter?" He inquired, "do yu' think a warrior has never grown fatigued in battle? Do yu' think I have never grown fatigued in battle?"

"If you had I would be particularly rested as of right now."

"Ouch," Finan mused, clutching his heart. "Sinful, lady. Truly."

"Freydis," the woman begrudgingly corrected, "do stop calling me 'lady', Finan. Or I shall begin calling you 'lord.'"

Finan rolled his eyes, "Will yu' be less pissy if I allowed yu' lunch?"

Freydis crossed her arms over her chest, "Are you insinuating that food will beget me deftly tolerable in your grueling practices?"

The Irishman tilted his head, wearing a shite-eating grin that encouraged the Irish-lady to throw a mud-pie in his face. "We could always skip lunch, as I had planned."

Freydis' nostrils flared, and she discarded her shield in the mud with her sword balanced on top. "I will eat, and if I am able – I will rejoin you in practice. Otherwise, I will condemn you until I am no longer irate."

Finan piqued a brow, "Yu' are the one who asked me to help yu' practice, remember?"

"Unfortunately," she said, "and for that I will teach you of the Gods. Are you eating, or shall I leave you in the mud?"

Finan placed down his gear just as Freydis had, and walked beside her as they rejoined the inn of Æthelflæd's Saltwic estate. "I will eat," he agreed, "Have you seen the Lady Æthelflæd today, as of yet?"

Freydis opened the door, allowing Finan through before closing it and barring the wood to prevent any cold entering the fire-warmed alehouse. A coterie of Mercian guards sat at a table drinking, and betting against one another with silver and gold pence. "Broðer!" A drunken man called, then looking to Freydis who walked beside the Irishman, "Sweostor! Join us!"

Finan laughed, softly wrapping his fingers around Freydis' newly-healed elbow as he directed them toward the table of drunken guards. Freydis side, much preferring to acquire herself some ale and stew than joining whatever charade the Mercians amused themselves with. "Æsc," Finan greeted, "what game are we entertaining?"

Freydis looked toward her companion accusingly, "We?"

"We are betting," said another man, "enter two silver into the pool and you can join us! One for yourself, and one for your woman."

Freydis glared at the rodent-eyed bastard, "I am no one's woman, bó." 'Cow.'

As Freydis corrected the cunt, Finan had dug into his pocket and pulled out two pieces of silver as directed. She crossed her arms, raising a brow, to which he answered, "Yu' go first."

Freydis rolled her eyes, but obeyed, "What are the rules?" She inquired.

"Pick a number through one and twenty," Æsc directed, "if you roll a number within two digits you get the entire pool."

Freydis nodded, lifted four dice out of a wooden bowl and shook them in her hands as she chose a number. "Twenty," she chose, throwing the dice in the bowl. All of the men crowded around the dice, counting the dots that appeared upright. Having counted them already, she frowned, "fourteen." She turned to Finan, "There goes your money, Irishman."

Finan ignored her, taking the dice within his own hands for his own turn, "Ten," he chose, throwing the carved-cubes in.

Freydis leant over, quickly counting the numbers. She raised her eyes in surprise, "Seven!"

"Bastard!" Finan swore, grabbing the rodent-eyed Mercian's jug of ale for himself. He looked toward Æsc directly, "I'm neva' betting with yu' again, Mercian."

Æsc grinned mischeviously, "Farewell, Irishman!"

As Finan turned toward the door leading into the kitchens, someone slammed their cup against wood. Swiftly, both Irish-travelers unsheathed their saex's and turned toward where the sound originated, "I need ale, slave!" Ordered the culprit; Osferth. Freydis grinned, trotting toward him as Finan took a last swig from his stolen ale and handed it toward the wounded Saxon.

"I see you are doing well, Osferth." Freydis grinned, "Sleep well?"

"Like a baby," he grinned, looking toward Finan who glanced out the window. "What is it?" He inquired.

Freydis' heart stopped, "Is it Vikar?"

The Irishman did not speak, and eagerly moved toward the door of the inn. Timely, the door swung open to reveal Uhtred Ragnarsson dressed in an overabundance of furs with snowflakes tied into the microscopic hairs. "You're back!" Finan excitedly stated.

"I'm back." Uhtred grinned, hugging his brother.

Finan laughed, "That's good!"

Freydis walked toward him, smiling and greeting him with a nod. "How did your travels fair, Uhtred?"

"Cold," he answered, displaying a contradicting smile, "miserably cold."

"Fair enough," she smiled, "the Gods appear not to sympathize with mortal quarrels. Nevertheless, your trip was well?"

"Aye," he nodded, turning to Finan. "Sihtric... is he here?"

Freydis frowned as Finan looked to the ground, "Uh, gone."

"Long gone," Freydis chimed, "and with the prisoners."

Uhtred nodded, glancing to Osferth who pressed a hand against his healing ribs as he stood to his feet. "I know what I must do now," he stated to no one in particular, now glancing at Osferths attempt to support his wounds. "Still alive then, Osferth?"

"Of course," Osferth smiled, allowing his lord to pull him into a hug.

Freydis jumped as a hand was placed on her shoulder. She turned to find Æthelflæd watching Uhtred, overlooking the scare she had given to the Irish-lady. Moments later, the two nobles embraced and Finan knowingly prepared them all a clear table. A barmaid brought over bowls of meat and cheeses, placing them down for the visitors to snack on. Freydis leaned into Finan, whispering, "He has said nothing about Sihtric," she acknowledged, "does he not care?"

"He does," Finan promised, stealing someone's furs that hung on a hook and wrapping them around himself. "But he mustn't distract himself – Sihtric chose to leave, we cannot do anything about it now."

"He did not choose," Freydis frowned, "Uhtred threatened to kill him if he stayed, he left to save his life!"

Finan shook his head, "They were quarreling, lady. No one was going to kill anyone."

She sighed, sitting down beside him, "It did not appear that way, lord."

He rolled his eyes, "Eat, Freydis. We will discuss this later."

Begrudgingly, Freydis reached her hand out and acquired herself some cheese chunks, and sliced bore. Uhtred and Æthelflæd, finished with their private conversation, sat at the table across from them as Osferth sat at the end on a better-positioned barstool to fit his needs. "We must destroy this curse," Uhtred began, "has there been any news on Skade?"

Freydis shook her head, "Nothing," she said, "she is still with the Danes."

Finan spoke next, his voice fearfully low, "Reaching Skade will be near impossible, lord. She is in the middle of two-thousand Danes or more."

Uhtred did not look at him, instead, he ripped a piece of bread off of his loaf and placed it in his mouth. "It can be done." He merely stated.

Osferth piqued a brow, "How?"

"With God's help." Replied Uhtred, looking toward the monk. Æthelflæd glanced at him curiously, and Uhtred smiled. "I am kidding, I've yet to decide."

Æthelflæd rolled her eyes, "When?"

"As soon as I am rested," answered the Dane-slayer.

"As soon as you are rested," Æthelflæd began, her voice authoritative. "You will walk with me. That is a command."

The Lady of Mercia continued to stand up, placing another hand on Freydis' shoulder as a 'goodbye', before smirking at the Dane-slayer and taking her leave. Finan coughed, blinking away his surprise, "Uhtred," he turned to his lord, "Sihtric's departure–"

"Betrayal." Osferth corrected.

Freydis glared at the monk, "Departure."

Finan ignored the two, "It had disturbed the men," he said, "They feel that you are to share the blame. You and your quest for Skade."

"A few have left already," Freydis stated, "the others, they become less and less eager to stay."

Finan nodded, continuing, "Some may not want to go looking for her all over again. Think on it."

Uhtred nodded, finishing his loaf of bread before standing up and leaving after Æthelflæd. Freydis glanced at Finan, "Will he listen to you?"

"Most likely not," the Irishman truthfully told. He then smiled, "But you have gotten what yu' wished for." He stated. "An evening off."

Freydis smiled, looking toward the ceiling of the alehouse, "Praise the Gods!"

Uhtred returned hours later, pushing through the doors and drawing his men to urgency. Finan, who had been resting with his head on the table, jumped onto his feet lethargically and nearly stumbled onto his head. Freydis, prepared to catch him, grabbed the back of his chainmal and pulled him into your chest. He laughed, startled, "Yu've saved me," he said, "thank yu', kind shieldmaiden."

Freydis rolled her eyes, pushing him off of her with a contradicting smile. She glanced at Uhtred who held an unfamiliar man in his grasp with the Lady of Mercia, coated in blood, following him. "Finan," Uhred called, lifting a pair of bone-pliers from a different table and throwing them to the Irishman. "Heat them up, we are going to need them."

"Lord." Finan nodded, moving toward an active fire and placing the steel pliers on top of the heated flames.

Uhtred forced the man down to sit, and Finan sat opposite to him whilst balancing the pliers readily. The man, wide-eyed, spoke, "Ask me anything and I will give you the truth," he pleaded. "I swear."

Freydis stood behind Finan, giggling as she chewed the cuticle of her nail, "Brave man." She mused.

The Saxon prisoner glanced between Finan, who weld a fire-torture device, and Freydis who bore a shite-eating smirk. "I am no fool."

Uhtred looked down at the man, "You were at Dunholm," he stated matter-of-factly, "You are Æthelwold's man."

Freydis frowned as the Saxon nodded, looking to Uhtred, "I am, lord."

Finan tapped his foot on the ground, leaning forward, "He has sent yu' here to do what?"

The man glanced between Finan and Freydis, finally allowing his eyes to permeate on Uhtred, "To kill you, lord." Uhtred scoffed, crossing his arms. "And I am glad to have failed,"

"Miserably." Finan mused, Freydis rested against the Irishman with her hands on top of his hair, and chin on top of her hands.

The man raised his voice, "I am glad!"

"Do not raise your voice," Freydis stated, "It is ugly."

"I would like to see my wife and children once again," the man pleaded, "is that so wrong? When we left Winchester I did not know we were going to the Danes."

Æthelflæd approached with her arms crossed, "Why did Æthelwold send men to kill Lord Uhtred?"

"Because Uhtred is Alfred's sword and shield," the man honestly informed, "Have mercy, lady. I had no choice."

Freydis straightened her posture, approaching the bound man. "Did you bare chains, ser?"

He scrunched his bald head, creases appearing on his forehead. "I did not."

"Did Lord Æthelwold threaten your wife?" She asked, "Your children?"

He shook his head, "N-No."

Freydis smiled kindly, kneeling in front of him and resting her hand on his knee. "Did he promise you riches? Titles? Reputation?"

He gulped, nodding. "He did, lady."

Freydis' kind smile fell, and she removed her hand from the elder man's knee. "Then you were not forced, ser. You did have a choice." She stood up, looking toward Æthelflæd and Uhtred. "And what shall we do with that information?"

Uhtred thought for a moment before looking at the bound, shaking man, "Offa, you will carry a message to the Danes and I will let you live."

Freydis returned to her previous spot, resting against the Irishman just as she had, "Pity."

Uhtred continued, "Your family in Winchester will be my hostages should you be tempted to lose your way."

"No, lord!" Offa fearfully exclaimed. "Y-Yes, lord. What is the message, lord?"

"You will return to Æthelwold and to Hæsten, Cnut, and Bloodhair," Uhtred explained, "You will tell them that Uhtred of Bebbanburg is coming as a shadow-walker, and they will die as my brother died. I will send them all to Niflheim."

Offa nodded, "I can do that, lord. I swear."

"You will do that," Uhtred said matter-of-factly. He stood off the table he sat on, turning to his men that silently, and earnestly listened to the interrogation before them. Finan stood, mimicking his actions as Freydis positioned herself beside Osferth in the background. "Like Sihtric, some of you may doubt me." Uhtred said, speaking to his remaining men. "I understand why. There have been times of late when I have doubted myself. Those times are behind me now, I am a lord without wealth, without land. I cannot offer silver, nor the walls of a fortress behind which you can grow fat and lazy. Follow me and I will take you down a hard, brutal path. But it is a path that leads to one thing every true warrior desires; reputation. Follow me and you will have my sword, and my oath. For whether you are Dane or Saxon, I swear I will die to protect each and every one of you. My mind is clear about what must be done, but I cannot do it without you."

Uhtred's men glanced between each other, and one-by-one stood on their feet. The Dane-slayer grinned, and turned to look at his Irishman who wore an identical, proud expression, "I think they are with yu', lord. We all are."

The next day, Uhtred awoke his men at dawn; they would be leaving Saltwic for the Mercian town Crowland. Breakfast between Uhtred, Finan, Osferth and Freydis was quiet, an obvious element missing from their midsts. Once they were done, they prepared to leave – Osferth was not meant to be going with them. Nevertheless, the stubborn monk approached them dressed in furs, with his gear strapped to his back and rode with them anyway. Freydis was forced to return to her forsaken horse Ogna, who had grown fat and stout since their arrival to Saltwic, and hurt her legs even more as Freydis had a larger expanse under her arse.

Moments after leaving Saltwic, a new horde of travelers approached. Vikar, assisted by eight other men, nodded for his rider to ride forth and snatch a Saltwic spy from the wood. When the Dane returned with a frightened Mercian in his company, Vikar grinned, "What is your name?" He inquired, twirling a saex between his fingers.

"Alnoth." The Mercian spy answered, shaking.

"Alnoth," The Dane said, cringing at the complexity of the Saxon Dane. "Have you ever heard of the Dane-slayer?"

The spy hesitantly nodded, "U-Uhtred Ragnarsson."

"Presicely!" Vikar smiled, clapping his hands together. "I had recently acquired information telling me Uhtred Ragnarsson, and his men, are currently residing at a Mercian village known as Saltwic. Is this Saltwic?"

"Y-Yes, my lord," the Mercian answered, "b-but Uhtred is no longer here."

Vikar's smile fell, "Well, where is he, then?"

"He left this morning," Alnoth said, "please don't kill me." He begged.

Vikar ignored him, "Who was he accompanied by?"

"His Irishman, monk, and woman, along with some of his guards." Alnoth stated. "I have a son and a daughter, both without a mother – please show mercy, lord!"

Vikar's expression did not change, "Where are they heading now?"

"Lord, please!"

Vikar swiftly lunged forward and pressed the point of his saex against the spies neck, "Where are they heading? Tell me!"

"Crowland!" The spy cried. "They are going to Crowland. That is all I know, I swear!"

Vikar nodded, studying the mans pleading bloodshot eyes. "I believe you, Alnoth. Truly, I do."

"Bless you!" Alnoth praised, "I will be let go?"

Vikar sighed, "No, you will not." He turned to his right-hand, "Ubbein, kill him and string him up. We will allow the Mercians to stumble upon their man when the time comes."

"Yes, lord," Ubbein stated. Before the Christian could plead, Ubbein pulled back the string of his bow and released an arrow into the jugular of the man. Blood poured from his neck, and his face grew sickly white before he sputtered, and fell flat on his face dead.

Vikar turned to his men, "Set up camp! Rest the horses, and yourselves – when the sun begins to set, we will travel to Crowland without stopping." He turned back to the corpse on the ground, his face contorting in a shrill of disgust, "I will retrieve my princess, and no man can stop that."

Chapter Text

Freydis let out a shriek, laughing as Ogna threw her off her back and into the mounds of snow trailing the path to Crowland, Mercia. "I cannot believe it," giggled the Irish rogue, sitting up in the powdery snow with a wide grin plastered across her rosy-cheeked face. "Never before have I met a horse so appalled by snow!" They had been traveling for a day already, and as they camped in the woods overnight it had begun to snow. The entire morning had been a struggle of packing up snow-soaked gear, and trudging through unshoveled snow – to top it off, Ogna the horse appeared to despise the cold substance touching the leg above her unfeeling hoof.

Finan, who had trailed back from the rest of the group to aid his fellow Irishman and her indelible stallion, had jumped off his own horse laughing. "How many times are yu' going to let the beast throw yu' off before givin' up?"

The Irish-lady laid back, throwing her arms out as she allowed the powdery substance to shape around her, "I am not abandoning my horse, Finan. I will simply have to clear the path of snow – do you have a shovel I could use?"

The Irishman rolled his eyes, holding out a hand for her to grab so he could pull her up. Hesitantly, she allowed him to do so. "I have an idea," he gruffed, "but yu' gotta trust me."

"I was going to trust you," Freydis started, a curious eyebrow piqued, "but then you told me I must – what are you planning, Finan?"

The man smirked, not releasing her palm as he pulled her back to Ogna who anxiously tranced around his own horse, wanting to run but loyal to her mercurial equestrian. Hestitantly, Freydis allowed the man to place his palms under her boot as he thrusted her up onto her horse. The Irish-rogue quickly straddled her stallion, indifferent to the prospect of the beast running or throwing her off again. Freydis watched as the man then proceeded to unsheathe his sword, "Finan..." she mused, her voice troublesome. "What are you doing, Irishman?"

"Trust me." He repeated, smirking, "Irish-lady."

As Freydis rolled her eyes, the man poked the tip of his sword into the back thigh of her horse causing the mare to whinny, and run. She quickly gripped the reins of the horse, tightening her legs around the beast as Ogna uncaringly hastened through the snow. When Freydis straightened her path, quickly approaching the rest of Uhtred's party, she looked back to find Finan closely catching up on his own ashy-grey beast. "You bastard!" She yelled, her wide grin disclosing her true sentiment. As she quickly approached Osferth's horse, she pulled on the reins to slow herself down – by then, the path had been shoveled as the town's walls were just moments away.

Osferth turned back, bearing an amused grin at her, and the Irishmans antics. "Ogna finally got used to the snow?"

"Not particularly," Freydis grinned, her nose apple-red from the whipping breeze. "She still loathes it – but she loathes Finan's sword even more."

Freydis, Osferth, and now Finan stopped as Uhtred spoke to the guards of Crowland, informing them of their intentions of visiting the prosperous Mercian city. "It was a little poke," the Irishman gruffed, "didn't even break skin!"

"I am not angry," Freydis truthfully stated, "merely grateful I am no longer quivering in the snow."

Osferth shivered, "I'm so cold I would hug the bloody Devil."

"That's sinful, baby monk," Finan gruipped, "careful, He is listening!"

Freydis scoffed, "No one listens, monk. Do not let the Saxon-bastard fool you, dieties do not care who you mingle with, but merely the actions you choose."

Osferth looked to the Irish rogue with a deadpan expression, "I am a monk, Freydis. I am the last one you should argue with over the existence of God, or the Gods."

The gates to Crowland opened, and Uhtred summoned Finan to his side as they entered the Mercian city. They passed the gates and handed their horses to a stable-lady, following behind Lord Uhtred as he unworriedly strided past the onlookers. Finan glanced around to the surrounding citizens who watched them warily, "Everyone here is as fat as a buttered bishop," he stated, wearing an expression of disgust.

Freydis looked up at him curiously, "A buttered bishop?"

He nodded, "A buttered bishop." The Irishman proceeded to elbow the monk, pointing over to a woman bent over a well as she lifted out a bucket of water. "Do you have a problem with that?"

Freydis huffed in annoyance as Osferth grabbed the Irishmans arm, rolling his eyes as he re-directed his path. "Do not be ugly, Finan. She has a husband."

Finan peered down at the woman, "How do yu' know that?"

Freydis lifted her hand up to his bearded chin, redirecting his eyeline to a stout man in chainmail, holding a young infant as he rebuked a younger soldier for staring at his woman, "No man shows such vexation for a woman he does not claim as his own." Finan grunted, amazed. "Besides," she smirked, "I watched her hand him their son as we entered, it would be foolish to trust a stranger, nevertheless a warrior, with a baby."

The Irishman grunted, "What is wrong with a warrior with children?"

"Nothing," Freydis said, "other than the fact the child would be handed off to the nearest handmaid in sight at the chance of drinking ale and humping whores." Uhtred re-directed their path to an alehouse-inn, to wish Freydis smirked, "See!"

Before Finan could reply, and possibly reject her intolerant claim, a stout man with remarkably dark eyelashes stumbled through the dirt toward the newly-arrived horde of warriors, "You!" He said, halting them in their tracks. He held onto his belt, incredulously plain other than the fact his eyelashes extended as long as a man's armchairs. "Who are you?" He inquired, his stomach protruding like a pregnant woman's belly.

Uhtred approached him, tilting his head in an equally authoritative manner, "Who are you?"

"I am Guthlac," said the Mercian, "thegn of this place."

Freydis leaned back to Finan, whispering, "What is a thegn?" He shrugged, equally curious about the Saxon title.

"I am Uhtred of Bebbanburg," the Dane-slayer informed.

Guthlac the thegn's eyes widened in recognition. Nevertheless, the bastard claimed; "Never heard of it."

Unaffected, Uhtred continued, "We serve the Lady Æthelflæd, and thus, Mercia. As do you, no doubt."

Guthlac rolled his soldiers, "We are Mercians, yes."

"Fat Mercians." Finan snorted, turning in particular to Osferth.

The thegn ignored the Irishman's jest, "What is it you want?"

"Food and ale," Uhtred stated, "And a place to sleep, rest a while. I would hope that our beds are warmer than our welcome."

Freydis nudged Finan, "Perhaps the thegn is intimidated by me," she jested, "men are not-so inclined toward lady warriors, we are ruthless, you should know."

Finan nodded in agreement, "Yu'r name is renowned, Freydis the Man-slayer, we are merely scrappers in the shadows of a godly-paragon."

"Exactly," she stated, "I am glad you agree."

Guthlac the Plump glanced toward Uhtred's mighty sword, "No weapons," he stated, "Leave your swords and saex's with your horses, only then will my doors be open to you."

"But they have already been opened," Freydis stated, glancing back at the gates. "Will you force us away?"

Uhtred held up his hand to silence the Irish-rogue, to which she begrudgingly listened to. Uhtred looked back to the stout Mercian, "I will not give you my sword, but you have my word. We're here for food, ale, and rest, nothing else."

Guthlac nodded, lifting his pudgy fingers and pointing toward Finan, and Freydis, "Very well, but be warned, we don't take kindly to–"

Osferth stepped forward, "Strangers with swords?"

The man dropped his hand, "Yes, that." He then glanced toward his equally fat right-hand, stepping away from the calm altercation as a sign of trust.

Uhtred chuckled, turning toward his group of warriors, "And now he will send a messenger to the Danes," he stated. "Which could be to our advantage."

When they entered the inn, they found it crowded to the brim with stout soldiers escaping the ruthless cold. Osferth found them a clear table, to which Freydis eagerly sat down whilst, contradictorly, Finan threatened the Mercian soldiers to leave or else they would be castrated in the name of "our lord and savior" Jesus Christ. The group proceeded to eat, drink, and rest as promised – Freydis dipped her loaf of bread into a broth made of chicken and beef, sucking in the flavor before chewing the soggy bread. As a Lady of Linnasburgh, Freydis would have been appalled by this savage behavior – now, as a wandering shieldmaiden without true title or land, she acted as barbarically as she very well pleased. Finan watched her with a slight smile on his face, chewing on his own fatty piece of pig meat.

This inn, as opposed to most alehouses the wandering group had encountered, was impossibly boring. There was no music, laughter, or drinking games – instead, people ate in silence making occasional toasts to "good food" or the "pretty barmaid" upfront. Finan scoffed, knocking his cup of ale against a Mercian guards with a fake smile, "I had more fun at the burying of my father," the Irishman stated, his voice low but loud enough for both Uhtred, and Freydis to hear.

Uhtred looked to the man in surprise, "You knew your father?"

Finan sipped his ale, chuckling, "I knew his fist."

"Lovely," quipped Freydis, sipping her ale.

Osferth, who had been standing guard at the door, turned to face Uhtred, "Lord, they are here."

The coterie had spent the entire day inside the alehouse awaiting Uhtreds promise of a fight later that night. Guthlac, supposebly, would alert the Dane's of their presence to which Uhtred would first correct a traiterous lead within Æthelflæd's Mercian kingdom, and then learn the identity of one of Cnut's spies so they find the Great Dane Army easier. From outside the inn Freydis could recognize the familiar voice of Guthlac, "I see you watching!" He yelled, speaking of Osferth. "Tell our visitor, Uhtred, he is surrounded!"

Osferth scoffed, moving away from the door and lowly informing Uhtred of the traitors positions, "Men with weapons, lord. Some with bows."

"He has sent his messenger," Uhtred nodded, "now he intends to keep us here in the meantime."

Finan piqued a brow, "Inside an alehouse?"

Freydis shrugged, "I can think of worse places."

Uhtred laughed before turning to his supporting men, "Guthlac belongs to the Danes, they will hear we are trapped and they will ride to kill us." Uhtred shrugged, "Which is good – there will be less men in their camp, we are a distraction."

"And we are surrounded," his right-hand informed, his voice untinged with any worry.

Uhtred nodded his head toward the backdoor of the inn, "Watch that door."

"Lord," a man nodded, hurrying to complete his task.

Uhtred then alerted Osferth to do the same, "Freydis watch the window," he furthermore stated, "Finan, with me."

"Uhtred!" Guthlac called from outside, Freydis hurried to her position and witnessed as multiple Mercians held up bows pointed toward the opening space where her eyes were looking. She quickly ducked, cringing. "We only wish to talk!"

"Then lower your bows, cunt!" Freydis swore, she glanced at Uhtred. "They'll take my eye out!"

Uhtred signaled for Freydis to stay ducked as he spoke back to Guthlac, "Then talk."

"I do not wish to fight," Guthlac anxiously claimed.

"That is a shame," Uhtred mused, "Nothing finishes an evening as well as a fight."

Finan clearly disagreed, "Uh, maybe a woman?"

"Or a man." Interjected the Irish-rogue, bearing an expression of disgust.

"You are surrounded!" Guthlac furthermore shouted, "There is no way out, and we have bows. You should yield! Yield and your men shall live, they only want Uhtred."

Uhtred scoffed, "You are a traitor, Guthlac."

Guthlac grew angrier, "You cannot escape! I say it again; we only want Uhtred!"

Uhtred stood, looking toward his men around the fire, "You are all free men, you are free to choose."

"We're with you, lord." Said the loyal disciples, unworried.

Uhtred grinned, turning to Osferth, "Bar the door." He began running up the stairs, and Finan unsheathed his saex as he followed. Freydis stayed ducked below the window, unsheathing her own stone sword in preparation.

"We cannot climb out, lord!" Freydis shouted, hoping the Dane-slayer could hear her through the floor. "The bowmen will have us." She peered through a crack in the wall, watching as they stretched their arms and released arrows upward.

Uhtred revealed himself over the railing, unharmed. He pointed to an axe leaning against a fireplace, speaking to Osferth, "Throw me that ax."

Finan stood readily at the stairs, "What now, lord?"

"Bring me fire." Freydis could faintly hear the Dane-slayer state, Finan ran off to do his bidding.

Freydis picked her lucky saex out of the place it was clipped onto her weapons belt, and she flipped it so she was holding the blade with the hilt held outward. "Osferth, take it."

"Thou shalt not kill, lady," the monk restated, flabbergasted. "I do not intend to betray my compass now."

"Then do not kill, you fool." She mused, "a man can live without a spleen."

Begrudgingly, the monk took the weapon as Finan leant over the railing, "He just loves burning things!" He stated, and Freydis could only hypothesize that the Dane-slayer was igniting whatever he could alight.

Osferth rolled his eyes, "He would love hell."

Freydis looked out the window to see the expanse clear of any bowmen – instead, she found multiple roofs on fire and men scrambling to save their homes, shops, and town. Freydis glanced over to the stables to find it akin to most of the surrounding buildings; on fire. She frowned, tapping her foot impatiently as her body urged her to run out and save the horses. Fortunately, Uhtred soon then ran down the stairs and ordered Osferth to unbar the door. He then soon walked out, followed by his men. As Uhtred, Finan, and Osferth approached Guthlac all by his lonesome, Freydis went over to the sweltering heat of the horse stables. There was a burning body within, most likely having been inside one of the stables when the roof collapsed on top of them. Quickly, she covered her mouth with the sleeve of her tunic as she began unbarring the gates of every stable, looking in particular for her own horse Ogna.

Toward the very end she found the shite-brown beasts merrily eating swine-straw with an oblivious expression. Freydis scoffed, unbarring the gate and lifting her saddle from a bin and throwing it on top of the horse. She proceeded to step into the bootstrap, and jumped on top – kicking the horses side to bring the horse outside the burning stable. Re-entering the road she went wide-eyed at the sight of Guthlac on his knees, the Dane-slayer holding his saex through the stout-man's belly. "You serve the Lady of Mercia," he said to Guthlac's men, he proceeded to take his saex out of Guthlac's belly, and wipe his blood on either shoulder. "First and last." Then, surrounded by a storm of fire and dying men, Uhtred sheathed his weapon and walked through the midst of chaos toward the gates with his men following his tail.

Freydis moved to follow on horseback, making use of Ogna's eerie calmness amidst hellfire, but stopped when she noticed one of their party was not following; Finan. "Finan?" Finan knelt down beside Guthlac's body, and moved his hand into the dirt as he lifted something long out of the mud. Curious, the Irish-lady jumped off her horse and approached him with the stallions rein in-hand. "What is it?"

He looked up at her, standing up. "His sword." He said, inspecting a long iron blade with an unusual jewel built into its hilt.

"It is beautiful," Freydis admired, tilting her head at it – the fire only magnified its brilliance, igniting the jewel in the night. "Are you going to keep it?"

Finan was silent for a moment, viewing the jewel at any angle he could manage. Then, he turned to the Irish-rogue, "Yu' keep it."

Freydis went wide eyed, "M-Me? Finan, I cannot!"

"Why?" He inquired, holding out its hilt for her to grab. "Yu'r sword is useless and heavy," he said, "this one is light, but deadly. It is perfect for yu', Freydis." He looked down to the dead body below them, "He surely will not be using it."

"You must have it," Freydis said, placing a hand on his forearm. "You saw it first, and you are a far greater warrior."

"I do not want it," he said, patting his sword that was sheathed by his side. "Soul-stealer will do me just fine. I want you to have it, Freydis. It's beauty does not equate to me."

Freydis piqued a brow, "But it equates to me?" He grinned, looking down to his feet before offering her a light nod. Freydis sighed, tilting his head back up with her index and finger finger, ensuring he was looking her in the eyes. "Thank you, Finan."

"Of course," he smirked, "now drop that useless hunk of stone, yu've got a thegns sword, now."

Freydis giggled, "Whatever that is."

Finan held out the new sword hilted with ruby, and wearily, Freydis grabbed it with her free hand. As claimed by the Irishman, it was much lighter than her accustomed stone sword – furthermore, it was easily weld as Freydis inspected every angle for at least one fault. It was truly a thegn's sword, whatever that was. "What will you name her?" Asked Finan, watching as the shieldmaiden inspected her new toy.

The Linnasburgh rogue lifted the jewel to her eye, looking through its kalodiescope of fixtures and into the fire that cascaded Crowland, Mercia. She thought of the Bright One, the Celtic God of Fire who controlled the day cycle, and blessed his unworthy subjects with the private use of flames to wield. Freydis looked up at the Irishman, "Belenus." She stated, "I shall name her Belenus."

Chapter Text

The resolute Irish-rogue sat in a pile of twigs, hiding behind a throng of insensate beech trees with the Dane-slayer on her right, and his right-hand Irishman on her left. Osferth kneeled beside Finan with a wooden club held at the ready, with Uhtred's guards sprawled amongst the dead wood awaiting their very next move. The ground was sodden with melted snow and mudpiles acquired by the newly-emerged sun – Freydis was soaked head-to-toe, rained on by melting water drops from the canopy of trees above. They had arrived from Crowland, Mercia hours before, and since then sat patiently for whatever Uhtred awaited. Initially, Freydis had sat at the ready like her companions, but as hours passed with no activity she eventually gave up, and gathered whatever dry trigs she could find to use as a chair.

Osferth leant back where he balanced, repositioning his legs to adhere to his Beomfleot-introduced wounds. "Once night falls, even the king of shadow walkers would find no place here." He said, advising Uhtred in a manner only they seemed to understand.

Finan tipped forward, getting a better glance into the trees before jumping back and nearly knocking Freydis over entirely in the process. "Someone's coming."

Freydis grinned, standing up as she followed the boys to a wider expanse, "Finally!"

The monk tilted his head, swirling his club in his fist. "It is Sihtric."

The Irish-rogues smile fell as her heart thumped noisily against her chest. She grabbed her saex from its sheathe, and weld it readily just as Finan did by her side. Sihtric stepped around a tree, revealing a stoic young man Freydis had not seen since he abandoned them at Satlwic several weeks before. Uhtred stood, and suddenly the Irish-rogue remembered why Sihtric left, and her eyes grew wide as she grabbed Finan's elbow worriedly. "You have something to say to me?" Uhtred asked, vexation seeping from his ambience.

Sihtric tilted his head up confidently, "I do." The Dane grabbed the hilt of his sword, wielding it in preparation of a fight. "Yield to me."

He raised his sword closer to the Dane-slayers neck, Freydis and Finan tightened their grips around their weapons as Uhtred slowly raised his hands in surrender. He dropped his saex, and in a swift moment Sihtric spun his sword and threw it into the ground before laughing, and collapsing into Sihtric in a tight embrace. Osferth let out a disblieving laugh, "You were playing us!" He said in revelation, looking back toward the two Irish emigrants, "My goodness, they were playing us! Why?"

Uhtred laughed, breaking away his embrace with the Danish man before leaning down to retrieve his abandoned saex in the dirt. "If you had not believed it, nor would others."

Finan approached Sihtric and the man smirked, "I fooled you."

"No, I knew!" Claimed the Irishman, poking Sihtric in the chest with a hard finger.

"He did not," Freydis laughed, "for if he knew, I would have known."

Sihtric laughed, and looked toward the Irish-rogue now dressed in professional armors, with a ruby-hilted sword – which was quite a contrast to the last time he saw her. "Was I good?"

Both Freydis and Osferth answered, chuckling naively, "A little."

Finan stole back the attention of his brother, enthusiastically hugging him as he furthered his distrustful claim, "I'm telling yu', I knew! I hope it was worth it."

"I hope so, too." Sihtric agreed, hugging the monk next.

Uhtred stepped forward, "So, what do you know? We saw Cnut on the road."

Sihtric nodded, confirming Uhtred's exclamation as Sihtric went to Freydis next and hugged the much shorter woman. He pulled away from the hug, receiving an unwanted ruffle of his hair when he and the Irish-lady separated. "Only Hæsten remains at the camp," he informed, fixing his disheveled mare, "Bloodhair is dead."

Freydis crossed her arms, "Good riddance."

Finan stepped forward, "What of Skjold?"

"He lives," Sihtric stated, "Vikar left, moreover, he is in search of Lady Freydis. He intends to reclaim her."

Freydis' heart leapt, but her expression stayed stoic, "Good, and when he finds me – I shall kill him."

Uhtred piqued a brow, "How did Bloodhair die?"

Sihtric smirked, "He fought with Hæsten, and was killed by Skade!"

"Good Jesus," Finan said, shaking his head.

Sihtric turned to him, "She is a witch like no other."

Uhtred refused to look the Dane in the eye as he glanced at the army in the distance, "She knows I'm near?"

"Yes, and she knows of your promise to shadow-walk," Sihtric dutifully relayed, "but, Uhtred, there are too many guards. She is allowed to collect grass and herbs by a tree for her spells."

Freydis raised a brow, inquiring, "Spells?" As Uhtred, moreover, relayed his placidity by the relevance of a single tree amongst a forest of them.

"It is a single tree on the other side of the camp," he said, "you cannot miss it."

"Tell her I'm here, and take her there tonight." Uhtred stated.

"And if she refuses?" Sihtric asked, "If Hæsten prevents her?"

Uhtred smirked, "She will not refuse, and Hæsten will not refuse her." Sihtric laughed as Uhtred patted his shoulder, "You have never failed me, Sihtric. I will see you at the tree."

Sihtric turned to take his leave, and Uhtred directed Finan and Osferth to follow him where they set up camp. Freydis stopped in her tracks, "We sat there for five hours awaiting a single man?" She inquired, frowning. "My arse is sodden because Sihtric decided to take his good ol' time?"

Uhtred did not turn back, "Let's go, Freydis."

Freydis rolled her eyes, groaning, as she stomped her feet into the mud and reluctantly followed the Dane-slayer, his right-hand, and the monk back to camp. They stayed there throughout the evening, watching as the sun receded into the night and resting whenever Uhtred had no use of them. Sihtric returned to the Dane-slayers camp deep into the night – he had completed his task, and brought Skade to her tree of magic.

They walked along the treeline, ensuring they were far enough to be unheard and unseen by the Danes. Freydis leaned into Finan, "What if something goes wrong?" She inquired, biting her lower lip.

Finan shrugged, seemingly unbothered, "What about it?"

"We do not have the horses," Freydis stated, "and if we do manage to run to them, we do not have one for Skade."

"We are not meant to bring the horses with us when we leave," he stated, "Uhtred had Osferth cut all their reins before we left."

Freydis stopped in her tracks, "What?"

Finan stopped as well, "Osferth cut all their reins... Freydis, yu' had known we weren't going to keep them forever, yeah? Horses ever last in our line of work."

"No I did not know that!" She whisper-yelled, "are you telling me Ogna is now on her own?"

The Irishman frowned, "She's a horse, Freydis. She will be fine."

Freydis went through a mariage of facial expressions before falling onto a face of stoic vexation. She pushed past the Irishman, catching up to the rest of the ground so she could confront Uhtred herself. However, the Dane-slayer was nowhere in sight. She approached Osferth and Sihtric, pointedly facing the monk firsthand as she was yet to be used to Sihtric being back yet. She had not known the Dane for long before he had left, and whilst it did affect her greatly when he left she still found herself apprehensive towards the man, "Where is Uhtred?" Osferth pointed toward a tree in the distance where Uhtred stood with a woman; Skade. Freydis growled in frustration, "Did you know Uhtred intended for all our horses to be released into the wild?"

Osferth shrugged, "I never expected differently – it was all a matter of when."

Freydis' stomach dropped, and her anger was then replaced with desperation. "Couldn't someone have told me that before I named my bastard horse, and grew a liking for her?"

Sihtric laughed, "It is just a horse, be it better we are letting her go and not burying her."

"Shut up, traitor," Freydis hissed, utting a hand up to silence him. "I have yet to forgive you entirely."

"He's right, though, Freydis," Finan said, lazily catching up. "We lose horses constantly, primarily in battle. At least Oona gets to enjoy the pleasures of the pastures, rather than be buried in them."

Sihtric snickered as Freydis frowned, "Her name is Ogna, you bastard." Behind Finan, Freydis noticed the tree branches move. She quickly placed her hand on the hilt of her sword, "Who goes there?!"

Not even a moment after a voice broke out into the field, "He is here, lord! Uhtred is here!"

Finan quickly slit the throat of the wailing men before they broke out into a run. Uhtred and Skade quickly caught up, to which Sihtric shouted, "There are ships on the river!"

"To the river, Sihtric!" Uhtred ordered, "you lead!"

They caught up to an area of tall grass, and Uhtred's men revealed themselves in alert toward the quick-paced coterie. Sihtric continued to lead them through a skinny path, bringing them to an opening reeking of salt and fish. Finan held his arm out, halting Freydis into a crouch as Sihtric revealed himself to the guards. The man feigned orders by Hæsten, claiming the Great Dane Army was under attack and the women and children were in need of transportation to flee. Uhtred unsheathed his sword, running toward the docks in preparation for battle – Finan raised his arm out of the way, pulling himself and his fellow Irishman up, "Come on!"

Uhtred slit the firsts throat, followed by Sihtric who ultimately alerted the other Danes of a coup. Freydis personally unnsheathed her sword Belenus, slicing her sharpened blade over the arteries of a man in the process of removing his axe from his hip. The battle was quick, each one of Uhtreds man fighting an equal; by the end of the fight, only two of the Dane-slayers guards were killed, Sihtric used an oar to push the extra boats from the dock as everyone else piled into a single boat on the right. "Make sure it doesn't list, lads!" Finan shouted, taking control. "Prepare the oars!" Freydis helped Skade in, and Uhtred began pushing the boat from the dock to give them a head start. All the other men, upon Finans order, readied the oars in an upward motion before ultimately dropping them all into the water. Uhtred leapt in, and turned to his men, "And pull!"

"Pull!" Finan furthermore instructed, arrows raining down on the boat of escapees. "Pull! And pull! Pull like a darn slave!"

When they arrived on land again, Finan had not spoken a word to Freydis, When she tried to distract herself from losing Ogna, and not even being able to say goodbye, the Irishman answered her in short uninterested responses before ultimately leaving her by her lonesome, and doing as Uhtred commands. So, as they then sailed aback a trading ship from Mercia to Coccham, Freydis retired to the front of the ship – all the way on the other side from where the Irishman rested. When they returned to land, Freydis was presented to a short-walled Wessex estate the Irish-lady had so often heard of amidst her travels with the group of warriors. Finan went ahead with Uhtred, and Skade as Freydis trailed back with Sihtric, and Osferth. Coccham was, unsurprisingly, packed to the brim with Wessexian soldiers. Uhtred was an outlaw, after all, leaving his estate abandoned and back under the control of King Alfred. So Freydis was left to wonder how exactly they would approach this township if they could easily be seized, imprisoned, and even executed.

They approached a large wooden building in the city-square, surrounded by wagons of grain and protective Wessexian guards, "Stand aside," Uhtred ordered, "I want no bloodshed, no man killed." When no one listened, Uhtred tilted his head back toward Sihtric.

"He said stand aside! Now!" The Dane shouted. The guards standing outside Coccham's great hall moved out of the way, and Sihtric stepped forward. "Thank you, I should not need to raise my voice."

When the doors opened, Freydis was overtaken by the overbearing scents of chopped vegetables, and sweat. Dining in the center of the room amidst two long tables were priests dressed in identical cloaks, a particularly wrinkly-faced man sat at the head of the table, "Uhtred? What is the meaning of this invasion?"

"This is my home." Uhtred shrugged.

The balting priest stood up, not packing down ahead of the infamous Dane-slayer, "We are here by right, on the king's business."

Uhtred scoffed, "You are stealing food from the mouths of the poor."

The priest bore a disgruntled expression, "An army needs to be fed."

Freydis glanced to the table ahead, frowning in disgust, "As do priests, it seems."

Skade withdrew the saex from Freydis' weapons belt, and stuck it into the bowl of a bald-headed man of the false God. "You are lucky it is not your hand." She smugly grinned, trouncing around the table curiously of Coccham.

The head priest placed a hand on Uhtreds shoulder, "We want no disharmony here today," Uhtred immediately shrugged his hand off, disgusted by the attempted show of friendliness.

Freydis looked in a bowl of food constructed by the priests; upon inspection, she could identify grain, carrots, lettuce, and fish – she cringed at the odd assortment of foods. She was brought back to attention when Uhtred inquired, "What is that?" She turned, and looked toward where the entire room was looking – hanging from the ceiling ahead a triangle-shaped window was a large silver cross with the carving of a strange man along its bridges.

The priest frowned in response, "Well, you know what it is."

"Take it down." When no one made a move, he turned back to the priest. "Take it down or I will make a gift of you to Skade!"

The priest hesitated, "I will not do as you ask. I cannot."

Freydis stepped forward, inspecting him closely as she flicked the identical wooden cross hanging over his chest, "Why?"

He stepped away from her, "Who even are you?"

Finan stepped ahead of Uhtred, "Lord, see it as a piece of wood, nothing more."

The priest contradicted the Irishmans statement, "It is a holy cross!"

Finan groaned, "Bishop Erkenwald, I suggest yu' shut yu'r holy mouth."

"And take it down." Uhtred stated, most likely imagining the priest strung up instead of the Christian trinket.

Osferth raised a finger, "Or I... I can just take it down, lord."

Uhtred turned to him, "You will do nothing."

Bishop Erkenwald gulped anxiously, "I realize you are looking to find a reason to kill me," he stated, "and I would prefer to do as you ask. I'm not a fool, but I cannot deny my faith. The king will hear of it. God would know of–"

Sihtric knocked a copper cup against the wood of the table, and Freydis turned to see him offering her a cup. Hesitantly, she moved over to sit across from him and took a whiff of the substance inside. Her eyes widened at the scent of wine, which she eagerly sipped after drinking nothing but water, and ale since leaving Linnasburgh. "The king has told me many times that this is a pagan's hall," Uhtred told the bishop, his conversation uninterrupted. "You will take it down."

"It is my cross, lord." Said a new voice, a female voice. Freydis raised her head curiously, spotting a yellow-haired woman standing cloaked at the enterance of the feast hall. "My doing. I put it there. And I would like it to remain there, unless of course, your plan is to once again be the Lord of Coccham. I meant no insult."

There was a grunt, and the cross came crashing down. Multiple priests made the symbol of a cross over their chest, followed by Finan who looked down at the hunk of steel in alarm. Freydis laughed, glancing between Skade, who was the culprit of the falling cross, and Sihtric who was equally as amused as a non-Christian himself. "Now, perhaps, we may eat." She said, bored.

Uhtred sighed, nodding for Finan to lift up the fallen cross and hand it to a priest. "Take it," he stated. "And get out of my hall."

The newly-arrived Coccham occupants proceeded to eat the works of the priests – Freydis found it quite palatable, if not for the slimy fish grimed with grain chunks and whatever scales failed to wash off before it was chopped up into the salad. Once they were finished, Uhtred left the hall with the Coccham abbess Freydis learned to be called Hild. Sihtric left to inspect his home, or at least, what was left of it after being gone for so long, and Osferth returned to Cocchams makeshift church to catch up on prayer following his travels with "blasphemeous sinners" for so long. That left Finan and Freydis alone with Skade – which did not last long before Finan rolled his eyes, and left the establishment following a particular statement from the seer.

Freydis soon followed, jogging to catch up to the Irishman, "Where will I stay?" She inquired, matching her pace to his. "Is there an inn close?" He shrugged, quickening his pace – so she slapped him on the arm. "What is wrong with you, Finan?"

"Nothing," he gruffed, "I don't know if the inn is still open, okay? Last I remember it was in the midsts of closing down. Yu' can stay at my house, I have an extra room."

"Oh, well, okay..." she said, cringing at her own hostility. "But why have you been so rude to me? We have not spoken for nearly two days! And when I try to talk to you, you don't bloody talk back!"

Finan approached a door to a small two-bedroom home with a miniature straw pasture for a horse, and turned the knob. The door opened, and he directed her inside. "I'm sorry, Freydis. I hadn't realized I've been botherin' yu'."

"Well, I have you bastard!" She shouted, "this is a beautiful home, by the way. I hadn't known you had an affiliation for decoration."

"I've not been feelin' well." He gruffed, taking off his cloaks and lying them onto a table. "Guest room is over there," he said, pointing toward a dark hall. "Use yu'r cloak for furs, lost all my other ones bettin'."

Freydis raised the back of her hand to his forehead, "You do not feel warm – is it thought sickness or body sickness?" He shrugged, turning. Freydis frowned, "You do understand that answers me, yes?"

"I'm just tired, Freydis," he said, smiling softly. He reached his hand outward and caressed his thumb over her cheekbone, "plus, I don' like boats very much."

Finan retracted his hand as she went wide-eyed, covering her mouth in shock. "Gods, Finan! I forgot about that, I am so sorry!"

He rolled his eyes, "It is not yu'r curse to bare, Freydis. I'll be fine – everything will be back to normal the next time yu' see me."

"The next time I see you?"

He cringed, "Uhtred is sending Sihtric and I to Winchester," he said. "He wants us to spy."

"We've only just got here!" She said angrily. "I must speak to him, I will tell him you are not feeling well, Finan. I will take your place!"

Finan reached his hand out, and Freydis half-expected him to stop her. Instead, he softly placed his hand against her jaw and redirected her fury into his lips. For a moment, she was taken aback by the kiss – at first it was warm and accepting, to which her soft lips fell easily into rhythm with his much rougher margin. However, they swiftly became suffocating and grandiose as his scent of ash and mint grew muddy, and sodden with memories of Skjold Arinbjornsson flashing through her mind. She pushed away from the kiss, stumbling back with wide eyes as her vision muddled with images of both Skjold, and Finan. He watched her worriedly, "I'm sorry," he said, "I shouldn't have done that. I'm sorry, Freydis. Truly, you have to believe me."

Freydis' heart beat from her chest to her ears, and took a slow step forward as Finan's face ceased to flicker and stayed just as it was; Finan, her friendly Irishman and great friend. She reached her arm out, caressing his cheek as his breath quickened, "It is okay," she lowly stated, "I was not expecting it, that is all. I hope your regret does not persist, moreover."

He softly chuckled, looking down to his feet before looking back in her eyes, "I did not, but yu' appeared disgusted so it seemed fit to say I had."

"I was disgusted, but not by you." She said, frowning. "I appear to not have yet healed from what... Skjold did to me. I wish nothing more than to adhere by whatever this is, nevertheless I am haunted by my tormenter."

The Irishmans brows scrunched in vexation, "I will kill him."

"No," she smiled, "I will."

His features softened as he pet her hair behind her ear, "Yu' will," he corrected. "There is no worse damnation than a woman scorned."

Freydis nodded, running her fingers over his calloused palms with a slight frown on her face, "Alas, I hope you will wait for me, Finan. Until I am free of the curse of my tormenter, until I can be the woman you-so desire."

"Forever and always, m'lady," he grinned, enclosing his fingers around hers. "For I am a gentleman."

Freydis laughed, "Is that so?"

"Indeed," He smirked, "do yu' disagree?"

"I do," she chortled, "you weren't exactly kind telling me I must leave my horse behind."

He piqued a brow, "Wasn't I?"

She rolled her eyes, lifting his cloak from the table and throwing it in his face. "No, Finan. No you were not – and there is your payback!"

"Grueling," The Irishman mused, "truly."

"Hush." She said, turning away and moving toward the guest bedroom. "Or else I shall rethink my feelings for you."

He smirked, "Yu'r feelings for me?"

"Quiet!"

Chapter Text

Freydis shuffled in the carted wagon she sat in, glancing between Uhtred and the monk, "When Finan told me he was leaving, I thought that meant I would be staying in Coccham." At the front of the line, Sihtric and Finan directed a long line of visitors ahead of the Æthlings' marriage to a young, rich noble-lady. Closer to the end was Uhtreds rapid addition of a carriage, which, without warning, he threw both the monk and Freydis into when they emerged from their beds to bid goodbye to their fellow warriors. Whilst Osferth appeared less than affected by the sudden development, Freydis was nervous, her mind swelling with anxiety. Has she rested long, and well enough? The Irish-rogue couldn't risk being lethargic in a battle – which was more than possible, as Uhtred was still an outlaw of Wessex no matter how daring he may be.

"I have no place in Coccham," Uhtred clarified, his voice low. "I did not know you had."

Freydis frowned, leaning her head against the wood behind her, "I had a bed."

Osferth grinned, "Winchester has plenty of beds – and straw, if you are too drunk to get your way back to whereever you are lodging."

The wagon took to a sudden stop, causing the exhausted Irish-rogue to unintentionally slam her head against the wall. Uhtred stood up, wiping dust and straw off of his furs, "Hoods up, Osferth. Freydis, you stay with him – find Beocca before sunrise, there is no doubt he and Thyra will allow you to stay the night at his home."

Freydis went ahead to lift Osferths hood over his head, ensuring the sides of his face were securely hidden. "Where are you going?"

"To find justice for my brother," the Dane-slayer merely stated, pulling up his own hood. He shuffled by Freydis toward the doors of the wagon, and swung the doors open. Before leaping out, he turned to face his two artisans, "Do not alert anyone of my presence, we'll all end up arrested."

Freydis nodded, saluting the Dane-slayer before turning to Osferth, "What shall we do?"

The monk pushed by her, holding her wrist as he clearly had a destination in mind. They leapt out of the wagon and moved toward a familiar person, Freydis watched as the monk practically scared the Irishmn half-to-death as he grabbed him going, "Finan!"

The Irishman already had his hand on the hilt of his sword, "What the... Osferth, Freydis, yu'r here?"

Osferth drew them over to a fire, and, despite Uhtreds commands, immediately pulled down his hood as he held his hands over the flames. "So, we are inside the walls of Winchester. Where will he go? To Father Beocca?"

"Yes," the Irishman answered, looking at Freydis particularly. "He'll, uh, he'll find us – be sure of it." Freydis looked down toward the flames, feeling as her cheeks burned with the sudden rush of blood.

Oblivious to the altercation between the two Irish travelers, Osferth nudged Finan with his shoulder. "And he is free of his curse."

Freydis raised her head, and piqued a brow, "Skade took it back?"

Osferth shook his head, as Finan inquired; "She's dead?"

The monk smirked, "Very."

Finan sighed in relief, "Then we are all free of the curse, baby monk."

Osferth piqued a brow, "She was of the devil, wasn't she?"

"No, more than that." Finan replied, "She was the devil in disguise."

"It is what he would do." Osferth sighed, agreeing.

Freydis' mouth wavered with a threatening smile, and she bit the cuticle of her thumb to prevent herself from laughing at the two Christianmen's naiveté. "She was merely a woman with a venomous tongue, alas, I am heathen and therefore will be taken as a grain of salt by your vehement minds. Shall we do something to pass the time?"

Finan, unexpectedly, punched Osferth in the chest. "Ow!" The monk cried, still affected by the anguish of his Beomfleot-induced bruises.

The Irishman ignored his complaints, "Ale and women?"

The monk frowned, "And prayer."

"Absolutely," Finan agreed, "But in that order."

The monk rolled his eyes, and turned in the direction of what Freydis could assume to be the closest alehouse in Winchester. Freydis turned to the Irishman, frowning, "Ale and women?"

"Mmm," he nodded, "love me some ale."

She piqued a brow, "And women?"

Finan threw his arm around the back of Freydis' neck, "Jealous, lady?"

"Of some alehouse whores?" Freydis grouchily inquired, "jealous of their income, perhaps."

Finan rolled his eyes, "I'm not interested in whoring, Freydis. I'm interested in gettin' the baby monk humped."

Freydis would be lying if she hadn't felt slightly relieved following the statement of his intentions. Nevertheless, she reached her hand to the one dangling by her cheek and twisted her fingers around his, "Is he not celibate? I thought that was common amongst Christian holy-men."

Finan smirked, "That's what makes this fun – so far he's resisted my attempts, but I plan on winnin' this time."

She rolled her eyes, "And you call Skade the devil When you are trying to fool a monk into betraying his chastity?"

Finan shrugged, "Blasphemy is the key to a fulfilling life, Frey. And I intend for the bastard monk to live a glorious duration.

Finan, in fact, did not convince Osferth to betray his celibacy – no matter how drunk the monk grew, he stayed true to his promise to his God. That did not sway the Irishman, however, as he relentlessly spoke as Osferth's wingman ahead of many whores. "Osferth is a virgin," slurred the drunken Irishman, speaking to a red-haired dame with skin as pale as parchment.

"No, it's not true." Claimed the monk, lying.

"It 's true!" Laughed the Irishman, "Yu' need to do it sometime!"

Freydis laughed, "Stop torturing the boy, Finan. You are making him blush ahead of beautiful women."

Finan tilted his head up, looking past the Irish-rogue, he grinned, pointing. "Beocca! Are you surprised to see me, Father?"

Dimming the mood, Beocca frowned, "Where is he?"

Finan smirked, snickering beneath his breath, "He was last seen with a witch at Coccham, and I don't mean the Abbess Hild."

Freydis tilted her head, "Do you have a message for him?"

Beocca's expression stayed barren, "He knows that his children are safe?"

"He knows that his children were stolen," Freydis stated, "and forced the blasphemeous teachings of a false creed."

Finan rested his chin in the palm of his hand, "He was not best pleased."

Beocca sat down, facing Finan entirely. Freydis turned to Osferth, whispering, "Distract them." She glanced toward the whores, to which Osferth nodded and inquieed unnecessary questions to 'get to know them better.' "Is he here?" Beocca questioned, his voice low. "You know I will not summon the guards, is he here?"

Slightly sobered, Finan scratched at his beard in an attempt to block the outline of his lips from any eavesdroppers. "He is," he stated, "now you can tell me why Æthelwold is walking the streets of Winchester a free man."

"Because rightly, or wrongly, he has been forgiven – as I believe Uhtred will be forgiven." Beocca stated, standing up. "Tell him to find me."

Freydis turned to the holy man and smiled, "I think he may well be sitting at your table, Father." Beocca raised his brows before sighing, and walking away. Freydis turned to Finan, curious, "Is he always such a holy-pain?"

Finan nodded, taking a sip of ale. "Especially to Sihtric, as yu' can tell by his nickname; 'rat-bastard.'"

"Where is the rat-bastard?" Freydis inquired, "I have not seen him since we left Coccham – has he betrayed us again?"

Finan snorted, "He is humping his wife Ealhswith, most likely. Better he gets that over with now, and not during the night when I am trying to sleep."

"You live with him?" She inquired, raising a brow.

Finan shrugged, "I'm never here long enough to buy a home – I'd usually stay with Uhtred, but, well, he's an outlaw now."

Osferth clapped his hands together and stood up, "Well, I am retiring to the monastery – we have business tomorrow, Finan. Do not drink too much."

Finan raised his cup of ale in a butchered attempt of a toast, "Too late!"

"Of course," the monk rolled his eyes, "Will yu' be alright, Freydis?"

"I shall," she smiled, "Good night, Osferth."

"Night virgin!" Finan cooed, chuckling,

Soon after Osferth left, the whore's left the table as well. That left Finan and Freydis as the only ones at their table, drinking ale and feasting on the neverending refills of alehouse stew. The drunken Irish bastard was quite entertaining at the height of his intoxication, shifting from one topic to the other without a second thought – at one point, he managed to connect the Weales language to folkish dwares in ancient Irish mythology. When the moon reached its height, Freydis grew suspicious of the inactive atmosphere around them, as mostly everyone had retired to bed, and decided it was time to retire themselves – she stood up, stumbling in the midst. "Bed, Finan. Not table."

The Irishman slowly lifted his head, blinking away sleepiness as he looked up to her, "I was just restin' me eyes."

"Mhmm," she said, too tired to argue. "Can you walk?"

The man sighed, standing up lethargically, "I'm not a newborn, of course I can–" he stumbled, nearly falling face down in the dirt.

Freydis pulled him back up, throwing his arm around her neck as she allowed him to balance his weight onto her. She wrapped her other arm around his waist, tucking her hand beneath his sword and around the dull point of his hip. "Can you direct me to Sihtrics?" He grunted, lifting a hand and pointing toward a dark alley. Freydis scoffed, "Any other way?" Reluctantly, the Irishman pointed to a less frightening, and less dark direction leading to a Winchester marketplace.

Once they stumbled upon the marketplace, the Irishman grew distracted by a locked wagoncart labeled "Rabbit stew." He grew adorably excited, exlcaiming his hunger as he began rummaging through his pockets for silver. "It is closed," Freydis statd, frowning. "There is no stew, Finan. Not until tomorrow."

"Agh – yu' should just let me die!" Finan groaned dramatically, swinging himself backward in an attempt to lie in the dirt. Freydis, despite how heavily he weighed on her arm, managed to hold him upright.

"I can make you rabbit stew at any time, Finan," she sighed, moving him past the wagon. "Do not be difficult. Where-to now?"

He pointed to an area of small, continuous homes. They started down that direction and he tiredly leaned his head against Freydis', "What is yu'r last name?"

Freydis raised a brow despite him not being able to see her face, "Why?"

"Curious." He shrugged, "do yu' even have one?"

"As a lady I must," she said, "it is Ciansiníon." 'Cians-daughter.' "And yours?"

"MacConnall." He slurred. 'Son of Connall.' "Freydis MacConnall – it has a ring to it."

Freydis laughed, "As does Freydis Ciansiníon."

The Irishman drunkenly tilted his head back in thought, "Finan Ciansiníon – that has a ring to it, too."

"Ah yes, Finan Cians-daughter," Freydis nodded, "I do hear this ring you are speaking of – where is Sihtrics home?"

"We passed it."

"What?" She guffawed, stopping them in their tracks.

Finan grinned, "I liked talking to yu'."

Freydis' blush was hidden in the night, "We can talk when we are inside. Which house is his?"

Finan removed his arm from Freydis' neck, and stumbled toward a house they had passed moments before. Akin to the many other Winchester homes in the area, it was made entirely of straw and hardened clay – unlike the many other homes, it was multiple Norse runes carved into the door with a cross hanging above the window, Finan reached out to take hold of the doorknob, and Freydis quickly stopped him by putting her hand over his, "Does he know you are staying here tonight?"

Finan shrugged, "He wouldn't mind either way."

"And what of his wife?"

"What of her?"

Freydis sighed, "Maybe you should come with me to Beocca's, there will be a less of a chance being stabbed there – I think."

Freydis expected the man to answer, but alas, he silently opened the door and pushed it open before she could stop him. He grinned, looking back at her, "We will be fine, Frey. Alas, if yu' are too nervous, yu' could always stay and protect me."

"Stay the night?" She inquired, biting her lower lip. "Finan, we cannot– I cannot–"

"Sleep on the floor?" Finan inquired, pulling her in and closing the door behind them. "That is fine, yu' can have the bed – it's too soft for me, anyway. I will take the floor."

"Finan..."

The Irishman turned and softly took her cheek into his hand, caressing the line of her cheekbone, "Stay the night, please. I'm afraid I am too... wobbly to walk yu' all the way to Beocca's."

Freydis frowned, if she were to go she would have to know where she would be going in the first place. Alas, Freydis had no direction of the streets of Winchester and wouldn't even have known where Sihtric lived if it weren't for Finans unusual drunken coherency. "I do not want you to sleep on the floor, Finan, I will feel terrible if you awake with a poor back!"

Finan grinned, and took her hand as he directed her to the guest bedroom. The room was tiny, having nothing other than a straw-stuffed mattress and a small table – Freydis wondered if this was even meant to be a bedroom, or if they only incorporated it so for Finans occasional visit. The Irishman kicked off his boots, nearly tipping over in the process, and eventually collapsed onto the floor by his own accord. Freydis sighed, kneeling down to remove her own boots and weapons belt. "I will take the floor," she negotiated, "and you take the bed." The man ignored her, lying onto his stomach with his head resting in his arms on the floor. She whined, "Fin-aaaan!" He let out an exaggerated snore, and she sighed. "Fine, suffer. I hope you wake up hungover and aching – good night."

The Irishman grinned, lifting his head to look at the Irish-rogue who had turned on her side ontop the straw bed, "Night, princess."

"I am no princess!"

The next morning, Freydis woke to the scent of eggs and roasted bore – she turned in the bed, well-rested with a mere ache behind her eyes. Finan was asleep on the floor, his face pollar as his body fought the remaining drunkenness in his body. She then glanced toward the door, which was cracked, if she remembered correctly she had closed the door the night before. That meant Sihtric must know they are there – if not, Freydis was in for a pandemonium of chaos as she sat up and opened the door to enter the bustling household. In the center of the room were two children, one young boy identical to his father and a little girl practically the complete opposite of Sihtric Kjartansson barring their identical ashy-grey eyes. The little girl noticed her first, and Freydis opened her mouth to greet her but was rather interrupted by a high-pitched, shrill scream. The little girl was screaming, pointing at Freydis in horror and unrecognition.

Sihtric burst through the kitchen door with a saex in his hand, his eyes wide in horror. Sihtrics son was laughing, clapping his hands together at his younger sister's horror. "Freydis!" Sihtric yelled in relief, his wife running out of the kitchen in tow. "Ygritte!" Soothed the Norsemen, falling to his knees and pulling his daughter into him. "It is okay, she is a friend!"

"I-I, I am so sorry!" Freydis exclaimed with wide-eyes, "I did not intend to frighten her!"

Sihtrics wife stepped forward, wearing a less-than angered expression on her face, "It is okay, lady. Ygritte is too small to wield a saex, so we have taught her to scream if faced with a stranger – we should have told her that you, and Finan are here but we were busy making breakfast."

Ygritte, who had tears streaming down her face, turned to Sihtric excitedly, "Finan?"

Sihtric smiled, and gestured for his daughter to do whatever she was planning – the girl excitedly stood, taking her brother's hand as they ran toward the room Freydis had just exited. Moments later, a loud grunt erupted from the room as Freydis could only assume the two children had jumped onto the resting Irishman. Freydis, smiling, turned to Sihtric and his wife Ealhswith, "I do not mean to intrude, but Finan insisted I stayed the night as I do not know the way to Father Beocca's house, and he was too drunk to bring me there. Alas, I should have told someone. I hope this does not change your first impression of me, Eahlswith."

As the two women began to speak, Sihtric left back toward the kitchen where the roasting food remained. Ealhswith wore a smile that melted the coldest crevices of Freydis' heart, "Of course not, lady. I am glad you are here – Winchester is dangerous, especially at night. Finan was right to have you stay, the two of you are always welcome here."

Freydis smiled, "Thank you, Ealhswith. Sihtric told me you were kind – and his multiple... unrelenting claims appear to be more than correct. And call me Freydis, please."

"Freydis," she nodded, smiling. "Would you like some breakfast? We have eggs, bacon, and milk – well, Sihtric does. I am afraid I cannot cook."

"That would be lovely." She smiled, Ealhswith grabbed her hand as she directed the Irish-rogue into the kitchen. Freydis sat at the table, and glanced at Sihtric, "I did not know you could cook."

He shrugged, "It is only eggs."

"It is only eggs." His wife mocked, causing Freydis to let out a snort. "So, Freydis, how long have you been apart of Uhtreds group?"

"I'd say around four months now," she stated, "it is hard to count, it feels like forever by now."

Eahlswith nodded, "Have you always been a shieldmaiden?"

Freydis blushed, "Not particularly. I learned swordskill growing up, but never really fought in a battle until the Danes raided my township."

"I've always wanted to be a shieldmaiden," Ealhswith stated, standing up and preparing plates of food for her children and Finan. "SIHTRIC! YGRITTE! FINAN! Food!"

The two children came bursting through the doors, laughing and giggling as an escalating growl followed close behind – the two children hid behind their father as Finan entered the room, holding his saex by the pointy-end as a less than lethal means of a weapon against the gremlins, "Let me at 'em, Sihtric!" Finan growled, feigning the wrath of an irate monster. "I must take their tongues as souvenirs!"

Sihtric lifted a sizzling piece of bacon off of the fire and flicked it at Finan, who dramatically yelled and collapsed onto the ground. Freydis groaned, "Damn you, Sihtric! You killed my pet!"

He shrugged, making Freydis a plate and handing it to her. "Oh well."

Finan tilted his head up, "This is why I didn't mourn yu' when yu' betrayed us."

Ealhswith looked pointedly toward her husband, "You did what?"

Sihtric gave Finan a deadpan expression, "Thanks, Finan."

Finan grinned, "Yu'r welcome."

Freydis shook her head at their antics, and took a long perpetual sip of her cup of milk as Ealhswith interrogated her husband, and Finan chimed in small quips that only made the irate woman angrier.

Chapter Text

With Finan on the ground, and a blade pressed against the arteries of his neck, Freydis let out a clamor of excitement – stopping her feet on the ground merrily, and lifting her sword off of his neck so she could use her other hand to clap. "I won!" She jeered, looking down at the fallen man. "I beat you, Finan!" Like countless times before, Finan and Freydis had spent the entire morningtime dueling to prepare Freydis for her eventual battle with Vikar. Unlike the many other practices, however, the Irish-rogue had finally won her first session against the sensational warrior, and right-hand of the monumental Danish-Saxon Dane-slayer; Uhtred of Bebbanburg. It began with a small misstep in the agile Irishman, an irregularity in his warrior nature. Then, with his mistake, she directed all her strength in unarming his right hand as she twisted her body around to his back and kicked out his knee. As expected, the Irishman fell and Freydis was able to kick him down entirely, and lie her blade against his jugular.

"Yu'r just lucky," he claimed, wincing as he sat up. "I'm still hungover – that is all."

Freydis, unfettered, raised a brow, "I have seen you drink yourself into an oblivion, Finan. And yet you still managed to beat me countless times, just admit it – I beat you, finally, because I am the fairest shieldmaiden in all the land!"

Finan stood up, wiping any dirt and straw off of his arse before smiling toward the Irish-rogue, "Never said yu' wasn't." He took a step toward her, gently placing his thumb on the brim of her jaw and caressing it over her lower lip, "but not even a God could beat me in battle, Frey. Yu' were just lucky."

Freydis took a step back, rolling her eyes as she wiped the sleeve of her tunic over her lip. "You've got mud on your hands, Finan. And mud over your eyes – because I clearly beat you, even a blind-man could see that."

Sihtric, who had been sipping ale with the monk at a table nearby, chortled, "She did beat you, Finan. Do not be bitter, it is ugly on you."

"No-one asked, ya' rat-bastard!" Finan said, pointing a threatening finger toward the Dane. "Baby monk, yu'r always honest in the eyes of God – who won this fight? Who cheated?"

Osferth tapped his chin thoughtfully, "I don't know, Finan. I don't think anyone cheated – nevertheless, I do not think you won, either."

"Ah-hah!" Freydis cheered, jamming her index finger into the Irishmans chest. "I won!"

Finan's cheeks grew red, and he glanced pointedly toward the monk, "Yu' traiterous bastard!"

"It is not betrayal when you are wrong," Freydis grinned, "admit it, Finan, you are merely embarrassed you lost against a woman!"

Finan scoffed, "Me? Embarrassed to be laid on my back by a woman? Who do yu' think I am, Freydis?"

Freydis rolled her eyes, lifting her ruby-hilted sword from the dirt and turning away. "You are vile."

He took a step toward her and placed either hand on the space above her hips, "Am I?"

Freydis closed her eyes, and tilted her head back into his chin – as quickly as she had felt comfort by the Irishmans gesture was as quickly as she became disgusted. A memory of Skjold forcing the Irish-rogue onto her stomach flashed through her mind, and she quickly stumbled out of the Irishmans grasp. "You are," she lowly mused, attempting her best to stay resolved. She turned to him, her frown rapidly shifting into a smile, "and a loser. For I won that duel fair and square."

The Irishman stomped his foot, groaning as he stumbled toward the table Sihtric and Osferth sat at and poured himself a cup of ale. "Fine, yu' won. But it won' happen again."

"The fact that I am now good enough to win against you only says differently, Finan." She said, taking his cup of ale from his hand to take a sip herself. "Soon I shall fight well enough to win against Uhtred."

"Is that so?" Sihtric asked, chuckling. "You talk a lot of shit for a woman tall as my six-year-old son."

Freydis scoffed, "I still hover a foot over your boy, Sihtric. If you wish to insult me, ensure what you say is true. Nevertheless, young Sihtric is a promising warrior – as is little Ygritte with her banshee screams."

"She's got a warrior cry for sure," Finan agreed, chuckling as he pulled a barrel toward the table for himself to sit on. "Then again, she is Ealhswith's daughter... it could be an aleh–"

Freydis slapped the Irishman over the shoulder as Sihtrics face heated, and Osferth hid the barest cracks of a smile against his cup of ale. The snap of a twig brought all of their attention to an approaching face, Finan turned with a concerned look, inquiring, "Lord?"

"Alfred is dead." Uhtred lowly informed. "And I am now a free man."

Freydis' heart leapt, whilst Alfred was not her king – she felt disheartened to hear of the death of a king nonetheless. She could still remember hearing of the Queen of Airgíalla's death when she was nine-years old. The entirety of Irland mourned, as told by her father. Women named their newborn babies after the lost Irish monarch Queen Gyda. Fathers abstained from alehouses, and whoring for six whole months – the entire time, claimed by the crown, it took for Queen Gyda's fever to turn everlasting and deadly. Finan coughed, breaking the stunned silence, "Are you okay, lord?"

Uhtred offered a single nod, "His death will be announced to the public this afternoon, and his funeral will be tonight. I am invited, as is Finan, and Freydis."

Freydis scrunched a brow, "I am invited?"

Uhtred nodded, "Lady Ælswith insisted, as you are a lady yourself."

Freydis had never met Lady Ælswith, King Alfreds newly-widowed, but nevertheless agreed to the queen's judgement. Sihtric crossed his arms uncomfortably over his chest, "The aethling pardoned you?"

"Alfred did," the Dane-slayer said, "in return for my oath."

Finan groaned, "Lord..."

"It is not for a lifetime, Finan," Uhtred interrupted, "merely until Edward is crowned king. I shall protect him and train him, and once that crown is sworn onto his head I am free once again."

"So you are not entirely a free man," Osferth clarified, "just an imprisoned mercenary free of the kill-on-sight order."

Uhtred rolled his eyes, "Indeed, Osferth."

Freydis tapped her foot anxiously against the ground, "Must I go to the funeral? Alfred was not my king."

"Don't let Ælswith hear ya' say that," Finan snorted, "She'll have yu' executed for treason."

"You must." Uhtred agreed pityingly. "It is customary for lords and ladies to attend, no matter who or where they are from. Just as long as they are in Wessex, or Winchester."

Freydis sighed, "I will go, I suppose. But I do not have anything to wear — will Lady Ælswith mind if I wear my tunic and breeches?" The Irishman and Dane-slayer glanced between one another as Sihtric looked to his cup, and Osferth smirked into his palm. Freydis took that as only one outcome; yes, Lady Ælswith would mind if Freydis dressed as a warrior to her husband's funeral.

So, as daybreak began its dissension into the evening, Freydis rushed into the town square with Ealhswith and Abbess Hild to purchase a gown with silver acquired from her travels throughout the English continent since arriving as a slave. "What are funeral colors?" Freydis inquired, gnawing on her lower lip.

Abbess Hild coughed, hiding a disappointed grunt, "White, lady. What is it Pagans wear to funerals?"

Freydis shrugged, "It is different between people — warriors commonly attended pyre's naked, to display their loyalty and a sense of their warriorship following the deceased into the Otherworld. Some, even, would join the deceased in the burning ceremony to abridge their entire spirit with the fates of the fallen one. Fathers and farmers for nothing but ashy-grey cloaks, to portray the skies as they fill with the fallen ones ascending spirits. Mothers and evermore would wear white with sapphires — even slaves were granted the white gowns and priceless jewels, for we may be different but equal in the perils of loss."

Ealhswith grabbed Freydis' hand, "That is beautiful, Freydis. Pagans always have fascinating ways in cherishing their dead."

"We do," Freydis agreed, smiling. "I only wish I could have cherished my family in the way they deserved — I suppose their bodies continue to rot in some disgraced hole, their leather-skinned heads piked along the walls as a reminder of what the Danes did to my land."

Abbess Hild frowned, "War is a sin, Freydis. I am sorry you lost so much they way you had — I will pray for Linnasburgh, and your family."

Freydis smiled, "Thank you, abbess. But enough about the dead — what shall I wear to the funeral?"

Ealhswith chortled, "Enough about the dead... now what do I wear to an event honoring the dead king?"

The abbess took Freydis' hand in hers, which, to say the least, startled the shieldmaiden upon the entwining of their fingers. Nevertheless, Freydis followed with Ealhswith close behind — they stopped at a small marketplace run by a woman older than the Gods themselves, behind her were multiple gowns hung on display with small price letters labeled beneath. "Good evening, abbess." Greeted the elder, "you require a funeral gown, I presume?"

"Indeed, Siggy," Hild nodded, "I am surprised you are still open — nevertheless, we are grateful in this time of need."

The grouchy old woman nodded, standing up out of her chair with the help of an old wooden cane, and stumbling toward her assortment of gowns with a hunch in her back. Freydis could practically see her chronic pain, but she said nothing of it as she averted her eyes to the very few white gowns. "Many noblewomen have come by this afternoon following the aethlings announcement. I was going to close, but alas, the influx of silver changed my mind."

"Must be a good day for business, all things considered." Freydis smiled, "I am Freydis, miss, we have not met. I am not accustomed to Christian sentiment, but I hope you will not turn away my favor as a Pagan."

"Do you have silver?"

Freydis pulled out a pouch from her breech pocket, "I do."

The old woman waved her off, "Then I do not care — come over here, girl. I must measure your tits."

Ealhswith giggled as she pushed the Pagan-visitor toward the old hag. Freydis rolled her eyes, raising her hands in the air upon request and twisting whenever inquired to do so. "Reasonable size," the woman surmised, "you are tiny, however, I do not know if I have gowns small enough to equate your short stature."

Hild tapped her lower lip pensively, "Can we not cut it shorter?"

The woman hummed, "I can, but it will cost more silver."

Freydis sighed, "That is fine — If I do not attend depicting a fine Christian woman, Lady Ælswith will surely have my head."

"She is not heathen," Hild rolled her eyes, "at most, she would call you a harlot and uninvite you from Edwards coronation."

Ealhswith grinned, "I am no longer allowed to attend feasts with Sihtric — Ælswith finds me distasteful, and unflattering in the eyes of God. Thus, I am not acceptable within the walls of Winchester Palace."

Hild laughed, "It is the ninth century, I wonder if Lady Ælswith will ever get with the times. Women can wear whatever they please, even if it rises above their knee or below their collarbone."

The old hag, whom Freydis had forgotten was even there, scoffed, "You speak blasphemy, abbess. I request you do not so in my marketplace — now, lady, I have chosen a gown for you that I do not believe will have to be cut. I shall give you pins if they are required, it will be thirteen silver."

Freydis' face paled, "Thirteen silver?"

Ealhswith gasped, "You never sold me a dress so cheap, Siggy! What is the upbringing of this kindness?"

"Kindness?" Freydis inquired, "thirteen silver is my entire pouch!"

Abbess Hild took Freydis' pouch from her hand, and placed it in Siggy's outstretched palm. As quickly as the Christianwoman had done so, Freydis had snatched her pouch back with a rush of blood tainting her pale cheeks. "I may have miscounted," she explained, pulling out thirteen silver with four leftover. "I shall use what I have left to drown my sorrow in ale."

The old woman huffed, and packed a folded white dress into a cloth-covered basket for Freydis to hold. Abbess Hild blessed the old hag for her kindness upon leaving, and Ealhswith waved, ignoring the snide comments made by the outdated witch about the woman's past of being a sex worker. As they walked back to the ale houses where Finan, Uhtred, Sihtric, and Osferth continued to drink — Freydis felt the burning aptitude of eyes overseeing her action. The Irish-rogue glanced around her surroundings, looking in the windows of passing homes and the dark expanse between houses where shadowy sentients thrived.

That is when she spotted a hooded-figure following them in the brush of small private farms.

Freydis turned slowly toward the abbess, ensuring Ealhswith could hear her as well from where she stood. "We are being followed."

The abbess, naively, began looking wildly around, "By whom?"

"I do not know," Freydis said, pleading for the woman's incessant naivety to cease. "but they oversee our actions — I left my sword and saex with the men, shall we move faster to a more bustling area?"

Ealhswith scoffed, "Let them watch us, it would only raise questions if we act so abruptly."

Freydis peered up to the woman, "Who is 'them'?"

"Guards," Ealhswith explained, "I am always followed, for I am the wife of the Dane-slayers left-hand. Lady Ælswith must be upset following Uhtred's pardoning, we shall be fine just as long as we don't make a wrong move, and give them a reason to imprison us and our families."

Begrudgingly, Freydis averted her eyes to the floor below and ignored the eyes actively following her every moment. Abbess Hild nudged her, pulling her out of her thoughts, inquiring, "Did you hear me?"

"I'm afraid not," Freydis frowned, "I was lost in thought – what did you say?"

"I was merely wondering what is happening between you, and Finan." Hild stated, "I have known him for years, and never have I witnessed the Irishman, before God, deny so many whorehouse-invites by the Winchester guards."

Freydis blinked, taken aback by the revelation with apple-tinted cheeks and ears, "There is nothing between Finan and I, Hild. Perhaps he is merely maturing – men don't revel in whores forever." Ealhswith scoffed, and Freydis retracted her statement, "Okay, some men. And I do not doubt Finan is a part of that bracket, he is different from most warriors."

Ealhswith, again, scoffed, "He is not, but he akin to most men in the manner he can be changed by falling in love."

"Love?" Freydis coughed, "In love with whom?"

"Awe, she is timid," Ealhswith cooed, "Hild, perhaps we should let this play out itself – it will do us no good to intervene when things are so fragile."

The sound of the two women teasing easily muffled in Freydis' ears as she purposefully discarded the bashful comments between whatever it was Finan, and Freydis had; which, in all honesty, was complicated. Her attention was brought back by the ominous hooded-figure, now watching from the shadows of a small Winchester bakery. Freydis quickly removed herself from the group, startling the two women who had, in the midst of Freydis' dazing, intertwined their elbows with the Irish-rogues. "I will be right back," she told the two women, turning back for a moment. "I saw... a God," she poorly lied, "Do not follow, He is distasteful toward Christians." Without another word, she continued her way to the bakery; however, now there was no hooded-figure. Freydis quickly dipped her head into the inner-espanse of the bakery and found no one but the head baker.

"What is it?" The old man inquired; was Winchester's entire market run by eighth-century dullards? "If you are planning to steal, do know I am a skilled-archer and veteran of the Battle of Złotoryja!"

Freydis ignored the man, and his odd-ball language and exited the bakery to observe its surroundings. Likewise to the inside, the surrounding area was similarly empty – there was no hooded figure within its back alley, or hiding by the dirt road neighboring a tailorsman shop. As the Irish-rogue found no further places to search, she stopped and frowned, repositioning her stance uncomfortably as the feeling of being watched ceased to vacate her sixth sense.

Chapter Text

Dressed in frivolous white ties, and ribbons, Freydis rushed into the mourning hall with her hair bound and dress pinned to her stockings in search of Uhtred and Finan, who promised to save her a spot in the small crowd of ladies, and lords. They had awaited the ceremony within the castle since Freydis had left to initially purchase her dress – then, after finding Ealhswith and Hild upon her abrupt departure in search for the secretive hooded-figure, Freydis returned to Ealhswiths home to put on her dress. The Irish-rogue would be lying if she said she hadn't felt some type of comfort putting on the attire – whilst she detested wearing dresses at home, wearing one now and at an even she hadn't even wanted to go to Freydis felt a sense of home that she would usually only feel ay Linnasburgh. For a moment, she expected her witty mother to approach her in the shadows, slicking back stray hairs with her saliva and swearing in gaelic when her daughter would lean away.

Freydis found Uhtred and Finan standing beside each other in the second aisle from the door on the right side of the hall – she scooted past Uhtred with a light 'excuse me,' before stopping, and standing, on the other side of Finan. The Irishman looked down at her, "God Freydis..."

Freydis peered up curiously, a worried expression on her face. "What is it? Did my face-paint smear?" Ealhswith insisted that Freydis wore some type of face-paint. She ended up crushing tallow with rose petals, and applying it to Freydis' dry lips. Then she applied charcoal to the lower-rim of the Irish-rogues eyelids.

"No, uh," the Irishman appeared at a loss for words, and Freydis' only panicked more severely as she began inspecting her dress for any stains. Noticing her panic, Finan lightly grabbed her wrists to stop her, "It is nothing, Freydis. I am merely stunned by yu'r beauty."

Freydis' cheeks tinted as red as her lips, "Gods, well, um, thank you, Finan."

He nodded, and a chorus of hymns commenced as a priest weidling a fancy candle entered with King Alfred's surviving family in tow. Freydis crossed her arms over her chest, only to lower them and clasp her hands over her abdomen as she noticed every other woman doing as such. Each person aligned with the priest, queen, and children of the king bowed to the long-table where Alfred's body lied, "There is no need to be nervous," Finan whispered to the Irish-rogue, "I will be right beside yu' every step of the way – we can leave whenever yu' see fit."

Freydis, nothing she had been fiddling with her fingers and gnawing on her lower lip, nodded in thanks with a grateful smile planted upon her lips. "You are too kind, Finan. I could never thank you enough."

"A kiss would suffice."

Freydis rolled her eyes, "Perhaps at the next funeral we attend."

The hymns took to an abrupt stop, and Father Beocca turned to the expectant crowd before him, "The king is dead," he declared, earning gasps from the already-informed mourners. "So together we pray for his soul, and for his successor, Edward. May God guide and protect him always." The priest continued, but Freydis' attention was taken by a familiar fiery-haired woman rushing out of the palace church. Finan noticed as well, and the two Irish travelers locked eyes curiously at the abrupt leave. Freydis, then, took her eyes off of him when she noticed the giant Saxon guard Steapa whispering into the Dane-slayers ear – Freydis gestured toward him, causing Finan to look over equally as curious.

"I feel as if we may need our swords," Freydis whispered to the Irishman, "oh– and now he is leaving." Uhtred turned diligently on his feet, following Steapa out of the church with two guards following from behind. Finan moved to follow, but Freydis firmly grabbed his wrist, "Where are you going?"

"I'm goin' after Uhtred," he whispered, eager for her to release him.

So much for being with her for every step of the way. "I am coming."

He pulled his wrist gently from her grasp, "Yu' stay, I will be right back." Then, he pushed by Hild and paced out of the church in stead of the escorted Dane-slayer.

Freydis scoffed, and followed close behind to the Irishman's departure, mumbling bitter statements underneath her breath. Freydis found the group just turning a corridor, Finan closely behind his lord with an anxious hand brushing his hip searching for the weapon he was forced to leave behind upon entering the palace. "Steapa, what is this?" The Irishman questioned, his voice wavering anxiously. Freydis caught up to the man, hugging his arm in order to stay close by him and, in a way, try to comfort him as Uhtred was blatantly being taken against his will. "What is this?" He inquired again, placing his palm on the Irish-rogues elbow.

Steapa turned and gestured for his guards to do something — abruptly, Freydis was forced away from the Irishman as he was shoved into the wall by the accompanying guard. Freydis panicked, kneeing her captor in the groin and taking his saex from his belt. As she lifted it to rest it against his jugular, she heard the uncomfortable grunt of Finan and faltered as his imprisoner placed a saex against his neck. Uhtred turned to his companions, "Do nothing," he stated, glancing toward the saex in Freydis' palm. The Irish-rogue frowned as she reluctantly dropped it to the ground, cringing at its loud atmosphere-interrupting clatter.

The guards released Finan, and one grunted angrily in Freydis' direction before they both followed Steapa, and Uhtred out of the church doors. "He is a free man!" Finan shouted after them, rubbing the brim of his sore jugular.

Freydis rushed toward him, inspecting his neck where the guards saex had pressed, "Are you okay?"

Finan ignored her, gesturing in the direction where Uhtred left, "He's a free man, Freydis! They can't take 'em!"

"T-They have no true premise to have taken him, Finan." Freydis tried, however it failed to soothe the Irishmans worry. "We mustn't panic, it will do him no good. In the meantime, we'll, uh, we'll meet back up with Sihtric and Osferth and think up a plan – the funeral will go on for a few more hours, we will have time before anything rash is decided." Finan ran his fingers through his beard using his other hand to ease the ache sprouting in her head. Freydis grabbed his cheek, running her finger over his cheekbone, "They won't hurt him, they can't. Saxons have trials, do they not? They do not extend beyond Dane-slayers, even if the queen despises him. We have time." Directly following her unbacked reassurance, disaster bells began to ring from every hightower in Winchester. Finans face paled as bile rose in the Irish-rogues esophagus, "Of course," she said, "Gods-forbid I am right."

Finan grabbed Freydis' hand, and rushed out of the church with bizarre eyes and uneven breaths. Bursting outside, they, in fact, did not find Uhtred with his head on the chopping block – but instead, they found multiple houses aflame as hellfire rained down on the impoverished Saxon city. "Oh Jesus!" Finan shouted, releasing his hold on Freydis and running his hands through his hair.

Osferth ran toward them equally disheveled, "Oh, dear lord! Is this–"

Finan turned and grabbed the monk, "Fetch Father Beocca!" He instructed, "Fetch him now, go!"

Freydis turned to the Irishman, "This is Beocca and Thyra's house?"

Finan nodded, his eyes widening, "Oh Jesus, Thyra! She left the ceremony – she must be in there!" Sihtric ran over with two empty wooden buckets. "Sihtric, is Thyra in there?"

Sihtric was covered in soot, and spat some mucous onto the road before turning lethargically to the Irishman, "I thought she was in the palace?"

"Oh, dear Gods!" Freydis cried, falling to her knees and praying, "Lord Belenus do not let this be true – spare Dane Thyra from your wrath, free her from your fury. She does not deserve it, she is a kind soul. Show forgiveness, my lord, and I will forever be grateful!" Her white dress was quickly sodden with falling ash, and mud from the road. Finan, Osferth, and Sihtric had quickly gone to work in a short-ended attempt to silence the fires fury, and save whatever was left of Father Beocca's valued home. Beyond the flames, Freydis' eyes focused on the hindered view of a hooded unco, the warriors eyes widened in the flickering heat before she pushed herself onto her feet and marched toward the figure – immediately, they moved out of view. Freydis groaned as she snatched a sword from a panicking townsmen, and went off running in the direction of the stranger. She re-spotted them as they turned a corner, and Freydis cut through the miniature expanse of a villagers farm to cut them off on the next road.

The Irish-rogue hid behind a pillar as the figure ran into the street, placing their hands on their knees as they looked behind them, and caught their breath. Freydis broke out from her hiding spot, and grabbed the person by their waist as she pressed the blade of her sword into their throat. "Who are you?" She seethed, "Why are you following me? Did you do this? Did you set Father Beocca's home alight?"

"Please do not hurt me." an accented voice pleaded, Freydis recognized them to be Irish. "I did nothing, I swear!"

Freydis released her hold on the woman, and spun her around to face her as she pointed the tip of her sword in the direction of the hooded-figure's heart. "Take off your hood." Slowly, the hooded-woman removed her hood with shaky hands. Freydis eyes widened at the familiarity of the face – it was the Welsh woman, the one who was taken from Linnasburgh alongside the Irish-rogue, and the boy who lost his life early in enslavement. "You..." Freydis said, her swordhand faltering. "What are you doing here?"

"I am spying, lady," she said, falling to her knees. "Earl Skjold sent me to Wessex to spy days after you left with the Dane-slayer, I was eager to go – I could not withstand the squalor of being his whore no longer."

"So you are not only a traitor of the Gods, but of Linnasburgh as well?" Freydis surmised, "your idiocy is remarkable, fealltóir." 'Traitor.' "first you deny our lord of lords, and now you betray the last living heir of Linnasburgh?"

The Welsh woman's lower lip curled, and she pressed her hands together pleadingly as her eyes filled with tears, "I didn't mean it, lady. I was feeling hopeless – I was not sent here to spy on you, moreover, but to merely spy on the palace. But when I saw you... I knew I had to follow. It was a sign of the Gods."

"So you did not tell Skjold of my whereabouts?"

Her lower lip wavered, and a tear fell, "I have, lady. Forgive me, please! I was frightened, if Skjold figured out you were here and I had refrained from telling him in doing so, he would have hurt me – I could not stand it, Lady Freydis, I could not be raped again. I would not allow it!"

Freydis' expression persisted unbothered as she looked down at the weeping woman, "Tell me your name."

She sniffed, "My name is Myfanwy, lady."

"Myfanwy," Freydis repeated, her tongue feeling irregular due to the Welsh pronunciation. "He will rape you no longer, I will protect you."

Myfanwy's eyes lighted up in the gleam of the spreading fire, "Y-You will?"

"In return for your loyalty." Freydis stated, "If you wish to be protected, then you must lie down all loyalty and vow to never betray me, or the Gods again. Furthermore, you will leave behind all of your bovine cowardice and become my equal – a shieldmaiden, and my right-hand when chance comes to re-claim Linnasburgh."

"I swear it, lady," Myfanwy eagerly stated, "I vow it – I give to you, and the Gods, all my loyalty. And from this day onward I will be none other than a shieldmaiden to be respected. I will help you take back Linnasburgh, even if it costs me my life."

Freydis leisured the drop of her sword, "It will not, I swear it." She took a step forward, grabbing the Welsh woman by the rim of her cloak and pulling her to her feet, "If you are deceiving me, creimere, I will give you a far worse fate than what Skjold Arinbjornsson could ever give you." 'Rodent.'

"I am not deceiving you, lady," Myfanwy promised, her voice low and seemingly sincere. "I am now at your service."

Freydis released her, nodding with a newfound grin expanding over her lips, "Good. Now, as your first task I want you to continue messaging Skjold my whereabouts."

Myfanwy's brow scrunched, "Pardon?"

"You heard me," Freydis stated, "you will continue messaging him to avoid suspicion – and you will not lie. I do not fear Skjold, in fact, I plan to kill him."

The Welsh woman's eyes widened before she nodded, "I will do that, lady. I will tell him you are still in Winchester."

Freydis smiled, "Very well," she looked down at her mudded, thirteen-silver dress and sighed. "I suppose I must change... fetch me my sword from the church – its hilt is ruby, you cannot miss it."

"Yes, lady," she said, nodding, "I will do that."

Freydis raised a curious brow when Myfanwy failed to move, "Will you?"

"Oh yes!" she ran off, her hair swaying wildly in the breeze. "I will take it to young Kjartanssons home!"

Freydis sighed, "Of course she knows where I lodge..." The Irish-rogue glanced around her whereabouts, acknowledging the ceasing fire in the direction of Father Beocca's home. Freydis wiped ash from her nose as she ran back in the direction where she had left Finan, Sihtric, and the monk to put out the fire. There were hardly any visible flames left, but smoke pooled enragingly out of the windows – Freydis noticed the ceiling had collapsed. Sat on top of a barrel a few meters from the home was Finan, his face in his hands as Sihtric sat in the mud beside him sipping ale. Osferth was beside Father Beocca, praying to his God. Freydis placed her hand on the Irishmans shoulder, kneeling beside him and observing the distraught expression on his face, "She is dead..." Freydis surmised, "Thyra is dead?"

Sihtric stood up, stumbling from the abrupt motion, before returning to the nearby alehouse to refill his empty cup of ale. Finan sighed, glancing at his brother before looking down toward Freydis, "She is," he said, "do not fret over Sihtric, he is upset – he wanted to go in, but I stopped him."

"I was not going to blame him." She placed her hand on his knee, resting her cheek on top her knuckles as she looked up toward the Irishman. "Are you okay?"

Finan chuckled, looking away, "Yu' keep asking that."

"I am worried," she explained, "first Uhtred, now this... I only wish you do not blame yourself."

He frowned, "Steapa put him in a cell," he said, "they are going to decide his fate tonight. It is like Lady Ælswith set Father Beoccas home alight to ensure he is not there to contradict their heinous punishments for Uhtred..."

"It could have been a stray ember," Freydis frowned, taking his hand in hers and running her thumb over his scabbed knuckles. "It has been awfully windy today. Nevertheless, I pray to the Gods that there was no foul-play. Dubnos will reign hot for whomever is to blame."

He looked down at her, switching their roles and caressing her knuckles as the attention was brought to her, "Where did yu' go?"

She lifted her head, "Pardon?"

He observed her dress, "Yu' are covered in mud... and yu' disappeared for a bit. Where did yu' go?"

"I saw someone from my past," Freydis stated, "the Welsh woman... do you remember her? She had been brought from Linnasburgh to Dunholm with me as a slave."

His eyebrows scrunched in concern, "She is here?"

"She is," Freydis nodded, the Irishman moved to stand but she tightened her hand around his wrist. "and she is on our side. I promise if she is deceiving me, I will cut off her tits."

He nodded, slowly relaxing back on top the barrel, "I-I trust yu', but why was she even in Winchester?"

Freydis frowned as a wheeze strained at his voice, and she leant up to place her hand on his cheek, "I will tell you later, Finan. For now, we must get you to clean air – I can practically hear the fever festering in your lungs."

He coughed, "Yu' may be right, I think I've swallowed more smoke than ale in the last five years."

Freydis rolled her eyes, standing up and holding her hand out for him to grab. "I doubt that, Finan. I think you've drunk enough last night to fill the North Sea two-times over."

"I'm not a drunk!"

"Yes, you are." Freydis disagreed, "now let us go, we will return in the morning for Father Beocca. He will be devastated following poor Thyra's demise."

Finan nodded, turning back to glance at the sizzling home as they walked away. "Did yu' know her entire family died in a fire?" He asked, looking back down toward her. "All besides Ragnar, who supposedly suffers the arctics of Niflheim as they could not burn his body for he did not die in battle."

Freydis shrugged, frowning, "It is fate, I presume. I only hope ours is not as gruelling."

"Yes," the Irishman agreed, sighing. "We can only hope."

Chapter Text

Bedanford was a hilly landscape smelling of cow manure, and piss – nevertheless, it was a spectacular destination for the greatest battle of all of their lives. They arrived early in the morning with a miniscule band of Edwards spared men – then, receiving a last warm meal from their encampment at High Wycombe, the group led off to the woods where the spy Jackdaw had claimed to withhold the traveling army of the Danes. Never before had Freydis tread through so much shite, or twist her ankle from neglected lands as such. The Irish-rogue cringed with every squelching step she took, trying to focus on the main matter at hand; they were going to war. And after months of traversing through England's unallied kingdoms, Freydis was to finally meet face-to-face with her abuser, and possibly kill him in retrubution for all he had done to her.

If the Gods favored it, Skjold would be killed in this battle as well – for he conducted nearly as much, if not equally as much pain as Vikar had.

They stood at the ready, hidden within the depths of the birchwood forest. Freydis' heart pumped vigorously fast as she listened to the clangs of armor, the voices of unsuspecting Dane's filling her eardrums as they watched, listened, and waited. Finan stood crouched beside the fiery-eyed Irish-lady, a similar dangerous expression embeded on his face. Freydis' ruby-hilted sword stood dug into the dirt, used momentarily as a balancing cane as she knelt in the manure-mixed mud. Sihtric glanced at the Great Dane army traversing through the wood, wearing a worried expression as he imagined fighting them whilst greatly outnumbered. "Lord, can you explain the plan again?"

Uhtred, tightening his braids, glanced toward the younger man. "Nervous, Sihtric?"

"No, I am merely opposed to dying today," Sihtric responded, "we've got two-hundred men, and they have only five-hundred in the back section – when are the Mercians supposed to come in?"

Uhtred lowered his arms, and pulled coal from his pocket as he began dabbing it upon his eyelid. "Soon. We are to attract attention from the front, giving the rest of Edwards men a greater chance at succeeding. Then, the Mercians will come."

Finan chortled, "And if Sigebriht ain't a hunk of lyin' scum, we'll have a thousand Centish as well."

"You will be fine, Sihtric," Freydis soothed, placing a reassuring hand on his upper bicep. "Soon enough you will be back in Wessex, and humping another child into Ealhswith's belly."

Sihtric groaned and pulled his arm out of Freydis' grasp, Finan laughed only to be halted mid-way through as Uhtred placed a hand on the loud Irishmans mouth. "Sorry, lord," he muffled, cringing at his garishness.

A spy brouke through the treeline, and immediately Uhtred's front men lifted their swords threateningly – alas, it was not a Danish spy but one of Edwards men. His eyes grew largely widened, with all bloodflow vanishing from his pollar expression, Uhtred gestured for him to approach, which he reluctantly did despite his everlasting anxiety following his initial emergence. "What is it?" The Dane-slayer inquired, peering up at the man who failed to kneel.

"It is time," the spy whispered, "His Grace says it is time to attack."

Freydis looked to Uhtred, "Is it not your decision, lord?"

Uhtred shrugged, unconcerned, "I suppose the aethling is impatient," he looked toward the surrounding men, and lifted his sword out of the dirt to signal the time to fight was near. "Archers!"

A row of men behind Freydis stood out of their kneeling position and drew back the springs of their bows, they held their arrows readily as the army upfront took to a halt. "Must've stopped a while ago," Finan acknowledged, "found their men hanging."

"Wonderful observation, Finan," Osferth uttered, tightening his grip over his large wooden club. "Did you have a private education, or were you naturally this intelligent?"

Finan whacked the monk on the shoulder as Uhtred held up three fingers, and slowly counted them down. He looked to his main party, "Ready?"

Sihtric spun his axe in his grip, "Ready, lord."

"Aye," Finan nodded, "lord."

"Not really," Osferth muttered, nevertheless, he nodded. He looked up to the sky, "Lord, forgive me if I kill a man – is it for Wessex, I hope you can understand."

Freydis rolled her eyes at the monks plea, but gave Uhtred a tight-lipped nod. "I'm ready, lord."

Uhtred nodded, and dropped his hand to his side, "Archers– RELEASE!"

Wind-whipped squeals shot over Freydis' head, loud but short-lived as they imbedded themselves into the meat of Danes, or the trees by their heads. Immediately, the Dane's broke out in confusion and chaos – looking around wildley with their weapons unsheathed, and blood coagulating with the crave of violence. The Dane-slayer hopped to his feet, his men followed in unison as archers from the opposite treeline did exactly as Uhtred's division had – they shot a series of arrows, drawing the attention of the Dane's shieldwall from their left, to their right. At the short-lived distraction, Uhtred raised his sword Serpent-Breathe in the air and roared, breaking out into a run with everyone following behind.

It only took a few moments before Freydis' collided Belenus into the back of the first Dane. It pierced his skin immediately, and the Irish-rogue was immediately relieved by her sharpening skills – initially, it had seemed like nothing changed. But now she hardly had to push for it to pierce through the man's ribs. She spun around the next wielded sword, and cut another man's side before plunging it into his spleen – a man can live without a spleen, so to ensure his death she unsheathed her saex and slid it across his throat. Freydis used the spurting blood to blind an axe-wielding shieldmaiden, and she proceeded to parry another oncoming foe whilst throwing her foot behind her original opponents knee and then slamming the hilt of her sword into the center of their face.

The battle continued as such, full of battle cries, blood, and death – Freydis took many lives, whilst incompacitating many others. Her arms grew tired from the repetition of hook, pull, lunge, parry, and dodge, and her breaths grew heavy as the Danes closed in on the Saxons, and Saxon-allied. They were greatly outnumbered, and despite Edwards' addition mid-way through, Saxon numbers proceeded to diminish without taking the appropriate amount of Danes to relieve the disbalance. Whenever the Irish-rogue had the chance, she looked through the sea of men for her target; alas, Vikar was nowhere in sight. Skjold, moreover, was in a four on one battle with four, tiny, yet courageous, Saxon men with palace-wielded swords. The Irish-rogue sprinted past an archer wielding a saex, and cut open his belly as she jumped onto a rock to observe the chaos below. Uhtred was cutting down men as if they were stalks of maize, on his six was Sihtric duelling a big-breasted Dane that reminded Freydis of the late Ogna – not the horse, but the woman.

Osferth was knocking his club against the heads of unsuspecting Danes in battle, his robes stained red with blood, and Finan fought nearby with his chainmail abandoned, and eyes full of an Irish-craze. A man with braided red-hair, and a cup across his face started toward the Irish-rogue ontop the boulder, his axe raised. Freydis expected him to climb up the rock, but the man rather threw his axe which started spiraling toward her chest. She blocked it with her sword, panting with wide-eyes and heavy breaths at her near collision with death. Quickly blinking away her shock, she ran and jumped off the boulder, and over the head of the weaponless Dane before swiftly turning, and jamming Belenus into his heart.

A hand grabbed at her shoulder, and she turned with the intention to kill – her sword was quickly halted as it collided with another sword, and Freydis gasped when she spotted Myfanwy standing where she originally suspected to be a foe. "What is it?" Freydis pondered, lowering her sword so the Welsh woman could drop her own sword which weighed heavily on her untrained wrists.

"I found him, lady," Myfanwy stated, cringing as blood splattered her dress. "I found Vikar – he is here."

Freydis nodded, looking over the former-slaves shoulder and pulling out her saex to throw. It landed directly in between the man's eyes. Freydis marched around Myfanwy and crouched over the corpse lying in the mud, she placed a hand on his jaw as she pulled her saex out of his skull. Then, she stood, and looking up to the wide-eyed shieldmaiden-to-be, "Bring me to him."

Myfanwy nodded, and began pacing through the sea of men as Freydis cut down anyone in their path. She passed by the baby monk, who turned to her with wide-eyes, "Where are you going?!" He asked, his voice unusually morose.

Freydis reached a bloodied hand to his cheek, "It is time, Osferth. Vikar is here."

His eyes grew soft as he gulped, and nodded. "I wish you luck, lady. I shall pray for your success."

She laughed, shaking her head, "Do not do that now, Osferth! We are in a battle!" The monk frowned, and Freydis' eyes softened, "I will be okay, I promise. I shall find you when the battle ends."

"Please do," he said, sincerity thorough in his tone. Freydis smiled, and gave him one last pat on the cheek before nodding to Myfanwy, and continuing their trek to wherever Vikar was. Fighting grew scarce the further they walked, and Freydis, for a moment, felt the calm reassurance to resheath her sword. Nevertheless, she did just the opposite – instead, she whipped it out in front of Myfanwy where she walked beside her.

The Welsh woman gasped, her emerald-colored eyes widening to the size of pears, "Lady?"

Freydis' face sneered as she peered at the warrior-barren landscape around them, "If you are lying to me, Myfanwy, I will cut open your belly and use your insides to hang you over branch."

Myfanwy gulped, "I am not lying, lady. Nor am I betraying you – he, with four other men, are scouting the perimeter to alert Skjold of any more approaching armies."

Freydis huffed, nodding. "They are straight ahead?"

"Yes, lady, a mere four-minute walk."

The Irish-rogue considered her words, "You will stay here. I shall go ahead alone."

Myfanwy went wide-eyed, "But lady, there is a battle–"

"Right here," Freydis repeated, "if you are still here when I arrive back, then you shall have all my trust. If you are not, I will hunt you to the four corners of the Earth, and wherever extends beyond the seas."

She gulped, nodding, as she slowly collapsed into the leaves and sat with her sword in her lap. Freydis gave one more warning glance before turning, and heading into the direction where Myfanwy guided. She crouched behind the trees, pathing her way through the wood so she wouldn't alert Vikar, and his men of her presence. Her heart thumped loud as a horse's hoof, and she gnawed on her inner-cheek with inextinguishable worry. Nevertheless, she marched on – and when she found Vikar traversing through the wood heeded by four burly Danes, she inhaled a deep, preparitive breath before emerging from behind a tree and letting out a roar. She used one hand to throw her saex into the abdomen of a Dane, whilst she cut down another with her sword. The next man, their sword sheathed and unready, stumbled away from her as she swung her sword – he fell, and was then struck with the saex Freydis removed from a bleeding corpse into his neck.

Vikar had yet to recognize his princess, and barked orders for his last surviving man to cut her down. Freydis spun around, blocking his sword with her own. She lunged to kick out his knee, an action she had grown awfully good at, but failed as he stomped on to her ankle and sliced her shoulder open with his iron blade. Freydis growled, flipping herself over to dodge another hit, and sliced her sword against his calf to force him down as she had hoped to do initially. She blocked another swing, moving behind him as she held his neck beneath her armpit and tried to unharm him. He bit her, and she quickly released him to halt the excruciating pain. The bleeding Dane stood, his white-haired braids swinging past his face as he used his good leg to kick Freydis in the stomach. It knocked the breath out of her the first time, but the second time she caught it – she twisted it, grinning at the crack that loudly erupted from the bone before throwing his foot on the ground and yanking his sword from his hand whilst he roared in pain, distracted. He reached for it, but she quickly raised it above his sticky palms. It stuck directly through his sternum, killing him immediately.

When the large man's body collapsed upon Freydis pulling the sword from his chest, her eyes immediately met with the larger, furious irises of Vikar-the-Cunt. His eyes quickly filled with surprise, a wide-grin overtaking his bitter scowl, "Princess? It is you!"

Freydis ignored the pain in her shoulder as she raised her ruby-hilted sword into the air readily. "By the will of Dagda, Vikar, I am going to kill you and hang your body for all your false Gods to see."

Vikars smile vanished, "Oh, so you are not as happy as I – have you met my dear Myfanwy, Lady Freydis? Just recently I sent her to Winchester to overwatch the cowardly Saxons, and nearly a week ago she informed me of your arrival... She told me you were going to be here, but I expected you to have been with the other women and children at the Saxon encampment. My men and I were heading there just now, alas, here you are ahead of me. I see you have gotten good at swordskill, was it Uhtred who taught you? Or was it that insufferable Irishman... Finan, was it? I heard he was a slave, like you! Does he bed well? I am merely curious, for I heard Sverri was notorious for cutting off the cocks of his Irish slaves."

Freydis coughed, blood rushing heavily into her ivory-white cheeks, "Do you ever stop talking? Or should I stuff it in your mouth when I cut off your cock?"

Vikar snarled, his yellow teeth bared threateningly as he unhooked his axe and tightened his fist around its hilt until his knuckles were white from restricted blood flow. "I wish not to kill you, princess. I've yet to bed you! Perhaps, once you are bloodied and weakened, I can hump you then – afterward, I shall string up your naked body for that little Irishman of yours to see."

Freydis tried her hardest to keep her expression unaffected, however, it grew increasingly hard as her lips curled vexingly and heart thumped anxiously ahead of fighting her greatest foe. Before her body language could betray her any further, she let out a mighty scream and charged toward the much taller, grotesque Dane. He easily dissuaded her attempt to plunge Belenus into his belly, and used his massive bear-foot to kick her onto her arse. Freydis rolled over before he could finalize his next move, and she swung her blade over the man's shin – it spurted blood, but he had no reaction. Whilst Vikar carried greater height, weight, and pain withbearance, Freydis was smaller, quicker, and better calculated when it came toward determining her next move. She kicked the wound she had created along his knee, and caused him to stumble and miss his attempt at pinning her wrist to disarm her.

She quickly rose to her feet, cringing at the pain in her shoulder by the sudden exertion of physical strength. She swung her sword, and it collided with his side – he did not falter, and grabbed the blade with his monstrous palm and yanked the weapon from her hand. Freydis went wide-eyed, nausea sweeping through her belly as she looked around for the next closet weapon. The Irish-rogue dodged the swing of his axe, and threw herself into the forest-floor to retrieve her saex from the corpse of one of Vikars fallen allies. She attempted to turn, but was kicked in the ribs by Vikar's mammoth foot. Her breath was immediately taken from her, and her body involuntarily curled into itself. He kicked her again, which had not hurt as much seeing as she was already overtaken by the pain of the first kick. "This is pitiful, princess!" Vikar mocked, "You took down my men so formidibaly, yet here you are taken down not a minute into our duel."

Freydis gasped as her breath was deliberately returned to her, and she covered her belly when she witnessed another kick coming her way. His foot collided with her knuckles, and Freydis had to bite her tongue to prevent herself from screaming – one, if not multiple, bones had definitely broken with the hit. Vikar laughed, "Do I even want to hump you?" He inquired, "Yes, you are a princess – but an awful one, at that. You were even a terrible slave! Skjold recieved no reputation from humping you, why should I?" He knelt down, and grabbed her chin aggressively with his fingers digging into her jaw. Her lips parted with a gasp, blood from her wounded tongue dribbling down her lower lip as she fought to look him in the eye. "You're not a princess, not a slave... you're shite at being a runaway, for you came to me despite my intention to kill you. Moreover, you are positvely ruddy at swordskill – again, I ask, why should I keep you?" He threw her onto the ground, stars clouded Freydis' mind as the back of her head collided with the hard ground.

Of course she hit the one spot not coated in mud, or cow shite.

Freydis was pulled out of her momentary daze as she felt her legs split open. She opened her eyes, finding Vikar between her legs as he meneuvered his belt. Freydis kneed him in the groin, scrambling to get away. Her eyes flickered around the area, searching for the hilt of her ruby sword within the grass – her ankle was grabbed, and she kicked. Her foot collided with his mouth, and he growled as he stood onto his feet. Freydis, not wanting to be stepped on, quickly scrambled to hers as well – she noticed her sword in the dirt behind Vikar. "Do not touch me." Freydis snarled, her eyes flickering from her sword, to his bloodied nose – when had she done that?

Vikar leant down to lift Freydis' forgotten saex out of the dirt, "You are opposed to it?" He inquired, all amusement gone from his expression. "You must kill me then, princess," he took another step toward her and she stood a step back. "Because the Gods know I will not stop – I hear them cheering me from Valhalla. Can you hear them, princess? I suppose not... for you are nothing but akin to the Christian scum."

Freydis huffed, and ran toward Vikar as he taunted her – she dodged his fist, moving so her back collided with his side and she was able to fly toward her sword on the ground. She grabbed it by the blade, cringing at the sudden pain as it cut her, and flipped herself onto her back with the sword raised to stop whatever Vikar attempted to throw at her. Alas, nothing came towards her as Vikar was busy regaining his footing – her sudden movement had knocked out his balance. Raising her sword, Freydis broke out into a sprint with the tip of her blade pointed at his back. He just barely dodged the attempt at his life, stumbling again but catching himself onto a tree. The Irish-rogue went in with another attack, this time cutting open his already-injured shoulder, and again, aiming to fully pierce his skin.

He caught her blade with his axe, pulling in hopes she would lose her gripping. This time, however, she was ready – she kicked his knee, grinning at the loud crack as it dislocated into a deviant slant. For the first time that night, Vikar shouted. His acceptance, and withstanding toward pain had ceased as his knee became broken. The ugly Dane collapsed, swinging his axe wildly with one hand as he coddled his broken leg with the other. Freydis quickly caught his axe with her sword, and yanked the weapon from his hand. He looked up, moving to grab her, yet she quickly drove her blade into his fist – he screamed again, this one copiously more gruelling. Freydis pulled her sword from his tendons, earning another wail, and then swung her sword like a club from its blade – the ruby hilt collided with his cheekbone, shattering it on impact and knocking the Dane onto his back.

Dazed, the enormous bully groaned as his vision fissured. Wanting him to look at her, Freydis stepped onto his wounded hand. His eyes shot open, immediately meeting hers as he let out a blood-curtling scream. "Does this hurt?" Freydis inquired, kneeling so her foot forced greater pressure onto his hand. His eyes rolled in the back of his head, and she groaned as she lifted her foot back up. "Vikar?" He did not wake, so she kicked him in the groin. His eyes opened, wide and screaming for his loss of voice. "There you are, my friend." Freydis grinned, wincing as she leant down by his head. "I apologize for your initial dissatisfaction with my swordskill, it was quite a conundrum. Alas, here we are, Vikar," she pressed the tip of her blade into the ball in his throat, "my sword to your throat, and you wailing like a pseuding whore! Shall I cut off your cock and then slit your throat, or the other way around?"

He opened his mouth to speak, but winced as her sword dug deeper into his jugular. Freydis sighed, her heart hammering against her chest as she hesitantly lifted her hold. "M-My sword." He rasped, glancing toward a tree nearby. "Before you kill me – hand me my axe?"

She piqued a brow, "So you can kill me?"

"So I can go to Valhalla."

Freydis glanced toward the man's iron-forged weapon, before looking back down at him. He was bloodied, and pathetic, salted-tears hinting at the crease of his eyes. His shoulder was mangled, nose and knee broken, hand pierced, his cheekbone blackened as it swelled with blood beneath his unbroken skin, and his front tooth was chipped. She glanced back at the weapon, her heartrate slowing as she realized that this was it; this was time for Vikar to die. She knew it, he knew it, the Gods and false Gods alike knew it – with one more pierce, Vikar would be dead amd Freydis' future would be vacant of any ill motivations. She was again reminded of her predicament when Vikar coughed, and shuffled beneath her, "Dying with your weapon... it grants you entarance to Valhalla?"

Vikar nodded, coughing yet again as an answer of confirmation. Freydis nodded in understanding, She peered back into his eyes, a wicked grin overtaking her face, "You will not have it." As expected, the Dane began to writhe under Freydis' hold. She kicked him in the cheek, slowing his actions momentarily so she could speak, "You will not enter Valhalla, Vikar. For as long as I live, I will not allow it. All of these warriors today... those men of yours lying in the dirt, they will go to Valhalla. You will not, you will enter Niflheim... or, as I know it, Dubnos. You will freeze, watching as the Overworld goes by whilst unseen to the living, and invisible to the dead alike. You will watch as no one mourns you, and listen as we cheer and sing and fuck to the loss of yourself, and the Great Dane army." She placed her palm over the hilt, leaning down as the tip drew blood from his throat, "This is my revenge, Vikar. You hurt me, and now I shall hurt you – I pray the Gods show you no mercy, for what you shall face for the rest of existence will be excruciating."

The Dane's lower-lip trembled, and tears fell down his bloodied cheeks with snot bubbling from his nose. "Please, Freydis. Show mercy!"

Freydis sniffed, her expression unfettered, "I will not."

And in one, swift finalizing movement, she pierced her sword through his throat.

Chapter Text

Freydis trudged through the blood-stained forest floor with her sword sheathed onto her back, and saex held lightly within her anxious grasp. The battle had long swept onto ground yet to be touched when the Irish-rogue had additionally crossed its bath, and bodies littered the floor like fallen leaves admist the erstwhile autumn season. Whenever she met a long-haired carcass lying on the ground, her heart skipped a solemn beat as she checked for Myfanwy, fortunately, she had only been met with incapacitated Danes instead. The Irish-rogue was wholly unsure where she had left the Welsh woman, however, her walk back had been six minutes when it only took four minutes to initially get to Vikar. Myfanwy either betrayed her, or she was dead – Freydis doubted she had lost the woman by her own accord, for Freydis was well-taught in navigation. The Irish-rogue would often act as a representative for Linnasburgh when her elder siblings were otherwise engaged, so she would spend weeks traversing across Irland to speak with the Christian lords.

Sighing, the woman determined that finding Myfanwy amongst all of the bodies would have been a lost cause. She continued her trek, hugging her forearm to her aching ribs and lifting her food more ostentationally as her bones ached, and lost movability. As she approached the treeline, she was met more often with living bodies than the outnumbering dead ones. Warriors still wild with battle-craze observed her like hawks stalking prey, others, more disheartened, hardly looked her in the eye as they mourned their dead and held the hands of the dying. Freydis hardly noticed that her threats to Vikar had been deemed true – that the battle had been won in favor of the Saxons, and their allies.

An incessent rumbling went through Freydis' dirtied, and blood-stained ears as she searched through the sea of corpses, and mourners in search of her men. She searched for Uhtred, the infamous Dane-slayer at fault for the extravagant win of this great battle. She looked for Sihtric, the only Dane Freydis grew fond of with a gregarious soft spot for a Saxon doxy called Ealhswith. She searched for Osferth, the kind-hearted monk with a sharp-witted holy-Devil's tongue. But most importantly, she searched for her Irishman – the man of a thousand paradigms she oh-so thoroughly despised, yet found herself living within the man of a worrying crave for ale. Yet, whilst she so utterly despised most men for their overreliance on ale, she found herself craving his fruit-scented lips, despite, for so long, being unable to imagine anything as revolting as kissing another man since her encounters with Skjold.

Freydis approached a one-eyed man with a large wound adorning his jugular, and crouched ahead of her. "What is your name?" She inquired.

He looked up at her with his single, beady-eyed iris and observed the features of the woman's face, "Alfred." Said the young man, his armor glinting in the barest revelations of the sun peering through the trees.

"After the late king, I presume?" He nodded. "How old are you?"

"Fourteen." The young boy stated, "yet I was baptised Alfred after his win at Edington."

"It is a strong name," Smiled the Irish-lady, "you must get your eye, and neck checked, Alfred. Infection festers the longer you leave it unattended. Before you go, however, can you point me in the direction of Lord Uhtred the Dane-slayer?"

Freydis' heart swelled with relief as the boy shakily raised his hand, and pointed in the direction of the nearest creek. She planted a light kiss above his injured eye before nodding in thanks, and sprinting in the direction he had pointed. She passed a blood-splattered tree with a Dane speared into its bark, and tredged through the muddied coastline with her eyes trained on every face she passed by. A wide grin spread across her lips when she found Osferth sat ontop a treestump, seemingly unwounded as he rubbed blood from his stained robe. "Monk!" Freydis crowed, the pain in her ankle vanishing as she limped nimbly forward. "You live!"

"Freydis!" Osferth grinned, "I knew you were alive!"

She approached him, her arms outstretched as Osferth raced forward to hug her. "Others have doubted my perseverance?"

"Sihtric," Osferth informed, the embrace between the two disappating. "But I believe he is just preparing himself for the worst – none of us wish to see you dead."

"So he is okay?" Freydis smiled, disregarding his previous statement. "Finan, and Uhtred, too?"

"Alive and well, lady," Osferth grinned, "Uhtreds got a bruised eye, Sihtric a cut on the side of his head, and Finan a bruised gut but nothing more. I hadn't even got wounded, and I merely beat people with a club!"

"God is good," Freydis mused, "nathless, where are the other men?"

Osferth pointed toward the water, "Uhtred is washing Serpent-breathe in the waters. Finan and Sihtric are out looking for you."

Freydis placed a hand on her hip, "And you were not?"

His grin did not falter, "I did not believe you dead."

"And if I was injured, unable to move?"

Now his grin faltered, "I did not think of that."

Freydis flicked the skin between his eyes, "Do think of it next time, Osferth ironside. Not all of us are as immune to danger as you are."

"Will do, lady," The monk stated, nodding incessantly.

"Freydis," The Irish-rogue corrected, "I thought we were past that, monk!"

Osferth grinned, glancing beyond the Irish-rogue and toward the waters below, "Shall I tell Uhtred you are alive?"

"Did he think I had died?" When Osferth winced, Freydis rolled her eyes with an unfettered smile. "Then allow him to think I am dead for a little while longer. I will be back, monk, for now I must say hello to our doubtful companions."

"Wait!" The monk grabbed her wrist, and her insides curdled at the sudden movement. Nathless, she peered back curiously toward the gratified holy-man. "Did you kill him? Did you kill Vikar?"

Freydis' lips danced with a forthcomig smile, "I am appalled you would think otherwise."

Osferth laughed, taking in the Irish-rogue for another embrace. "God is good!"

Freydis chuckled, kissing the younger man on top of his head before pulling away from the embrace and turning the opposite direction. The twist caused her foot to ache, but she fought to not mind it – instead, she walked in the direction of the nearest horde of Saxon men. "Athelstan!" She called, but no one looked over. "No? I thought that was a common enough Saxon name..."

One man noticed her approach, "Lady Freydis!" The others quickly dispersed, bowing as they came face-to-face with the supposed Irish royal.

Freydis ogled at them, "There is no need to bow, in Saxon country we are but equals."

"Alas, it would be primitive to not bow to a lady, even if she is of Irland and not of the kingdoms." Said the main-speaking Saxon warrior, "I am glad to see you are not badly woman, nevertheless you should get those cuts of yours bandged as soon as possible."

"I shall, ser," Freydis kindly nodded, "do tell me, however, have you seen any of Uhtred's men? The Irishman, or the Dane?"

One of the other Saxons stepped forward, "Kjartansson's bastard had just gone that way," he pointed toward a row of trees where slain bodies were piled on top one another. "Haven' seen the Irishman, though."

Freydis rolled her eyes, thanking the man before placing a grateful hand on the shoulder of the main Saxon and walking away. Saxon bodies in chainmail, and leather lied on top of one another as some unwounded warriors lifted the bodies into carts – they were to be transported to an open field, and buried upon the recitation of a Christian prayer. On the other side of the wood, no doubt, were the Danish bodies – to be discarded, and burned. She looked past the trees to two priests wearing crosses reciting the Lord's Prayer, and then toward a third mound with a tattooed Dane searching through it with the front of his blade. "Sihtric!" She gasped, stumbling forward.

Upon hearing her voice, the man swung around with his boots tracking mud and grew the grandest of smiles befalling on top the features of his blood-stained face. He met her half-way, embracing her gratingly with rapid breaths of relief. Freydis peered at the wound on his head, and pulled the Dane's face closer to her own as she observed the depth, and length of the long jarring cut. "Gods, Sihtric – why is this not cleaned? It nearly reaches your brain!"

"If that was so, I would not be standing here to rummage through the bodies." Sihtric laughed, "you are beaten and battered, Freydis. I do hope you got your revenge nevertheless."

Freydis nodded, "It was as great as I hoped, Sihtric. I thank you for all the practice duels you suffered through for me – it truly helped, for I had taken down not only Vikar, but four of his men as well."

"And countless others in the field!" Sihtric added, "You've always had a warrior in you, Freydis. You only needed help shaping her – natheless, you have no one but yourself to thank. And perhaps the Gods."

The Irish-lady smiled, "Both our Gods watched out for me today, Sihtric. They watched for you too, Sihtric, and I am glad for it – I'd wish not to lose such a dear friend so prematurely."

"Nor I, you, lady." The man said, "shall we leave the bodies to rot, and rejoin our brothers?"

"You may," Freydis said, "unfortunately, Finan still believes me to be dead – I'd wish not to subsidize that any longer. You go to Osferth, and have him heal that nasty cut of yours. I will find Finan and reunite with you later."

Sihtric nodded, giving Freydis one last short embrace before shoving past a kneeling priest and descending down the path initially trekked by the Irish-rogue. Freydis glanced at the same priest, "Do tell me, priest, do you happen to know the whereabouts of Uhtred's Irishman?"

"Hell, no doubt." He gruffed.

Freydis rolled her eyes, and shoved past him just as Sihtric had – knocking him downright onto his arse with a great huff. She glanced toward a nefarious coterie of chained Danes, most likely men and women to be used as Saxon slaves and whores. She dared not to look anyone in the eye, and rather walked right by them toward the field she had originally vacated when searching for Sihtric. Freydis noticed a shadow knelt down by a tree, and a broad grin broke out on the Irish-rogue's face before jogging over to them. As she grew closer, she realized the figure was weeping – and that they had long hair, unlike Finan. The woman's eyes widened as she moved behind them, "Myfanwy?"

The woman turned, grasping her wrist around the hilt of her sword. She looked up, eyes bloodshot and smeared with sodden tears and snot. "Freydis?" She scrambled onto her feet, "I thought you had perished, my lady!"

"I have not," She frowned, "I thought you had abandoned me."

"No, my lady," Shook the woman's head, "I stayed right here the entire battle! I waited for you, and mourned when the battle ceased and you had yet to return. Vikar is dead?"

"Very," Freydis nodded, "Well, I, uh, I am grateful you have not abandoned me. Furthermore, I am flattered to have caused such tears – alas, I am alright. But I am also looking for someone, do you have any idea where Finan is?"

Myfanwy's lower lip trembled as she nodded, "I told him where I sent you last, to where Vikar was. I am terribly sorry, Freydis. But you must forgive me, I–"

Freydis rolled her eyes, "It is okay, Myfanwy. Return to the main camp, and have yourself some stew and ale. You deserve it. I am to find Finan, I mave much to speak to him about."

"Yes, lady," she nodded, "Ádh mór!" 'Good luck!'

"Agus duitse freisin!" 'And to you as well!' Responded the Irish-lady. When Myfanwy was out of sight, Freydis began her trek back toward where she had left the corpse of Vikar. The sun was just beginning to set, but Freydis felt no urgency to make it back to camp. Her heart thumped vigorously beneath the iron of her chainmaill, and images of her Irishman flashed through her war-exhausted mind. She found him, as promised, hovering over the dead corpse of Vikar-the-Cunt. "Finan!" She called, marching toward him. He turned, his eyes wide and mouth parted to speak, but she stopped him with the collison of her lips on top of his.The kiss was short, but passionate. The mouth of his mouth over hers swelled her with a feeling she had not felt since her days of adolescence in Linnasburgh – her heart mourned when they broke apart, but was quickly adjourned as her eyes met with the Irishmans. "I am here," she said, panting. "I am okay."

"Thank Jesus." He groused, pulling her into an embrace as he planted kisses all along her mudded head. "Thank fuckin' Jesus – when yu' hadn't returned I thought the worse, Freydis. But when I found his body alone, without yu' standin' over it, I thought... I thought yu' had been taken in the battlefield."

"Never," chastised the Irish-lady. "The Gods watched over me, Finan. There is no way I would have lost my life, not when they already decided for me to smite down my abuser."

Finan took her chin in his hand, softly caressing the bruise that had formed following Vikar's abuse amist their battle. "And what will yu' do now, my lady Freydis?"

Freydis smirked, "Now I will kill Skjold."

Finan dropped his hand from her face, and ran his fingers through his beard as he looked down to his feet. "Forgive me, Freydis, but I have already beaten yu' to that luxury."

Freydis' eyes widened, "You killed Skjold?"

He nodded, "He speaked of raping yu' – I found no other response to be suitable." Freydis gulped the bile emerging in her throat, and stumbled away from Finan as she fought to keep in her nausea. He stepped toward her, wide-eyed as she leant against a tree, "I am sorry, Frey. Truly, I am!"

She held a hand up, silencing his hurried dialogue. She panted for a couple more moments, staring at the grass below her before spitting, and leaning back up to meet him again, eye-to-eye. "It is okay, Finan. I was just... I was not expecting to hear such news. I am relieved, just... disappointed. I'd thought the Gods would prefer it to be me killing him, alas, they saw it fit to spar him against you." Finan looked away guilty, and Freydis planted her palm lovingly against his cheek. "It is fate, Finan. Neither you, nor I could change it. I am glad you killed him, I hope you did it excrutiatingly?"

"He begged for mercy." The Irishman grinned, cradling her face with either hand just as she had been doing to him. "I felt the need to shut him up for good... dead men tell no tales, my lady. But enough of dead-men, yu', uh, yu' kissed me!"

Freydis smirked, "I did."

"It did not pain you this time?"

Freydis rolled her eyes, her grin only maximized by his jesting. "I had been expecting it," she denounced. "We must take it slow, Finan. But I am now ready – I wish for you to be called mine, and I, yours. I wish to heal in your arms, and wake up to you by my side every morning, and again in the night." Her cheeks rushed with a vehement heat as she took his hand in her own, and rested her nose against his knuckles. "That is if you will still have me."

He drew her eyes back up to him, smiling softly to the Irish-rogue, "I never stopped wanting yu', Freydis. Of course I will have yu', I thought the day would never come."

Freydis laughed, a smile overtaking her features as her eyes crinkled in delight. "I am so glad, Finan, but do know I would not have cared if you told me 'no.' For I would have simply lied, and told you I was jesting."

"I wouldn't expect anything different," he said, peering down at her. "I'm going to kiss yu' now."

"Took you long enough."

Chapter Text

The peace between Finan, and Freydis had not lasted long before one of their ambitions collided with the others.

As quickly as winter ended, spring began and ended just as swiftly. Then, in a perfunctory smolder of austere heat and humidity, Finan and Freydis' relationship of 'you are mine' and so forth melted like a Niflheim incubus in the deepest trenches of Christian hell. For quite a while they could not have enough of each other, it got to a point that Finan would miss his early-morning duel sessions with Sihtric, and Ealhswith was sent to distract the Irish shieldmaiden so the men could have back their bastard Irishman. Then, in a monsoon of swirling guilt, detestment, and misery – Freydis had a realization; perhaps she was not as right for Finan as they both had initially believed.

Over the course of their relationship, the Irish-rogue learned many things about the man originally unknown to herself. The first one of those fantastic surprises was that Finan particularly favored gift-giving, and surprises. Whilst she enjoyed waking to breakfast in bed, and newly-sharpened blades when they grew dull, she found herself growing quickly abhorrent over his impulsivity. Most of that bitterness, however, originated in her increasing pool of guilt – Finan liked surprised kisses, and hugs from behind. Freydis, moreover, liked hitting people when they trapped her in their arms, and got very nauseous when unsuspecting lips connected with her own.

It was innocuous to say that the two Irish-rogues were stuck in a conundrum. Whatever meddlesome attempts they made to alter their down-spiraling predicament were unceaseingly inadequate.

When Freydis found that religiously chewing fish tallow to make her breath repulsive would not stop Finan from wanting to kiss her, or wearing ridiculous amounts of chainmail would not want to make him stop from hugging her – Freydis went onto her next resolution; she would merely avoid the Irishman at all costs until she felt confident enough to proceed with their broken relationship. To start, Freydis decided she was to begin her mission to re-take Linnasburgh from the Danes. Then, once the throne was once again under the delegation of Cian Ó' Súilleabháinssons heir, she would reintroduce Linnasburgh back to the various kingdoms of Irish Christiendom, Paganism, and so-forth to increase trade, and the overall economy of her beset township.

Whilst she couldn't necessarily go to Linnasburgh alone, and slay every Dane inhabiting her Celtic town, she was planning to make the mission as easy as possible. Freydis concluded that in order to make this chore somewhat possible, she would need men. She would need an army. So, just as summer solstice wrapped its perspiring hand around the vast lands of Saxia, Freydis took off in the middle of the night with nothing but a pouch of cash in her pocket, and her right-hand shieldmaiden by her side. It was a rather easy affair, for Freydis and Finan had not slept in the same bed for nearly a week by then. All she had to do, to ensure her secretivity, was tip-toe by the Irishman asleep on the floor, and close the door without startling anyone in the home awake. Myfanwy, boarding in an innhouse of Coccham, met her by the exit-gates with nothing but her sword strapped onto her back, and a small sack of bread and empty water pouches for their journey across England – which, more and more to this day, lived up to its name as kingdoms allied and Danelaw ceased in nefarious humps.

"Are you ready?" Myfanwy inquired, moving out of the shadows which had enclosed her initially. Over the months spent living, and training with Freydis in Coccham, the Welsh woman grew exceptionally adept at shadow-walking. Perhaps that is why Skjold delegated her as a spy in Winchester – nathless, her ability grew innately useful when it came to outlining what steps it would take to get what Freydis wanted, and needed to take back Linnasburgh.

Freydis nodded, "Aye," she glanced around the area in search of guards, but found there to be none. "The guards are taken care of?"

Myfanwy nodded, "I messed with their schedules, they all think that one another is standing watch. In two hours the next party will come to relieve," she glanced around, her eyes landing on no one in particular, "no one!"

Freydis nodded her head, impressed, but showed no emotion, "Good," she simply put, "nathless, it will do you no good to explain every tidbit of your elicit plans for it would bring you nothing but trouble."

The Welsh woman frowned, "I'm sorry."

"Your apology means nothing," Freydis stated, shoving past the fellow former-slave and pushing open the unguarded gates of Coccham. "Merely do not make this mistake again."

Myfanwy rolled her eyes, closing the gates behind them once they were both through. "You've been rather pissy as of late, my lady. Is this because of a certain Irishman?"

Freydis ignored her, leaving the main path and walking diagonally toward the forest a field away. "I am revoking your speaking privileges until morning," Freydis stated, pulling out her pouch of silver and counting them in her palm. Throughout the spring, she and Myfanwy had gone on several short missions to free stolen peoples from their slavers – in doing so, they robbed many slavers blind which were easily collected over the recent months.

Myfanwy peered over Freydis' shoulder, making use of her greater height, "How many is there?"

"You do not need to know," The Irish-rogue stated, counting one hundred and thirty-three pieces. "What towns have you found selling armies?"

"There are three nearby, all adjacent to one another." Myfanwy stated, "the closest is a town called Caelkirk, it is about a mid-days walk. There is a man there called Tetbald there who sells armies exceptionally cheaply."

Freydis shook her head, "We are not buying slaves."

Myfanwy's brow rumpled, "How do you know he sells slaves?"

"Because armies are not sold cheaply, Myfanwy," Freydis sighed, "stolen-peoples are."

The Welsh woman frowned, but nodded nonetheless. "Well, a little ways past Caelkirk is a small fyrd-town called Drumnacanvy. They are loyal to whomever pays them, one day they fight for Mercia, and the next for the Danes – I do not know the lordship's name, but I hear they are highly-negotiable for the right price."

Freydis hesitated for a moment, wiping a bead of sweat from the tip of her nose before sighing, "Very well, we will speak to this lordship."

And speaking they did, for two days of negotiating, the highest bid Freydis could make was a hundred silver pieces for twenty-men. It only grew increasingly clear that the lordship of Drumnacanvy, Lord Betyn, sought to exploit the young woman's naitivity for ladies who were not meant to be informed of war, and politics. Nathless, Freydis disagreed with every bid made, and nearly cut off the man's cock when he bargained five extra men to her cost of one-hundred if she allowed him to bed her. After a few hours of rest, and a nice warm meal in the fyrd-towns only alehouse, Freydis and Myfanwy begin their trek to the next selling town known as Swindon.

The Lord of Swindon's initial bargain was marriage, and, without even setting foot into the village of pinewood and hemp, Freydis and Myfanwy took their leave to a nearby Mercian town known as Ilragorn.

Ilragorn, to say the least, was the most impressive township Freydis had laid her eyes on during her involuntary, then voluntary stay in the English kingdoms. The walls stood tall, and triangular with enormous jewels dressing every spike like a jeweled crown. And, over the gates, was a massive iron cross with Saxian carvings, and miniature emerald stones at every edge. She had not thought she could have been further impressed, but upon entering, her breath was immediately stolen by Ilragornian beauty. The ground, unlike most townships, was paved in cleanly white-stone, and small marketplaces dressed in vines, and water-flowers fortified every edge within the small, prosperous city. Freydis wondered if this place had ever met danger, or more particularly, the Danes. Nathless, it was seemingly untouched and Freydis was surprised by their lack of security upon entering – Freydis merely had to state her business, and then immediately, she was granted immediate free-reign within the township.

Myfanwy glanced around in wonder, "It smells of bread and wine... I've never– I've never been someplace so clean."

Freydis knelt down, and drug her finger along the smooth stone of the outside floor. "I wonder how they made it so smooth. And so white, at that. Perhaps the Christian God is true, but He is merely a God of this place alone."

"Child, do not speak so blasphemously of our lord and savior!" A dilapidated old woman shouted, shoving by the two visitors with a basket hooked onto her elbow.

Freydis rolled her eyes, "He is not my lord and savior, you old hag."

The woman stopped in her tracks, gasping, "Pagan!"

Freydis nodded, a mischievous grin overtaking her features, "Indeed, Críostaí," 'Christian' "now, direct me to your lord or I shall curse you to hell."

The woman raised a weary, frightened hand and pointed it toward the sky. Freydis looked directly where she was pointing, her eyes landing directly on the large stone walls of the largest building in Ilagorn; a Christian church. Myfanwy groaned, "Another church? I feel so dirty entering those Gods-forsaken halls." Myfanwy jumped back when she felt a splash of water on her face. Curious, Freydis glanced at the old hag who had yet to leave their side – she was holding a wooden bowl of clear water, and her hand was still oitstretched in the motion of flicking water toward someone. Myfanwy, equally confused, took the woman's wrist and inspected her hand, "What did you just throw at me, hag?"

The woman pulled her wrist back out of Myfanwy's grasp, screamed, and ran away as quickly as her expired legs allowed her.

Freydis sighed, hooking her elbow around the frightened Welsh womans, "It is merely water, Myfanwy. Now let us go, we have a lord to speak with."

Hesitantly, Myfanwy found the courage to take a step, and then another, and soon enough she forgot about the whole ordeal when she realized the water would not peel off her skin, or melt her insides like a liquified curse. The church was as tall as it was wide, and enclosed into a finalized archway toward the top with a similarly bedazzled cross to the one at the entrance of Ilragorn. When the two shieldmaidens entered the holy-place, they were immediately called to a stop by an urgent priest. "There are no weapons allowed in here, ladies!" He yelled, frantically jogging over to them from the pedestal on the other side of the church. "This is a place of worship, you must leave your weapons and armor outside!"

"I do not care for worship, priest," Freydis stated, her tone judgmental but none-the-least ill-fated. "I wish to speak with the lordship of this... town?"

Myfanwy snorted, "Smooth."

"Lady Gele is not taking visitors as of this moment," the priest informed.

Freydis raised a curious brow, "This place does not have a lord?"

"Not since the sickness," the priest frowned, "Lady Gele quickly took reign when the late Lord Jewell entered the celestial city. But she mourns, it is tragic – she wishes to not see visitors today, but I could transfer a message if you would like?"

Freydis tilted her head, "I must speak with her now, I have no time for dillydallying. Tell Lady Gele that Uhtred's shieldmaiden must make word with her – if she is informed of the Battle of Bedanford, then she will know who I am speaking about."

The priest observed Freydis for a moment, eyeing both her and Myfanwy with suspicion before sighing. "Very well, I will go speak with her. In the meantime, it is dire you leave your armor and weapons outside – God does not invite violence within his halls."

Agreeing, Freydis had Myfanwy take all their armor, and weapons, and lie it in a barrel outside the church hall. Freydis had originally thought it to have been filled with grain, nevertheless, she discovered it to have 'weapons' carved into it when Myfanwy had struggled to read it with her limited ability in literacy. Moments later, a door toward the front hidden by apple-red curtains opened, and a woman around her mid-forties entered with bizarre make-up fit for a court jester. Nonetheless, Freydis kept a steady face, and ordered her right-hand to do the same. "So you are Lord Uhtred of Bebbanburg's distinguished lady-warrior." Mused the Lady of Ilagorn. "I thought you would be more... modest. You are a nun, are you not?"

"Pagan, actually," Freydis informed, "the nun you are thinking of is Abbess Hild, she no longer fights by Uhtreds side. Rather, she runs the church, and nunnery at the Wessex town Coccham." Lady Gele turned, walking back to where she had entered. Freydis panicked, taking a step forward, "Lady Gele, I apoloize if I said something wrong. Nathless, I wish to bargain with you – I hear you have trained-men for sale. I wish to buy them."

Lady Gele halted, her forehead scrunching as a means of curiosity – the woman had no brows, and in place of them were large jewels pierced into her skin. "What is your name?"

"I am Freydis, lady," Freydis introduced, "and this is my companion Myfanwy."

She raised a jewel, "Scot?"

"Irish." Freydis corrected. "We come from a township known as Linnasburgh, and recently, it had been taken over by Danes. As the heir of Linnasburgh, I wish to take back what is rightfully mine – in doing so, I require an army. I am not mistaken, am I? You do have an army for sale?"

Upon hearing Freydis was a fellow lady, Lady Gele's face outstretched with a smile. "If I had known who you were, Lady Freydis, I would have not acted so coarsly." In one swift motion, she sat on the floor in between the rows of seats for any churchgoers, "Sit, please. Let us bargain!"

Hesitantly, both Freydis and Myfanwy sat across from Lady Gele with their legs crossed on top of one another. Freydis began the negotiation, "How many men do you have?"

"As many as you need," Lady Gele smirked, "How much silver do you have?"

"Possbly enough," Freydis shrugged, "possibly not."

Myfanwy piqued a curious brow, "How many men for a hundred silver?"

"One-hundred, usually." Said Lady Gele, "one piece per one man. However, since you are a fellow lady usurped, I shall give you two men per one-and-a-half pieces."

"So one-hundred equals one-fifty," Myfanwy concluded, "and with what we have, lady..."

"We will have two-hundred." Freydis surmised, glancing back to the lady ahead of her. "I will buy two-hundred men in turn for one-hundred and thirty-three silver."

Lady Gele laughed, spittle rocketing out of her mouth and onto the two Irland emigrants. "One-hundred and thirty-three does not give you two-hundred, Lady Freydis! I can give you one-hundred and ninety-nine, and a halfman."

"A dwarf?" Freydis inquired, tilting her head. "I was not aware that dwarves fought in wars."

"And I was not aware women fought in war." Lady Gele retorted. "Nathless, do you agree to my terms?"

Freydis looked the woman in her unhinged, barbarous eyes, "Tell me, Lady Gele, are these men up for sale by their own accord?"

The woman shot her hand out, and Freydis' hand went instinctively toward her hip in search of the hilt of her sword. However, she found the area plain, and Lady Gele was now holding a beady-eyed rat in her hand. She was nose-to-nose with the rodent, sniffing it as it sniffed her, "They are not slaves, if that is what you mean." She lowered her hand, reestablishing her attention to Freydis and Myfanwy. "Lady Freydis, Ilagorn does not prosper for our devotion to Him – it prospers, moreover, from our peace. Twelve years ago a terrible plague struck Ilagorn in the midst of a siege, countless people died, including my husband. And this treachory did not stop until I was forced to negotiate with our usurpers, we came to an agreement beneficial for us both and from thereon, we have done nothing but prosper since our abjurance with the Devil's petty attempts." The woman dropped the rodent onto her lap, and instead of running it relaxed happily into her gown. "In our bouts of peace, Ilagorn guards and warriors had grown fat and lazy. They stuffed their bellies, abusing their freedoms by relishing in their easy access to food, and ale. So, to save their gluttonous soles from the fiery pits of hell, I chose to send them back into war. Not our own, of course, for I do not wish to watch my friends fall to sickness once again, but for others. God and I found resolution in such arrangements, as did my men."

Myfanwy, having lost track of the story re-telling mid-way through, frowned, "Very well?"

"Very well indeed!" Lady Gele crowed, "will you be taking the men with you, or shall they be called upon whenever required?"

Freydis stood off the dirty ground, revolted by the rat that found comfort in the woman's ratty-dress. "I will call upon them when I require them so." She helped Myfanwy up, as Lady Gele easily ascended into the air. "I shall pay half now, and half when I call for them – is that okay?"

"I would not expect anything less," Lady Gele stated, holding her rat out to Myfanwy. "Hold this, girl, I must retrieve my pouch." Reluctantly, Myfanwy winced as Lady Gele placed the lethargic rat in her palms. Freydis took a step back, watching with a confused expression as Lady Gele rummaged through a sash and pulled out a pouch. "Aha! Here it is," she stated, opening it and motioning for Freydis to put in half of the sum. "Sixty-seven pieces, or sixty-six. Either way, I will have all of your money by the years end."

Freydis fought to not roll her eyes as she separated sixty-seven silver from her unabridged sum. She looked to the crazy Mercian, "It has been a pleasure doing business with you, Lady Gele."

"And you, Lady Freydis." The woman grinned, turning to take her leave.

Myfanwy coughed, "What uh– what of this rat, Lady Gele?"

"Kill it," Lady Gele shrugged, "rodents spread plague, dear, only a fool would keep them as a pet."

Myfanwy watched the woman with a bizarre expression, turning to Freydis when she had left entirely. Upon their connecting eyes, they burst out laughing, "Crazy old hag!" Myfanwy chortled, "It appears she truly believes rodents spread disease."

Freydis snickered, pocketing her lessly-filled pouch, "She is old, and senile, Myfanwy, we mustn't judge her harshly. Alas, it is funny – I wonder how she would have reacted if I told her it is the sprites who spread disease, maneuvered by the incubuses of Dubnos."

"She would have thought you were speaking another language," Myfanwy laughed, and with the hook of each other's arms, they left the blasted Christian holy-place and retrieve their gear – preparing for the long trek back to Coccham, where Freydis would surely be confronted by angry Danes, monks, and Irishman alike.

Chapter Text

It had started storming by the time Freydis and Myfanwy returned back to Coccham. The gates were guarded by double men, and they watched wearily as the two women passed through the gates drenched in pouring rain with wind-spewn hair. The guard up front spat at Myfanwy's feet as they walked by, "Reckless whore!" He chided, tilting his nose in the air with rain dripping from the tip. "Coulda' gotten usurped cause' of your meddling!"

"Spit at me again, Ser Jamie, and I would think you are flirting with me." Myfanwy retorted, gripping his chainmail as she stood face-to-face with the Coccham guard. "Do not be bitter, darling, it is ugly on you."

Freydis rolled her eyes, hooking her arm around Myfanwy's arm to pull her through the gates with her. "Do not rile them up," she stated, "it appears our intrusion with the guard-schedule has become public – we shall deal with what has happened with Uhtred, and whomever else we share bonds with who are irate with us."

Myfanwy frowned, "Does that mean I cannot bathe before re-entering the population?"

"I am afraid not, Myfanwy," Freydis stated, turning a corner to the main feast hall of Coccham. "Do not speak unless I tell you, I shall deal with the situation myself."

Myfanwy nodded, and Freydis' mind spiraled with how she should confront this situation. Would it be beneficial to her delegacy to tell Lord Uhtred the truth? Or should she lie, and risk him seeing directly though her? The Irish-rogue fought long and hard for her expression to persist neutral, however, on the inside she was sweating like a mad racehorse. Myfanwy outstretched her arm, and opened the door to allow herself, and Freydis inside. The Irish-rogues were immediately hit by a strong whiff of bone broth, and stew – Freydis' belly rumbled, however, it was easily devoid by the shout of a familiar baby monk, "Freydis!"

Freydis smiled, scampering toward the holy-monk and catching him in an embrace. "It has not been too long, monk. What is the reason for such a passionate welcome?"

The steps creaked, and Freydis' head whipped over to the wooden stairway to see her familiar Irishman. His expression was blank, conveying neither vex nor glee, and as he approached her with asha and cedarwood pervading his aura, Freydis noticed blissfully that his beard was cut, and elegantly sculpted around his chin. She opened her mouth to speak, to somewhat mention her observation without a properly-constructed thought, but his voice broke her out of her admiring gaze. "We didn't think yu' were comin' back."

Freydis' brows scrunched, and she looked between both Osferth and Finan with a disgruntled expression, "You didn't think... no... No, I would always come back, Finan, Osferth. For as long as you would all have me."

"We know that now," stated the young monk. "But before, you seemed like you hadn't wanted to be found. You do know you didn't have to mess with the guard-schedule, right? They would have simply let you go? Uhtred is angry, you put Coccham in danger of being overtaken."

Freydis nodded, averting her eyes from Finan's judging irises and looking up to the second floor, "Is he here?"

Osferth shook his head, "He's down by the courtyard drinking with Sihtric, I shall go fetch him."

Freydis smiled gratefully at the monk, who returned it just as eagerly as he left the great pagan hall. Finan, moreover, sat at the long table with his feet resting beside a pitcher of ale, and an empty cup. Freydis slowly moved toward him, gesturing for Myfanwy to sit down as well as she sat across from Finan. To grab his attention, she placed her hand over his, he looked down at it imputently before pulling his hand away and pouring himself some of the silvery hooch. Freydis sighed, "What is it, Finan?"

"Nothing," he gruffed, taking a sip of his drink.

Freydis turned to Myfanwy, "My, does this look like 'nothing' to you?"

"It does not, my lady," the Welsh woman replied, "it looks very 'something' to me."

The Irish-rogue nodded in satisfaction, "As a matter of fact, I was going to say the same exact thing!"

Finan glanced between the two Irish women, "Yu' two've grown quite close."

Freydis crossed her arms over her chest, "As you should know, Finan, it is good to have a relationship with your right-hand man."

"Or woman, in this case." Myfanwy chimed.

Freydis glared at the Welsh-Irland emigrant, before averting her attention to the door. Uhtred walked in with both Sihtric, and Osferth in his stead. "Lord," Freydis greeted, standing and smiling. "It is good to see you. How are you doing?"

"I am well," the Dane-slayer stated, sitting down at the end of the long table. As he poured himself a drink, Freydis embraced Sihtric whilst observing the new cut slanted on the edge of his cheekbone.

"Do not worry, Freydis," Sihtric smiled, "it is but a training accident – if you wish to be crossed with someone, look to the Irish bastard behind you."

Finan scoffed, "It's not my fault yu'r terrible at swerving."

Uhtred raised his hand to silence his warriors, "Where did you go, Freydis?"

"Several places, lord," Freydis answered, clearing her throat to sound more professional. "The first night, Myfanwy and I traveled to Drumnacanvy. Then, after staying the night, we traveled to Swindon – we did not enter, for a vile lord greeted us rather crudely. Afterward, we were forced to make a detour to which we stayed the night in a small cattle-farm, and then we traveled another half-day to a winsome township known as Ilagorn. There, we stayed the night and then traveled another two days to arrive back here."

Uhtred nodded, taking all the information in as he observed the liquid in his cup. "What business brought about such an adventure?"

Freydis sat up, straightening her posture as she looked over to the lord, "I was looking for an army."

He placed down his cup, looking Freydis in the eye, "Have you?"

The Irish-rogue nodded, "I have – two hundred men."

"One hundred ninety-nine, and a halfman." Myfanwy corrected, staring down at the table as she wrung about her fingers.

Freydis whipped her head over to the Welsh woman, "Silence, Myfanwy."

Myfanwy dropped her hands into her lap, "Apologies, lady."

Uhtred rapped his knuckles along the edge of the table to regain the attention of the Irish-lady, "Two hundred men... how much silver did that cost?"

"One-hundred and thirty-three," Freydis answered, "Lady Gele of Ilagorn was quite generous... and mad, but generous all the same. She gave me a deal of two men for one-and-a-half silver pieces."

Sihtric snorted, "And that is where the halfman comes in!"

Osferth rested his chin on the palm of his hand, "These men... they are to help you re-take Linnasburgh?"

"Indeed, Osferth." Freydis nodded, then looking toward the Dane-slayer. "Forgive me, Uhtred. I had not meant to put Coccham in danger. I just needed a way to leave without immediate suspicion... I knew some people would not appreciate the attempts of a lady to arm herself."

Uhtred laughed, "It is no one's business but your own, Freydis. You are a free-woman, and a Lady of Irland, at that. I would have gladly seen you off, and maybe even contacted this Lady Gele myself."

"Yourself, lord?" Freydis inquired, "do you mean to take back Bebbanburg?"

The Dane-slayer paraded a proud grin, "I do," he said. "I was hoping you would be able to help me, but it seems you have your own agenda to take care of."

"Perhaps I can still help you, lord," Freydis told sincerely, "Whatever do we need to go? When can we leave?"

Uhted sat back, crossing his arms. "I still need an army, but first I am sending Finan, Sihtric, and Osferth to Bebbanburg to spy, and report back their number of soldiers. Afterward, we may sail. Nevertheless, I do not wish to entrap you within my own mission, for you have one of your own, possibly more dire than my situation with Bebbanburg."

"But possibly I could still hel–"

Finan interrupted her, scoffing, "We don't need yu'r help, lady. We can take care of this ourselves."

Osferth glared at the Irishman before looking at Freydis, who was taken aback by Finan's outburst. "Take back your own city, Freydis. Excusing his discourteness, what Finan says is true – Bebbanburg can be reclaimed with, or without you. And we would rather not prolong Linnasburgh further into Danish rule and wrath."

Freydis gulped, nodding her head as she looked between all the men she had grown a relationship with, "Well, um, well okay. I... I shall sail to Linnasburgh, and you Bebbanburg."

Finan tapped his foot impatiently on the ground, "Lord, may I be excused."

Uhtred held up a finger, signaling for the Irishman to wait. The Dane-slayer glanced toward the Irish-lady across the table from him, "Freydis, whilst I forgive you for the danger you initially put Coccham in, I, however, I will not forgive such recklessness if it is to be undertaken here again."

"Of course, lord," Freydis said, bowing her head. "Again, I apologize for my dishonesty."

Finan tapped his foot more rambuctiously, "Now can I go, lord?"

Osferth snorted, "In need of some stronger ale, Finan?"

Uhtred nodded to his right-hand, "Go ahead, Finan. And make sure you are less pissy when you come back."

Finan stood, already making his way to the door, "Will do, lord."

Freydis looked hurriedly toward the Dane-slayer, "May I be excused as well, lord?"

Uhtred nodded, turning to Sihtric to most likely prolong their conversation from before Freydis arrived. Freydis stood, relaxing her hand on the hilt of her sword whilst she made her way to the door, she stopped only when she noticed she wasn't being followed. "Myfanwy!"

Myfanwy looked up, "Yes, lady?"

The Irish-lady tapped her foot on the ground, "What are you doing?"

Myfanwy scrunched her brows, confused, before widening her eyes in realization. She stood up, her chair nearly flipping onto its backside as she steadied herself on her feet, "Right, yes – apologies, Lord Uhtred, have a good day." She paced toward Freydis, her cheeks flowing red. "I'm sorry, lady, I hadn't–"

Freydis ignored her, sighing as she left the pagan hall. "You return to the inn, I must speak with Finan." Myfanwy bowed her head, taking off before she could commit any more misdeeds to facilitate any further embarassment. Freydis glanced around the area, taking in the sights of Coccham in search for her Irishman, upon inspecting the first place on her list she found the man sipping ale outside an alehouse, leant against a wooden rail.

The Irish-rogue strolled over to him, a hand on her hip, "Why are you being an arse?"

He piqued a brow, "Hm?"

"You are being an arse." Freydis re-stated, "Is it because I left without telling you, Finan? If so, I apologize immensely – nevertheless, I do not appreciate such blatant crassness!"

Finan placed down his cup, "I do not care if yu' do not appreciate it, because yu' surely deserve it. Not only did yu' recklessly leave in the night, leaving Coccham unprotected, but yu' traveled across the land with no one but a poorly-trained shieldmaiden to buy a bloody army? I thought we were past this, Frey. Linnasburgh is gone."

Freydis' brows furrowed angrily. "Unless the Gods have whiped my city off of the face of the earth, Finan, it is not gone."

"It is no longer yu'r city," Finan clarified, "It is now property to the Danes. They have countless numbers in Irland, whilst yu' have only accumulated two hundred. I do not mean to upset yu', Frey, but you have to let Linnasburgh go."

Freydis shook her head, "I don't have to let anything go, Finan. I must do something for my township, even if it is unsuccessful – I am their lady, the last of Lord Cian's kin, and the sole heir to Linnasburgh! You do not have claim to any of my decisions, no one does – I killed anyone who had tried to overpower me, and you, Finan, even killed my sole tormenter. You should understand what it is I am feeling, to be taken from my land!"

Finan took a swig of his ale, before throwing his cup across the dirt road. Freydis gasped, but otherwise stayed neutral – she would not let him scare her, even if he was somewhat succeeding in his spiral of anger. "I do, Freydis, trust me. I understand yu'r anger, I feel yu'r anger – but I will not stand by as yu' sail away to a doomed city to get yu'rself killed!"

"You must!" She yelled, stepping closer to him. "I am going, and that is that! I am disappointed to hear that you have no hope in me, Finan, after everything we have been through together – alas, it is my mistake for trusting an indelicate man such as yourself. I wish you luck on your mission, I will be there to see Sihtric and Osferth off."

Finans eyes softened, and he took a step toward the Irish-rogue, "Frey–"

"I will stay with Myfanwy tonight." Freydis further stated, moving away from the Irishman. "Tell Ealhswith I will again stay with her, if she pleases, when you are all gone."

"He clasped his hand around her wrist, and Freydis' heart beat thumped harshly against her chest. "I hadn't meant what I said, Freydis. Please forgive me."

"You had meant what you said," she retorted, pulling her wrist from his grasp. "I will see you off, Finan, but when you arrive back in Coccham I will be gone." Without another word, the galled woman sauntered away in search of the innhouse Myfanwy was staying in.

Freydis sought to keep her promise, but it grew increasingly hard when she realized she had spent all of her money on men without the consideration of a fleet to sail them. A few days after Finan, Sihtric, and Osferth left for Bebbanburg, Freydis and Myfanwy traveled toward Ilagorn hoping Lady Gele would provide them some ships for free. They were met with no response other than a scratch on Myfanwy's nose, for Lady Gele threw a rodent at the Welsh woman when she apparently said too many words in a single sentence. Afterward, Freydis had to get the woman drunk as she had grown inclined to the folly claim that rodents spread disease. Then, once Myfanwy was calm enough to once again trekk back to Coccham, Freydis tried planning her next move. Surely, if she had gone to Drumnacanvy she would be met, yet again, with a ridiculous price – that would be an immediate 'no' as Freydis only had two silver, and a usurped crown to her name. Furthermore, if she went to Swindon, she would be given the ultimatum of sex or marriage, which Freydis adamently refused. Every other town, most likely, would hold the same principles. Freydis doubted that she would find any other lord or lady as unhinged as Lady Gele was.

Still residing in Coccham, a few more weeks passed to which Freydis made no advancements in her search. She now had a total accumulation of five silver, having won three in a bet after losing four. Her promise weighed heavily on her mind – all of her anger, all of her regret, it all cultivated in one single worry; what if she didn't make it to Linnasburgh before Finan got back, and her promise was berated? Sighing, the woman put her face in her hands and groaned. "What is wrong?" Inquired Ealhswith from the wash bin, her arms soaked to the elbow with dirty dishwater.

Freydis groaned, running her fingers through her hair, "I need to somehow purchase enough ships for two-hundred men with five silver pieces, or face Finan-the-bastard when he comes back all cocky that I am still here."

The woman wiped a cloth against one of the wooden bowls, spitting at one stain that failed to wipe away. "Have you asked Uhtred?"

Freydis sighed, "I am not asking Uhtred to hand over his only vessels like they are mere regrowable food-crop, Ealhswith. There is a possibility I lose ships on the venture across sea, or that they are ruined amidst battle against the heathens – I cannot risk it, I will not. I may... I may have to disregard my pride, and face Finan until I can get vessels by my own accord."

"Nonsense." Ealhswith dismissed, "Uhtred understands your predicament, he lives your predicament; he would offer you vessels in less than a heartbeat. You are his woman – well, not his woman but his woman, you know? Oh lord, I had not cleared anything up, had I? All I was trying to say is that–"

Freydis laughed, "I know what you mean, Ealhswith. But I still will not exploit Uhtred for his generosity. Besides, he may need his vessels for Bebbanburg – the men shall be returning soon."

Ealhswith rolled her eyes, moving aside the wash bin and now focusing on drying all the dishes. "And then they will leave again, soon enough I imagine."

The Irish-rogue frowned, "It must be hard for you, Ealhswith, having Sihtric gone so often."

She shrugged, "I signed up for it, I worry most for our children – Ygritte was born whilst Sihtric was away with Uhtred, and she was nearly a year old by the time he finally met her. She was scared of him, and would not dare look at him for almost two months. It is upsetting for us both, and I do not wish for him to feel as hopeless as he did then once more."

"Once more?" Freydis inquired, peering at the woman pensively. "Ealhswith, are you saying..."

"I am with pup." The woman smiled, her cheeks dimpling. "A wet nurse confirmed it for me days ago."

Freydis stood, taking Ealhswiths hands in her own, "I am happy for you, Ealhswith. Congratulations."

"Mama!" A young girl's voice shouted, little feet paddering into the home.

Ealhswith released Freydis' hands, "Speak nothing of the baby until I have told everyone."

Freydis nodded, returning to her seat, "Of course."

"Mama!" Repeated Ygritte, darting into the room. "Mama, Lord Uhtred wants Freydis!"

"Me?" Inquired the Irish-rogue, "whatever does he need me for, Ygritte?"

The young girl shrugged, "How should I know?"

Ealhswith smiled, "Thank you, Ygritte. You may go back out and play."

Once the little girl was away, Freydis turned to the mother, "Have you any clue as to why Uhtred may require my presence?"

"No clue," Said the woman, rolling her eyes at Freydis' suspicion. "Go on, and you shall learn soon enough."

Freydis frowned but sighed, standing up and moving toward the door. She gave one last glance to the woman, smiling, "Congratulations again, Ealhswith. I pray the Gods gift you another warrior... or two."

"One," the woman quickly corrected, "Heavens, let it only be one – I do not think I could withstand birthing two more of Sihtrics children in one night."

Freydis grinned, and stepped out the door; closing it behind her. It was another minute's walk toward the great pagan feasting hall of Coccham, and when she entered, she was immediately face-to-face with Uhtred who had been descending the stairs. "Lord," Freydis greeted, "you require my presence?"

Uhtred nodded, sitting down at the long table and stretching his arms along the back of the chair. "I did – I was merely wondering when you would be leaving for Linnasburgh. Finan will be back in a few days or so, and I happen to remember a little promise the two of you made..."

Freydis blushed, "He told you?"

"I am not only his lord, Freydis," Uhtred said kindly, "I am his friend, too. His brother. Nevertheless, I am curious, when are you leaving?"

Freydis frowned, looking to her clasped hands before sighing and re-connecting their eyeline, "I am afraid I made a severe, and continuous lapse in judgement, lord," the Irish-rogue sighed, "I bought an army, and in doing so, spent all of the silver I had in my pocket. I had given no second to how we would be getting to Irland... and it turns out ships are more expensive than an army itself!"

Uhtred rapped his fingers against the wood of his seat, "Perhaps I could help with that."

Freydis furrowed a brow, dread accumulating within her, "Pardon, lord?"

He looked up, "I have ten ships lended to me by Alfred, each one able to fit up to thirty men – that is more than what you would require."

"But lord," she guffawed, "I have no silver!"

"I do not require silver," He said, cracking a knuckle, "I require your hand."

Freydis' eyes widened, "In marriage?"

"Gods, no," Laughed the Dane-slayer, "in battle. If you agree to lend me your own hand, and the hands of your men in the battle to re-take Bebbanburg, then once the city is re-taken, you can sail off to Linnasburgh from Bebbanburg's pier."

Freydis tilted her head, "And all you require in return are the hands of myself, and my army?"

The Dane-slayer bowed his head, insinuating the end of his demands. Freydis gnawed on the inside of her cheek, running a finger along her brow as she thought over the bargain – whilst she wouldn't have agreed to take it out of his unrequited generosity, she would if she had to do something in return. And now she was asked to put herself, and her men at risk in return for the use of Uhtred's ships. Freydis' hadn't particularly agreed with how Finan went about sharing his concerns, but his concerns were true; in the grand view of things, two-hundred soldiers were hardly anything compared to the Dane's inhabiting Irland. And she could not risk losing too many. Again, however, she would not be able to do anything without actual transportation across the sea. After a moment, the Irish-rogue dropped her hand and drew her eyes back in line to Uhtreds, "I will agree to only one one condition."

He piqued a brow, "And what condition is that?"

"There are less than two-hundred guards shielding Bebbanburg." Freydis answered, "I cannot risk losing too many men."

Uhtred though for a moment, his expression neutral. "Very well," he nodded after a moment, "the deal is the deal."

Freydis nodded in agreement, "The deal is the deal."

Chapter Text

In his dreams, they were still together. In his dreams, she smiled when she saw him; and he, in turn, embraced her like a Dane's soul to be vanquished at the end of his sword. In his dreams, he was not a dim-witted fool for a tongue of unwise words, but rather, his flirts and concerns were innate and everlasting as a Francian poet. His words were Christian, blessed by the angels, and therefore un-resistible to the woman of his dreams. Nathless, like the forest sprites and river far he oh-so wished to seek true, Finan's dreams were only just that; figments of his imagination. In truth, Finan and his Irish-lady departed with anger, and detestment overriding their stubborn subconsciouses. Only for him, he had not realized his dimwittedness and un-wise word until days unto he, Sihtric, and Osferth, voyage to spy at Bebbanburg. He wanted, he needed to apologize – this time, he needed for his apology to be true, and sincere. But he would not be able to do so until his mission was over, until he was to face her once again.

What he dreaded the most, however, was the possibility of finding Coccham empty of his rogue. For Freydis, out of anger and truth, promised that by the time he got back, she would be gone. And to prove her statement further, she made a show to the Irishman of saying her goodbye's to Sihtric, and Osferth, only giving him a slight nod before sauntering away unassuming, and cold.

Finan stood at the hull of the ship, relishing in the warmth the breeze provided as opposed to the cold, salty water that slowly seeped beneath his feet. There had been a storm in the early morning, one of surprising swiftness and strength – one moment the skies were blue, a sparse cloud in sight, and the next it was coarse and black with raindrops the size of wolf pups falling from the sky. Whilst the storm was brief, it was terrible; half of their water stock had flown overboard, and their bread was left soggy. Worst of all, they must have hit a rock, for Osferth was forced to bale buckets of water from the boat's bottom to prevent them from sinking entirely.

"I cannot do this any longer," huffed the monk, sitting down for as long as the ship's quick-filling allowed him to. "Why can't Sihtric take over?"

Sihtric kicked the baby monk in the shin, "Because I am steering the boat, quit bellyaching you sorry-for-nothing Christian fool."

The Irishman turned in surprise, his interest piqued, "Feelin' seasick, Sihtric?" Sihtric, out of their entire group of bastard warriors, was best holding his tongue – so hearing the Dane swear, and insult the baby monk surprised Finan greater than the time he managed to outdrink him in an alehouse bet. Nathless, the Irishman could only think of one reason to facilitate such a foul mood; a bellyache.

"I have felt nothing but seasickness since we stepped onto this blasted boat, Finan." Groaned the Dane, "we should be there by now! Check the barrel, Osferth."

Osferth, dramatically pushing himself onto his feet and wincing as his feet splashed water, trudged over to the barrel withholding water and a sun stone. He glanced at the shadow derived from the sun stone, peering at it with a single eye before looking to the Dane, "We are too far east, we must turn more south."

The Dane nodded, turning the figure stick so the sails changed angle. Finan continued watching the ocean, his stomach churning by the waves – whilst he may tease Sihtric for his queasiness, and mock Osferth for his sudden uncontrollable bouts of seasickness, Finan was not so far off from them at that moment. Yet, unlike them, watching the water made his stomach rest more easily as opposed to him not being able to see anything past the sides of the ship. As a slave, Finan spent most of his time inside a boat – hidden by the expanse of the high walls, knees-deep in overriding water as he pull, pull, and pull'd. Any seasickness he felt then was concealed by the cold, deviled by hunger, thirst, and the lack of sleep that followed after days of endless oaring. Now, however, as a free-man decreed by the almighty Dane-slayer, Finan only felt his fair-share of seasickness when he could not see the sea.

When the water was nowhere in sight, hidden by high walls of the ship, a single blink could bring him back to the four long years he spent as a slave on Sverri's ship, that was when Finan was at his weakest. Yet, ahead of his men, Finan sought not to share such vulnerability. And so, it was either he watched the sea listlessly and intently, or he puked that morning's stew and grain all over the rat-Dane, and baby monk.

Finan glanced back at their youngest crew mate, "How far east we blow?"

Osferth looked up at the Irishman, and squinted his eyes glaringly, "I don't know, Finan. I'm a monk not a navigator."

Finan rolled his eyes, hopping off the hull of the small ship and sauntering over toward the barrel of water. "We've not moved too far off course," he said, sighing, "Sihtric, change the sail direction northeast — Osferth, yu'r only job now on is bailing."

Osferth rolled his eyes, "Sir, yes sir."

Sihtric leant his head against the swing guide, groaning, "When we get home I'm not leaving my bed for a year."

Finan smacked the man on the back, deliberately trying to disturb his stomach more than it already was. "Aw, yu'll be fine Sihtric, once yu' get yu'r sea legs yu' will be right as rain."

Osferth threw a bucket of water over the side of the ship, "We've been sailing for nearly thirty hours, and he's been sick every moment of it – I don't think he will ever get his sea legs, Finan."

The Irishman snorted, leaning on the bowsprit of the ship whilst facing the Dane, and baby monk, "I thought Danes were supposed to like the water. How else would yu' Denmarkians become such a nuisance for the rest of the world?"

Without lifting his head off his arm, Sihtric flicked his arm out in hopes of hitting the Irishman. However, all he managed to connect his fingers with was Osferths mouth – the monk spat and sputtered, spilling seawater on himself and the Dane out of surprise. Sihtric only groaned more, running away from the swing guide and flinging himself over the ship wall. Finan cringed as he listened to the Dane's seasickness collide with the water, his own stomach churning as he had to turn again and maintain his stare with the bluish-green seawater. "I am utterly disgusted," Osferth sputtered, spitting his Dane-contaminated saliva into the ocean. "I am indignant, I am over this entire bloody mission!!

'I'm not.' The Irishman wanted to say. Instead, he kept silent with his chin resting on the back of his hands as he observed the view ahead of him, a mix of setting colors, and multiple seabirds hovering over them in the sky. He thought about returning to Coccham, how within the next few hours he would be seeing the township in nearly a month – he thought about returning and not seeing Freydis waiting for him, the Irishman only grew sicker as his mind fought a battle. He was not eager to come home, and found that Freydis had been true to her promise, so a part of him wanted to stay out at sea. To return back to Bebbanburg as a spy. The other side of him, however, the foolish side not up for confrontation, wanted to get off this blasted ship, to return to Coccham with his friends and sleep in an actual bed. Nathless, it would still not be for another hour at least, and he was going home whether or not he liked it, so Finan merely closed his eyes and relished in the favorable moments of this voyage.

Then he remembered that closing his eyes gave him a bellyache worse than a hangover, so he immediately opened his eyes right back up.

Finan heard the baby monk gurgling, and looked back with wide eyes as he realized the boy was using the last of their accumulated rainwater. They had been too busy during the early-morning storm, and when Sihtric finally had the bright idea to collect what was falling from the sky it was too late. Finan jumped off the bowsprit, and grabbed the waterpouch from the holy-man, "Baby monkkkkk, yu' upside-down fool! That was the last of our water!"

Osferth spat what he had left in his mouth overboard, "We'll be fine, Finan. Coccham is close, we will freshen up then. In the meantime, I need to get the taste of Sihtric out of my mouth!" He tried reaching for the waterpouch again, but Finan lifted it over his head.

Finan raised a brow, "And if we're blown off course again?"

"I..." The monk's cheeks pinkened, "didn't think of that."

Finan flicked the monk in the center of his forehead, "Yu' don't think of a lot of things in that saintly head of yu'rs, do yu', baby monk?"

Sihtric, having just finished his extreme bouts of nausea, walked up behind Finan and easily snatched the waterpouch from the Irishman's hand. Before the shorter man could even realize what happened, the Dane used the last of the freshwater to clean his vomit-contaminated mouth before spitting it back into the water. "We will not be blown off course again," he shrugged when Finan gave him an incredulous, but irked expression. Then he slapped the Irishman across the head. "That is for hitting me."

Finan groaned, but nevertheless backed down. "Fair enough."

Having witnessed the Irishman perform favoritism toward the Dane, Osferth scoffed. However, he did not argue, for either one of them could easily flip him into the ocean. Rather than using his saintly wit to argue against the two, the monk went back to bailing. And Sihtric to steering, with Finan sitting tensly against the bowsprit. Sihtric, visibly feeling better having emptying his insides, tapped his foot boredly against the hull of the ship, "I wonder if that is what sickness feels like when a woman is with pup," he said to no one in particular, "Ealhswith felt horrible when she was with Ygritte, but I cannot think of anything worse than what I have just felt."

Osferth scoffed, taking another one of his short-lived breaks before the boat started filling up again. "Do not be ignorant, Sihtric. A woman grows a child's body, and soul within their belly – seasickness is nothing compared to this."

Finan shuffled closer to the water, his mind now vehemently clear, "I must get off this ship."

Sihtric tilted his head, "So you can see Freydis?"

Finan rolled his eyes, groaning, "She will not be there when we arrive back – she told me as such before we left."

"And I." Osferth chimed, holding a solemn hand in the air.

The others obviously knew of the growing fondness between the two Irish-rogues, they had first suspected it when they broke her out of Dunholm (except for Uhtred, who knew even longer than that.) They knew when the two would bicker, when they would shove each other, and they especially knew in the latest months as they were caught on numerous occasions with their tongues down one anothers throat. Whilst the Irishman initially felt awkward with his brothers witnessing such vulnerability, they now became his closest confidants. That was, at least, until the day they left for Bebbanburg, for the two's split was not necessarily peaceful.

The Dane looked pensively toward the sky, "Now that I think of it... I think she told me that as well."

Finan glanced incredulously toward the Dane, wondering if he was still drunk from two nights before – it was entirely possible considering the amount of ale they drank, and how nauseous he had been for the past day and a half. When they went over a particularly strong wave, Finan quickly spun back around to stare readily again at the ocean water ahead of them. It was beginning to darken in color, signifying they were now entering the waterway encircling Coccham (if they were still on the right track.) Finan dangled his legs around the bowsprit as he stretched for a greater view of what was ahead – in the far distance, he can only see the light hue of smoke gathering into the lapis sky. He threw his head back gratefully, ensuring his hold on the wood was strong so he would not fall back entirely. "We should be okay now, Osferth," Finan said, "yu' can stop bailing, we're nearly there."

Osferth dropped the bucket almost immediately, flattening his palms together and glancing to the sky, "Thank you, lord."

"God is good." Sihtric mocked, his nausea slowly returning as they approached the docks to Coccham.

Now that they were closer, Finan could definitely confirm it was the township he had grown to love over the years. It was the town housing Uhtred and his family, holding vigor to the greatest alehouse outside of Irland, yet, as he thought about the next things he was going to do once they were docked, he remembered the bastard predicament he had put himself in. And so, closing his eyes as he was no longer assaulted by the powerful waves of the ocean, Finan leant his head against the wood of the bowsprit and listened melancholy to the increased bustling of excited Coccham residents. "Finan!" Osferth called, trying to gain the attention of the Irishman.

The Irishman merely groaned, "Yes, baby monk, I see the town."

"No, not that!" The monk sighed, his tone aghast. "She's there, Freydis is there!"

Finan, without looking toward the forming crowd, swung out to the monk and shoved him back a few steps, "Piss off, baby monk."

Sihtric snorted, amused by the Irishmans petty anger, "He is not lying, Finan. She is right next to Uhtred."

Straight away, the Irishman swung back around, moving his head around the bowsprit to get a better look – Finan's eyes grew as wide as Wessexian shields as he caught the eye of another pair watching back at him. Immediately, she looked away, nonetheless, he was filled with a glee he had not felt in a very long time. He grabbed the ropes resting by his feet, and held them on his wrist as he eagerly awaited for the boat to align with the dock, "Women of Coccham," he shouted, looking at one woman in particular. "We are back!"

Osferth chuckled, leaning into the seasick Dane, "So easily content." Sihtric pushed the monk, and steered the boat's side into the dock so Uhtred could grab the ropes from Finan and tie them to land officially.

"They know, Finan," Uhtred said, the barest of smiles on his face – he had missed his friends. "They can smell you from here." Once Sihtric had the chance, he grabbed his gear and hopped onto the dock. Uhtred clapped the Dane on his shoulder, "You all look like shit." He glanced to Sihtrics soggy feet, and then to the bottom of the boat, "What have you done to my ship?"

Finan hopped off second to the Dane, "Now that was Osferths fault," he easily blamed, even though no one entirely was at fault other than a rock long-lost in the ocean.

"It was not!" The monk retorted, following close behind to the three.

Uhtred ignored him, having not believed Finan in the first place – the Irishman was always keen on lying when he learned how easy it was to put the baby monk under a pickle, for he was terrible at both lying, and telling the truth. The Dane-slayer stopped just before the small set of stairs leading to the grass, irritating both Sihtric and Finan for different reasons. Whilst Sihtric only wanted to place his feet on solid ground, Finan wanted to speak with his Irish-lady. Nathless, the Dane-slayer was not as eager to get on land, and he looked directly to his right-hand. "What news from Bebbanburg?"

"Good news, lord," Finan said.

Uhtred's expression immediately grew elated, "My Uncle Aelfric is dead, and you have his balls to prove it?"

"No," Finan laughed, "but he is being attacked by the Scots pushing south. He lost half his men in the most recent assault."

"So Bebbanburg's weakened?"

Finan nodded, "For now, yes." Behind Uhtred, he got a glance of the woman of his dreams standing beside her fellow-Linnasburghian Myfanwy – they watched them curiously, and when Freydis caught sight of him watching her she immediately looked away. He frowned, for it was the second time it had happened.

"Until he finds more men," chimed Osferth, ever the pessimist.

Sihtric whacked the monk, "Or is slaughtered by the Scots."

"So we could take it," deemed the Dane-slayer. "With an army... we could take it." He added, glancing back at Freydis with a smirk.

"Well, perhaps." Finan said, his curiosity piqued by the exchange made between his brother, and woman. "It will not be easy."

Uhtred raised a curious brow, "How many men does he have?"

A small smile curved the corner of the Irishmans lips, "Barely forty."

The Dane-slayer laughed, "It will be easy."

Freydis descended the stairs behind him, moving aside Sihtric so she faced the Irishman as well. Finan smiled at her, but was met back with a cold expression. "Can he raise a fyrd?" She asked, her arms crossed over her chest.

"Oh, God no," Osferth said, "Local lords think that he is–"

"That he is a turd, yes." Uhtred mused, "And they are right. We should not delay."

Sihtric groaned, "Can't we?"

"No, Sihtric," Uhtred dismissed, "we must go before he buys more men. We head to Bebbanburg before the Scots return, the Gods are telling us to strike and take back what is mine."

Finan nodded in agreement, trying his hardest to keep his eyes off of Freydis. "Now, lord, it'll take ships and men – the venture could cost yu' all yu'r silver."

"He has ships," Freydis stated, "And I have the men – this venture will cost no silver at all."

Osferth smiled, "You are a godsend, lady."

Freydis smiled for the first time since joining them, and Uhtred clapped Finan on the shoulder. "Once we retake Bebbanburg, Finan, we will have all the silver in the world." With that, the Dane-slayer turned to return to his pagan hall. Osferth turned to follow, but was stopped by Freydis who appeared utterly aghast.

She placed a hand on her hip, "You are mistaken if you think you are to leave without giving me a hug first, monk."

Osferth meekly smiled, opening up his arms and tightly embracing her as she excitedly hopped into his arms. "Apologies, lady. Long journey."

"I am still not your lady, Osferth," she said, breaking their hug and ruffling the younger man's hair. "Nathless, I understand your exhaustion – there is food in the feast hall, go on and collect your fill."

Osferth grinned, jogging to catch up with Uhtred whilst shouting, "God bless!"

Freydis turned her attention to Sihtric, purposely avoiding eye contact with the Irishman who stood beside him. "Sihtriiiccc..."

"Freydis," He grinned, embracing her less aggressively than the monk but more earnestly. "Where is my wife?"

"I am doing well, Sihtric, thank you for asking!" Mused the Irish-rogue, as the man only scrunched his eyebrows curiously she sighed, "She is at home, she is not feeling well – the kids kept her up all night with their shenanigans."

Sihtric nodded, giving the woman one last side-hug before running off in the direction Osferth and Uhtred left so he could reunite with his wife. Now, it was just Finan and Freydis – the Irishman expected her to finally look at him, but instead, she simply turned around to take her leave. Finan's jaw dropped as he stepped toward her, placing a light hand on her shoulder, "Wha– Freydis?' She kept walking, reuniting with Myfanwy who looked as confused as Finan felt. "Freydis!"

Freydis groaned, stopping and turning to face the taller Irishman, "Yes?"

Finan was at a loss for words, his mouth only opening and closing like a gaping fish before sputtering out the first words to come to his mind, "Y-Yu', yu' stayed– yu'r here!"

She crossed her arms over her chest, "Is that so? I had not realized."

The Irishmans cheeked redenned beneath his beard, "Did yu' change yu'r mind?"

"No, I have not.." She stated in disbelief, "out of everything you could have said, you ask me the one question that originally broke us apart? You're unbelievable, Finan, truly."

Sensing the impending argument, Myfanwy slowly stumbled away from the two Irish-emigrants. Finan pinched the bridge of his nose, a headache swiftly befalling his mind. "I'm sorry, okay? I was just– I was just surprised. Yu' really made it seem yu'd've been gone by the time I got back – I was worried yu' were gonna abide by your word.

Freydis frowned, her anger slightly diminishing as she loosened the cross of her arms, "So you do not care? You will let me go through with it?" Finan must have not responded for far too long, for her angered expression quickly returned and she groaned. "I am doing it either way, Finan! I have the army for it. Once we re-take Bebbanburg, I am taking my men overseas to Linnasburgh with, or without your consensus!"

He raised his hands in surrounder, "Okay! Yu' are going with, or without my consensus – so why does it matter what I say?" She didn't know why, and stayed silent as she gestured for him to continue talking. "I am always going to be worried for yu', Freydis. Thus, I will always worry for yu' – whilst I haven't necessarily changed my opinion on yu' returning to Irland I cannot control what yu' choose to do. And I apologize for acting so rudely before I left, I was fearful for you." He attempted to shift the mood with a bemused grin, "It appears yu'v got bigger balls than me, lady."

"That is obvious," she said, her stern expression still standing. "And I suppose I can accept your apology, Finan. But unless you are to agree with, and support my decisions... we cannot go back to how we were. I cannot allow someone so dear to my heart dishearten me so."

Finan's heart throbbed as he glanced into the woman's eyes, knowing she would not be watching him with trust and respect for a very long time. Agonized, the Irishman nodded, and he held out his hand, "Truce?"

Freydis glanced toward his palm, hesitantly entwining her fingers with his. "Truce."

Unfortunately for the both of them, that was rhe closest they were going to get to a welcoming embrace.

Chapter Text

They slept throughout the day, and traveled through the night; a cataclysmic event was forthcoming, and Uhtred the Dane-slayer was eager to become the center of it.

Æthelflæd's Mercian estate of Aegelsburg was identical to how it had been when they left; dirty, cramped, and stinking of cow manure. Nathless, Uhtred, in heed of his four warriors, entered the small Mercian fyrd-town with a sense of urgency somewhat foreign to the confused Irish-rogue. Freydis trailed closely behind her monk-warrior with her hand hovering over the ruby-hilt of Belenus. The Irish-rogue was utterly exhausted, having traveled from Coccham to Winchester for three days, and three nights, resting one day, and then traveling throughout the night again to Aegelesburg. However, she was not confident that they would be resting for long in the small fyrd-town, for Uhtred planned to speak to Æthelflæd and leave thereafter to not waste any more time.

For the last several minutes, Uhtred and his right-hand Irishman had been discussing war tactics. Or, more particularly, alternatives to dying. Whilst Finan knew that Freydis has somehow acquired men in her attempts to re-take Linnasburgh, he did not know how many men she had gotten. And it seemed he went with the lower latter of guesses than with the higher — this angered Freydis, but she kept silent. They had called a truce, and she wouldn't be the one to break it. "It's getting into Bebbanburg, that's the problem." Finan reasoned, his initial concerns resolved as Uhtred quickly dismissed his worry's. Uhtred refrained from telling the Irishman the actual number of Freydis' men as well, amused as Finan continued to underestimate the Irish-rogue again and again.

Sihtric turned to Finan with a lazy grin, "I say we just turn up and ram the gate."

Finan scoffed at Sihtric's obvious Dane-like thinking, "Or we just ask nicely to be let in?" A nun passed them, and Finan messily drew a Christian cross over his chest, smirking as the nun giggled and went on about her way.

Now how exactly saddened would Osferth be if Freydis killed a holy-nun?

"Have you a death wish, Finan?" Freydis inquired, her voice unintentionally irate. "There is no polite asking to be let in, there are only fire-sticks and tar when it comes to indelible usurpers."

Finan did not spare her a single look, shrugging as he held tightly onto the hilt of his sword. "And yu'v got knowledge in that criteria, eh, princess?"

Freydis rolled her eyes, a slight shiver overtaking her sternum as Finan used her illy-reputed nickname as Dunholm's captive. "Bitterness is repugnant on you, Irishman. You must change your ways, or else Arawn may shite on your pillow tonight."

"I don't know who Arawn is," Finan began, unsheathing his saex and pointing it meters from Freydis' nose. "but if She shite's on my pillow, She is getting a saex up her arse."

"She is a He," Freydis corrected, sniffing amicably at his blade that still bore the blood of his latest skinned rabbit. "He is a God of the Dubnos, and feeds on man's greatest fears." She grinned sadistically at the man, "I shall smite a goat this evening in hopes of his visitation."

"Perhaps we should dress like nuns," Osferth interjected, stepping between the two Irish-rogues. "all spiteful men have a soft spot for nuns."

Freydis scoffed, "The day I am dressing as a nun is the day I become fluent in Latin." She glanced around, taking in the confused expressions of her companions, "I am shite at speaking Latin."

A nun running at an abnormal speed approached the group, "Lord Uhtred!" Freydis recognized it to be the lady Hild, a nun-turned-warrior-turned-nun-again. She paused a few steps behind Finan, her expression stricken as she clasped her hands ahead of her belly. "Thank you for offering your men to help clear the stables."

Both Sihtric and Osferth glanced worriedly toward Finan, who exclaimed, "What?!"

Freydis stood perturbed, for she was no man.

Hild slid by Freydis so she could speak personally with the Dane-slayer, and Freydis watched the trio of quarreling men with her arms crossed in amusement. "I pulled a muscle in my back the other day," Osferth complained, "thus I cannot shovel shite – Sihtric, won't you take my load?"

Sihtric groaned, "Ask Freydis."

When the monk turned to face her, she immediately shook her head. "She said 'men,' monk. I am no man."

Finan took a step forward, "So what are yu' going to do?"

Freydis shrugged, a grin tugging at her lips, "Perhaps I shall fetch myself some ale and stew... a good nap does sound nifty as well."

Finan opened his mouth to retort something snarky, but was paused in his tracks when Osferth grunted with a newfangled abstraction, "Ladders!" He said, "To get into Bebbanburg... we must use latters!"

Finan raised his hands in the air incredulously, slapping his own muddied forehead in the process. He punched Sihtric in the bicep, signaling for the Dane to follow him in the direction of the horsestables. Before they left behind both the monk, and Irish-rogue, Sihtric nudged Freydis and slid a few silver pieces into her britch pocket. "Save me some stew." He mumbled, to which she nodded, patting the Dane on his shoulder in commendation of his sacrifice.

"Have any extra to purchase some lemon-cakes?" Osferth inquired, leaning curiously toward her new stash of currency. The others were eager to allow him to slip by, Freydis was left to wonder if there was some ill-nostalgia when it came to Osferth and shoveling shite.

Freydis pulled out the coins and began counting them; there were four silver pieces, and two bronze, "We've enough for two cakes, monk." She grinned, wrapping her arm around his neck. "You must order them, though. Irish accents are not appreciated here."

Osferth looked up at her cheekily, "Are they anywhere?"

Freydis scoffed, smacking the monk on the back of his head.

When Sihtric found Freydis a few hours later, she was resting in an alehouse with Osferth keeping watch. They had two empty bowls of stew ahead of them, as well as two cake platters left with nothing but crumbs and the tangy scent of lemons – by the near edge was a third bowl of stew, cold but unembellished. Sihtric took out his saex, and flipped it so he was holding the blade and knocked the hilt on the table beside Freydis' unguarded head. Swiftly, the Irish-lady jumped up and unsheathed her own saex, relaxing almost immediately when she noticed Sihtric standing over her with an amused grin. Freydis glared at him, and then at the monk for not waking her before the Dane could succeed in frightening her awake himself. "Good morning, Lady Freydis." Smirked the Dane, crossing his arms over his chest smugly.

Freydis was not nearly as amused, "What is it, ya' rat-bastard?"

"We're leaving, thought I should come and get the two of you," he said, tutting, “Gluttony is a sin, Osferth, have you need of a prayer before we go?"

Osferth rolled his eyes, standing up and comedically wiping the crumbs of cake off of his robes, "I wasn't aware you had such extensive vocabulary, Sihtric. Perhaps God has found you, rather than you and He.

Freydis rolled her eyes at the two, stretching as she stood out of her seat. "Where are we riding off too?"

"A monastery," Sihtric answered, grabbing one of the larger crumbs off of Osferth's abandoned plate and dipping it into his coldening stew. "We're kidnapping someone... This is disgusting! Did you buy me turd-stew, you traitorous hag?"

Freydis grinned, patting the Dane on his shoulder as she turned to make her leave. "Beet-stew, I thought you liked beet... or had you told me you despised it? Nathless, I hoped it would shut you up — I preferred it when you spoke less."

Sihtric frowned, but nonetheless chugged the remaining beet-stew. When Freydis approached the stables, she spotted Finan brushing the mane of a brown-furred mare, one of which bore a heavily resemblance to Freydis' foregoing horse Ogna. The Irish-rogue frowned, and ignored the Irishman's inquiring glance as she quickly reprioritized her gaze, and stepped the other way. Uhtred was speaking to Hild, a flirtatious grin adorning his expression as a few prune-faced nuns stepped by their Abbess, and the Dane-slayer. "Pardon me, lord," Freydis said, smiling kindly to Hild in greeting — they weren't exceptionally informed of one another, but the Irish-lady admired her as an extraordinary shieldmaiden. "I was wondering where to we are going? Shall I prepare meals, or pack extra oat for the horses?"

"We will not travel long, St. Wilfrid's Church is a mere mid-day ride," Uhtred said, "we should be there by sunset — mount yourself a horse, Freydis. But don't get attached to this one."

Freydis' brow furrowed in inquiry, "What of my other mare? Mo grá was not too spent from our latest journey, was she?" 'My love.'

"Mo grá dropped dead in the stables with worn hoofs, and a blood-worm in her side," Uhtred said, mimicking Freydis' accent purposefully inaccurate. "If you refrained from naming your horses, lady, their deaths would hurt much less."

Disconcerted by the news of her latest stallion, light tears grazed the under-eye lashes of the brewing spring of her pupils. "Perhaps I must... forgive me, lord. I was never too conditioned to the death of animals — the death of Linnasburgh's rogue mice often scarred me to meltdowns."

"It is fine," Uhtred smiled, he gestured to the Irishman back by the stalls. "Finan's got you a new mare, anyway. Just don't name this one, we're leaving it the moment we sail for Bebbanburg. Have you word of Myfanwy, and your men?"

Freydis glanced up to the sky, squinting as the sunlight pierced into her lightly-aching skull. "She left for Ilagorn not two days ago... assuming she ran into no trouble, she should be here no later than tomorrow's dawn with the men. And your ships, they are sailing to the ports?"

    "Should be there now." The Dane-slayer grinned, muttering something to Hild and kissing her on the temple. "Freydis, mount your horse, have you, and the others meet at the gates — I will be there shortly, I must bid goodbye to Æthelflæd."

     "Very well, lord," Freydis winked, "you mustn't delay for long, we have a baby monk to kidnap!"

      Osferth approached her swiftly, his long-robes making it appear as if he flew. "Pardon?"

     "Refrain from jealousy, my dear bastard-monk," Freydis said, patting his shoulder and then his cheek playfully, "you rank chiefly over any God-fearing pagan in my eyes."

    Osferth sneered, "It is you who is a pagan, lady. Not me."

    Freydis ignored him, stepping around the monk and approaching the stables rather then prolonging their banter any longer. She refrained from any eye-contact with Finan, and instead focused her attention on tightening the leather straps of her bracer. "Mount your horses, boys!" She ordered, "Uhtred expects us to wait for him at the gates, and I have no intention of his brooding bravado to return — he is quite enjoyable when he isn't frowning like a kicked-pup."

     Finan frowned, "He put yu' in charge of wrangling everyone up?"

      The Irish-rogue flashed him a quick glance, "Indeed, he also declared your banishment from his notorious band of bastards. Jealous, Finan? Perhaps it is time you should return to our forsaken land and realign yourself with the true Gods."

     Sihtric rolled his eyes, rather enjoying her snarky attitude, "You're quite mean today, lady. Saddened by the news of yet another loss of a mare?"

      Freydis stepped into the saddle of her new stallion, and looped her leg around to straddle the beasts long back. It paced nervously in the small stable, and Freydis frowned as she realized she couldn't soothe it the way she wanted too — by talking to it, naming it, and promising it all the carrots and mildew-covered grain in all the land. "I apologize for my attitude, Sihtric, you've deserved nothing more than praises following your generous sacrifice of three and a half silver pieces. Finan, on the other hand, is free-reign, and more-so the cock you never could be."

      Osferth mimicked Freydis' actions by mounting his own horse, "That sounded both a curse, and a reassurance, Sihtric, I don't know if I should pity you, or be jealous of you."

     Finan backed out of his stable, biting the dirt from his fingernails whilst he wondered his spiraling thoughts. "How am I a cock?" He inquired, not waiting for an answer as he allowed his mare wandered to the gates of Aegelesburg.

"How are you a cock?" Freydis laughed, moving her stallion so it was in equal pace to his. "Have you met you? Well, I'd suppose not... for you would have surely relinquished your act by now." Freydis glanced behind herself quickly, ensuring that Sihtric and the monk following herself, and Finan; this was her first leading-task of Uhtred's men as Uhtred's warrior, and she was not going to butcher it by bickering with the Dane-slayers right-hand lieutenant. "Sihtric, what in the Tír na hÓige is that?" 'Land of the Young.'

Beside the Dane, and his equally powerful charcoal-black mare was a much smaller horse, pudgy and adorning many polka-dotted colors, standing right beside him with hay stuck in its tooth. Sihtric glanced down to the beast in amusement, "The monks horse, do you wish to name him?"

"No," she deadpanned, halting her horse at the gate before it could nervously run into the tall, cedar wood. "Feel free to name him yourself, Sihtric. It looks a tad like you, perhaps it is a Kjartansson as well?"

Sihtric sneered, "You are vicious with power, lady. You mustn't forget, Uhtred will be back soon to reclaim his space."

     "I am back, Sihtric," Uhtred stated, causing the Dane to jump as the Dane-slayer spoke unexpectedly into his ear. "and she is right, perhaps you can name him Sven after your late brother."

     The younger Kjartansson slapped his palms against his thighs, quivering in laughter himself as Osferth openly bellowed in amusement. Uhtred winked at Freydis, returning her playful gesture from before, and then motioned to a man on top Aegelesburg's ramparts to open up the gates. Soon thereafter, Uhtred and his men (and Freydis, who was not a man) took their leave. In the beginning, Finan slowed his horse so it's pace matched Freydis' evenly. After a few moments of awkward silence, he turned to her, "I'm a cock?"

      Freydis peered at him curiously, but nonetheless agreed, "Naturally."

     "I thought yu' were no longer angry," he said, frowning, "we called a truce."

      "Explicitly angry, I am not," she confirmed, "bitter, however, yes. And rightfully so."

      Finan scoffed, "Rightfully?"

      She sighed, "Must I go on, Finan? It will only lead to a fight, for I do not doubt the both of us have plenty to say. So, can we merely continue this trek in silence? If we survive the Bebbanburg siege, surely we can talk about this thereafter."

      Finan raised both hands in surrender, his lips overturned with a stressed dimple adorning the blank space beside his brow. "Fine, I'll shut up — just, are yu' alrigh'?"

Freydis pursed her lips, "Yes, I am fine."

He tilted his head, resting his bearded chin in his palm as his elbow gently rested upon his stallions head. "Are yu' suuuure?"

Freydis' lips quivered with a slight smile, to which she coughed and turned her expression to the tree-line afar. "I am, Finan. Are you well?"

"Oh yes, fine, perfectly swell!" The Irishman exclaimed, his mood pooling out of his mouth like vomit. He glanced to her horse, smirking, "Are you going to name him?"

Any amusement that had once adorned the Irish-rogue vanished, to which she turned her head to study Uhtred's back with an irate cast objectifying her annoyance at the Irishman's annoyingly provokative words. "Kindly shut the fuck up, Finan. I am not in the mood for any of your games."

"Understood, princess. I wouldn't wish to vex yu' any further." Freydis kicked him in the shin before riding off into the distance, and traveling by her lonesome with four great warriors in her steed.

     Once the Dane-slayer and his coterie arrived to the small village coinciding with St. Wilfred's church, Finan, Sihtric, and Freydis were summoned to hide behind a large barrage of grain as Uhtred searched from on top the ramparts for their kidnapping target. Finan glanced between the numerous monks seemingly identical to the impotent eye, "Which bloody one?"

     Freydis leant back, repositioning her foot as her ankle began to ache from crouching, "Who are we even taking? If we need a Christian-men in funny clothing, why don't we bring Beocca with us?" She remembered their funnily-dressed friend in the woods guarding their small encampment, "We have Osferth, for Dogda's sake!"

      Finan held up a hand for Freydis to keep quiet as he peered up to Uhtred leaning against the stones of the monasteries ramparts. Uhtred pointed, and the Irishman's eyes lied directly onto their target, "It's him," he said, motioning to a monk not sixteen, bearing a smaller iron cross on top of his cheap wooden one. He lightly slapped Freydis on the shoulder, practically forcing her into a standing position, "Go!"

Automatically, the Irish-lady feigned a pained wail as she dramatically threw herself into the shrubbery a particular monk mauled with his bare hands. "Help me!" She shouted, "I need help — I have been attacked!"

The baby monk with light blue eyes was utterly mad with curiosity, unsure if he should help the stranger or arm himself with a sickle. "You've been attacked?" He asked, "b-by what?"

"A beast!" She wailed, "a great beast with four legs, and four heads. It barked at me, growled, and then it lunged at me! It nearly took off my leg, you must help me, young monk!"

Another monk with sand-hued skin, and an odd circle shaved into his hair curled his lower lip in terror, "A hellhound! There is a hellhound on the grounds, we must tell the Abbot!"

     Freydis noticed the monk had begun inspecting her particularly unwounded leg, and so she shot it out into the shrubbery, wailing again with eyes wide enough to mimic eye-stones. "Monk, I can take care of myself — I must, I cannot stay on soiled lands. But I need your help, brave monk. Won't you help me to my horse? Poor Ogna is all alone, and I would merely fall over if I find she is harmed by such an unholy beast."

"O-Of course, yes, I will help you!" The young monk exclaimed. Freydis frowned at his confidence, and wondered why Uhtred needed such an inexperienced nubcake.

Freydis grabbed his hand, her eyes swelling with tears as she bit forcefully into her own cheek. "Thank you, God bless you!" She shuffled closer to him, and allowed the young monk to pull her arm around his neck and lift her up ceremoniously. "You are a blessing, young monk. Thank you!"

The monk was visibly overwhelmed, but he nonetheless pulled Freydis in the direction of the the monasteries small, unimpressive gate. He yelled back to his monk-friend with an odd haircut, "Summon the Abbot, inform him of what ails us!" When he turned back around, he was met with the face of a broadly-grinning Finan, and then the fabric of his own robes as Sihtric pulled them over his head, and eyes. He began struggling in Finan's unrelenting. hold, "Hey! Get off! Who are you?!"

"You mustn't panic, baby monk." Stated Freydis, guiding the group to where they would rekindle with Uhtred. "We are not here to hurt you."

Finan glanced to a curious monk wrinkly as a bores ballsack, and smirked, "He is a sinner, Father. He has the sickness! You mustn't come near, for sin spreads as quickly as sick-air." Expectedly, the old man stumbled backward as he clutched ceremoniously onto his broadly-distributed wooden cross.

    By the time they returned back to both Uhtred, and Osferth, the baby monk had grown tired of struggling. Finan placed the abnormally large boy ahead of Uhtred, and aggressively pulled the robes from the monks face to present the kidnapped-meat to the Dane-slayer. The younger monk nodded, a disgruntled expression adorning his face. "Hello, father."

    This young monk looked nothing like Uhtred, but okay.

    "Men, Freydis, this is my son," Uhtred stated, turning to his bastards and gesturing to the young Christian boy. "Young Uhtred."

    Young Uhtred wasn't exactly fond of that name, "I don't use that name," he stated a matter-of-factly, "It belongs to a priest-killer."

The elder Uhtred repositioned his stance ahead of his son, "I'm here to guide you back to your family,"

"The Church is my family."

"No it is not," Uhtred said, Freydis couldn't tell if he was amused or angry. "You were placed there without my permission."

"Praise be to King Alfred for that."

Freydis bit her inner-cheek, and leant into Sihtric's bicep, "One; Uhtred has children, that's ... interesting. Two; his heir is Christian?"

Sihtric whispered into her ear, "He has two sons, and a daughter. Stiorra is off training in an abandoned fyrd-house, and the youngest boy is Odin-knows-where. I am still even unsure of his name; Gisela died in childbirth, and Uhtred couldn't bare to meet the pup." He glanced to Young Uhtred as Finan threw a fresh pair of britches, and a tunic into the monks arms. "Alfred tried punishing Uhtred in exile by converting his children. Worked for Young Uhtred, obviously. But Stiorra... well, she is a force to be reckoned with."

    "Quite like you, lady," Osferth interjected, his hands clasped at his center.

     The elder Uhtred glanced to his Danish left-hand, and Sihtric excused himself as he retrieved the groups extra mare to present to Young Uhtred. Freydis was horrified to learn that this horse, clearly meant for a child waist-high in length, was a gift for Young Uhtred who just nearly reached greater heights than his own father. "Impressive beast," Young Uhtred mused, his expression unfettered with anger.

     Uhtred shuffled in the spot where he stood, and raked his fingers ceremoniously through his short beard. "I... did not realize how much you'd grown."

     Freydis leant forward, "You can ride my horse, baby monk. You will find him more comfortable than this pitiful beast."

     Uhtred glared at her before returning his gaze back to his son, "Ride to Coccham's grand port with us," he stated, "in time, we will find you a proper horse."

      Young Uhtred sneered at his father, "Why would I ever go with you?"

     "To collect your birthright, and mine." Uhtred stated, grinning. "We are to sail north to seize back what was lost, and unite our family. I'm taking you to Bebbanburg."

     "Never heard of it."

      Freydis gnawed on her lower lip, "I cannot listen to this any longer." Finan, who had taken Sihtric's previously spot beside her, laughed as he raked his hands through his beard. Freydis couldn't help but smirk, hiding her own amusement in the creases of the night.

     Uhtred refrained from retaliating both verbally, and physically, instead he sniffed and began walking toward a small pond — he was most likely in need of a drink after that conversation, but seeing as he had no ale, pond-water would have to do. Finan glanced to the silhouette of his brother as he descended greater into darkness, "He doesn't seem to like yu' much!" He exclaimed, his amusement highly evident in his tone.

     Uhtred responded quietly, but loud enough to rouse the birds resting in the nearby shrubbery, "That's Alfred's legacy. The man torments me still."

The messy forest floor below Freydis' feet began to rock, and nearby a branch snapped as the darkness of the night began to envelope them more tighter as the night descended further into the Devils reach. Freydis planted her hand on the hilt of her sword, and noticed the others doing the same. Sihtric moved ahead of Young Uhtred, who was armed with nothing but a sharpened hunk of wood carved to resemble a cross. A black-haired dame emerged from the woods just meters from where Uhtred stood, and was immediately greeted with the blade of Uhtreds sword planted on her shoulder. Freydis frowned, and released her grip on Belenus as she recognized the woman ahead of them, "The night is dark and full of terrors, my friend. You must be more cautious, or else you will meet a premature death, Myfanwy."

The Welsh woman smirked, and gestured to Uhtreds groin; Myfanwy was holding a saex to his cock, the blade just barely colliding with his britches. Uhtred sputtered out a laugh, and re-sheathed his sword, "Have you the men, Myfanwy?"

Myfanwy glanced between both Uhtred and Freydis, re-sheathing het saex herself. "I do," she said, looking back toward the tree line. "one-hundred ninety-nine full men, and a single half-man. Just as promised by crazy-Lady Gele."

     Finan's jaw dropped to the floor, "Two-hundred men?"

      Freydis winked at him, "They should be plenty." She stated, "and when we have killed the usurpers, we may use them as Osferths proclaimed ladder."

      Finan glanced at Freydis with a glint unceremonious for the chronically-brooding Irishman, "Yu' are impeccable."

     Freydis felt her cheeks heat up, but said nothing as a small smile adorned her lips. Soon thereafter, Osferth and Sihtric's began setting up the tents as Finan kept Young Uhtred from running off, and Freydis properly tested for the first time in ages.

Chapter Text

The air smelt sickly-sweet of rotting meat and sea salt, Freydis sat with her back pressed against the mast as Sihtric paced, Finan moaned, and thirty or-so men pulled. Uhtred studied a map on the floor of the ship, and Osferth, similarly, studied the sky as he mumbled a prayer to his god. For two days they have seen nothing but water, not once witnessing any signs of land nearby; not even a lone seagull, whereupon those sky-rats could travel from Northumbria to Irland if they very well wished to. Nevertheless, a sail that should have taken around a day has progressed into a near three-day sail. The most frightening aspect of this, however, was the fact that they still had no idea where they were, or how long it would take to actually arrive in Bebbanburg.

The sky's were overcast, but that should not have been a problem for Sihtric's sun-stone. The waters were rambunctious, but they were in ships the size of Cocchams market square — it would take only a wave the size of an overwatch tower to submerge one of Uhtred's vessels. Furthermore, they had an ensemble of Gods watching over them; Osferth and Finan's Christian God, Uhtred and Sihtric's Danish Gods, and Freydis' Celtic Gods. So, Freydis was left to indignantly wonder where in Dogda's name they had gone so wrong to become nearly three-days off course? Freydis glanced over toward her fellow Irishman, wondering if he felt as unnerved as she did. By the way his face pollared with every turbulent wave, she could only determine he felt even worse than she did, whereas she was merely queasy due to the lack of food. The Celtic-rogue knew of Finan's past as a slave, how he would spent months-straight chained to a ship whilst his captors periodically rested on land. For three years of his life he spent every day wondering if he'd see land again, or if he was finally to succumb to the turbulent God-forsaken seas and cruel, whip-adjacent slave-masters. This sail and its unsurity must have been torture for the healing Irishman, and despite the indifference between the two following Freydis' stubbornness, and Finan's overbearing protectiveness, she couldn't help but pity him. Whereas one side of her wanted to ignore him, and focus on the condition of her own men, the other sought to comfort him like how her mother would do to her when she caught unrelenting fevers as a child back in Irland.

Uhtred, despite the bump in their mission, was relatively unfettered following their loss of course. Instead, he studied a monk-drawn map on the hull of his ship and drew a line from Coccham's ports, to where he suspected they were now. "Face the sails southeast, Sihtric." Ordered the Dane-Slayer, he proceeded to stand up and gather the attention of everyone else on the ship. "Whoever sees land first will receive a chest of jewels the weight of their whorish step-mothers!"

Freydis rolled her eyes as suddenly every man on the ship was reprised with newfound strength, and now hung over the sides of the boat as if their proximity to the water would heighten their chances of being the sole-discoverers of new land. Freydis boredly kicked her foot out, and knocked it against Osferths ankle. The monk jumped, shifting from his praying-stance and planting his palm on the hilt of his saex. Freydis' eyebrows lifted, amused by his reaction. "Scared, monk?"

The monk grumbled, releasing his saex and shakily moving into a more comfortable condition on the floor. "Desperate," he answered. "I am sick of eating salty bread, and drinking even saltier water. We should release that bloody bird already, see if we are truly out of God's reach."

"Manannán is merely testing us," Freydis stated, however, she wasn't entirely sure if there were any Gods this far out to sea. And if Manannán had happened to venture this far out into English waters, what reason was there for him to protect the fleet when there was only one Celtic-follower who failed to even properly pray to the deity. "The Gods are tricky. One moment they love us, and the next they toy with us as if we are wooden trinkets – Manannán, the Son of the Sea, is no different."

Osferth blinked at the Irish-rogue before sighing, and lying his head back onto his arm. "You and your blasphemous talk," he groaned, "you're lucky I see you more than a pagan, or else I would have prayed to our lord to take your soul in order to direct us to safety."

Freydis grinned in amusement, "Little Osferth making death-threats? You must be really hungry..." The monk glared at her before closing his eyes, most likely attempting to find sleep amidst their endless torture upon the sea. His lips parted gently, and Freydis leant forward to tip his chin back shut. He opened his eyes, watching her as if she had three heads. "You will only grow thirsty if you sleep and your mouth is open," she reasoned, "and we are nearly out of fresh water." The boy's eyes widened before he reluctantly kept his mouth shut, and nodded. Osferth was fresh out of sarcastic quips, and Freydis frowned indignantly at the Gods creullness.

In Linnasburgh, before fleets were to set sail, there would be a massive gathering whereupon a pig was slaughtered, and sacrificed to the Son of the Sea. Each man who were to board the ship would then proceed to eat a part of the swine, connecting their souls to Manannán's protective grasp. Freydis cursed herself for not performing the ritual before they set sail. In all truthfulness, the Irish-rogue had completely forgotten of the dangers of the sea, as her mind was too preoccupied with her irate Irishman, army of two-hundred men, and the ache conquering her mid-back after sleeping on the harsh forest ground all throughout the night. Freydis grew nauseous as she imagined an enormous wave taking out the entirety of their fleet knowing that all of such was possible without the protection of the Son of the Sea.

Freydis quickly stood off the ground, finding immediate relief from the waves rocking the bottom of the ship as her stomach balanced further away from the surface of the waters. She glanced to the sail, spotting Sihtric leaning tiredly against the shrouds as the twine-ropes danced with every movement of the boat. Taking a moment to re-gain her sea legs, Freydis walked over to the unsuspecting Dane and grabbed his arm, leaning her head on his shoulder and grasping the shroud with her free hand. The Dane tensed, but did not fight her – Freydis frowned, "Had you heard me coming?" He shook his head, sighing. "Then why had you not jumped? I even got Osferth to jump, and I hadn't even intended to scare him!"

He shrugged, a small smile pulling at his lips, "If there were a threat on this ship, the last person I would suspect it to be is you. I doubt there is any man here who chooses to scare someone by embracing their arm."

Freydis rolled her eyes, "Well excuse me for not wanting to be hurled on in response to an elaborate scare."

Sihtric didn't answer her, and instead glanced to the sky ahead of them, "It is going to rain," he said worriedly. "Those clouds have gone white to grey in less than half-a-day."

Freydis frowned as she took sight of a coterie of ashy-grey clouds, "Perhaps we should turn the sails, we mustn't risk losing any more provisions."

"Even without the sails, the waters are pulling us toward the storm." Said the Dane, "and Uhtred doesn't want to risk going anymore off course by turning us away."

"I don't know about our stubborn Dane-Slayer, but I would very much prefer going more off course than dying in a sinking ship," Freydis frowned, "I must speak to him."

Sihtric shook his head, "I've already tried. He's planned for a storm, we've got tarps and repositories to plant our valuables in. I recommend you get some sleep, Freydis. I doubt there will be much time tonight to lie, and rest."

She glanced toward the clouds again, and a part of her imagined she had witnessed them grow darker in the moment she watched them. "I do not know, Sihtric. There are two-hundred men dependent on my actions, and I wish not to risk their lives in an avoidable danger."

As Freydis still clutched onto his arm, the larger Dane caressed her back with a free hand of his. "I have sailed dozens of trips between Denmark, and Northumbria, only once, however, have I grown dangerously close to losing my life in a storm. We had spotted the clouds a day before we reached them, and no matter our attempts to flee them, their adjacent waters only sucked us in." He glanced over the edge of the boat, watching as the waters crashed mercilessly in direction of the impending storm. "If we move against them now, I highly doubt there will be any shift in our destinys. Our best bet is to hunker down, and trust Uhtred much like Finan over there."

Freydis glanced over to the Irishman, and found him sitting in his usual spot with his head planted in between his knees, and hands clasped at the back of his skull. His knuckles were white from how harshly he gripped his hair, Freydis frowned for the hundredth-time that hour. "Is he always like this on a boat?"

"Sometimes," the Dane mumbled, watching his friend. "Never this bad though. Then again, our sails have never been this long either. He hides it most of the time, retching maybe once or twice behind our backs. But he's always hated boats, nevertheless. How are you doing, though? I've noticed you haven't been eating."

Freydis shrugged, not taking her eyes off of the unmoving Irishman, "I don't need it. I have gone weeks without eating, these men, however, have not. It is better that they eat, if I can't get them safely to land at least they will not be at odds with me for starving them in the afterlife."

Sihtric rolled his eyes, "Next time, eat your ration. I do not intend on dying, nor do I intend on letting you die, even if Uhtred wishes to challenge our fates in a rainstorm."

"Very well," the woman smiled, she then proceeded to release his arm. "You try to find rest as well, Sihtric. You look ready to jump overboard."

Sihtric playfully saluted her as she pat his shoulder, and shakily made her way to Finan on the floor. He didn't raise his head when she sat down beside him, her arm brushing against his, but Freydis could tell by his quick breaths that he was not asleep. She hesitated to reach her hand out, but slowly grazed her fingers along his spine nonetheless. He had long taken off his armor, finding relief from the lack of tight armor on his queasy stomach by the time the first night had passed. He shuddered when he felt her fingers graze along his back, and hesitantly lifted his head to glance at her with squinting eyes. "I thought yu' were angry with me," he gruffed, recalling their small argument from Aegelesburg a few days before.

"I said I was bitter," she corrected, not taking her hand off his back. "Are you okay, Finan?"

His eyes were glazed over, adding to the many factors that told her that he was, in fact, not okay. Nonetheless, the Irishman nodded, "'m fine," he said, struggling to keep his head up. "'m tired, is all."

"Right," she mused, "and I am delighted to be here. Now that we are finished with our lies, tell me the truth – is it your stomach, or your head?" He didn't answer, and she groaned. "You're still a big, brave man if you're feeling ill, Finan. Just tell me so I can try to help."

He glanced at her, "Why would yu' want to help?"

She rolled her eyes, "Because you're still my friend, you amadán." 'Fool.' "Even when you are insufferably belligerent. Now, is it your stomach or your head?"

Finan took a moment to respond, but the man reluctantly laid his head back against the mast so he could speak to her directly whilst resting. "Both."

She frowned, "Sea sickness, or memories?"

He stared ahead of him, his cheeks blushing red against the pollar of his sickness, "Both."

Freydis nodded silently, and pulled her cool water-pouch from her satchel. "Take a sip," she directed him, and reluctantly he did as told. Once he was finished, she quickly tied the pouch shut before shifting to sit ahead of the Irishman, and pulling up his tunic to reveal his scarred belly. He softly grasped her wrist, watching her hesitantly as she exposed his most vulnerable area at that moment, "The coolness of the pouch will help with your nausea," she stated, "it is all I can offer for now, unless you prefer to vomit your guts out until you feel better." He pursed his lips together, but reluctantly released her wrist. He shuddered as she lightly pressed the cool pouch against his burning stomach, and to relieve some of the discomfort she pulled his tunic back down and rubbed the outer-edge of his hip with her knuckles. His eyes fluttered closed with slight relief, and a small smile danced on her lips as she used her other hand to direct his cheek to her shoulder.

He fought lightly against it, his eyes parting slightly to watch her, "Are yu' sure?"

"Sleep," she simply responded, "you'll feel better." Freydis half expected for him to fight her, but he merely nodded and rested his head on her shoulder with his warm breath fluttering against the crook of her neck. The Irish-rogue continued to trail her knuckles against his aching abdomen, but soon enough she even began to feel herself become pulled into sleep. Moments later, with the two Irish-passangers resting, Uhtred smiled softly at the pair and silently thanked Freydis for comforting his friend. Truthfully, Uhtred had been suffering as well, but as the captain of the ship he was forced to push through it with the occasional hurl into the sea. But he was thankful for the fact that Finan, at least, got to find some rest after days of hardly any sleep, and continuously swallowing the bile that threatened to expose his weakness. To show his thanks, Uhtred pulled a tarp from the ship's vast collection and softly lied it utop the two Irish-rogues, ruffling his hand through Finan's hair before finding Sihtric to relieve him of his duty.

When Freydis woke up a few hours later, she awoke to chaos. Not only was she soaked, and practically drowning in waters swelling into the ship's hull, but the men around her were shouting demands with one even falling ontop her feet as a powerful wave knocked him over. The Irish-rouge quickly removed the man from her legs, and used the ship's mast to pull herself up. Finan was no longer beside her, but struggling with the helm alongside Sihtric with water visibly pouring from every crevice of his body. The man who had slipped, and fell upon her sleeping form had pulled himself onto his feet, and Freydis quickly grabbed him. "What is happening?!" She inquired, how had she not woken earlier from this chaos?

The mans face was dripping wet, and painted with fear, "A wave," he stated, "an enormous wave the size of Winchester palace! Oh God, we're all going to die!"

Freydis huffed, shoving the panicked man before trudging toward Sihtric, and Finan. "Thank you for awakening me, Finan!" She shouted spitefully, "I really enjoyed drowning."

The man, busied with the helm that fought his grasp, retorted, "I apologize immensely, princess!" He shook his head like a wet dog to relieve his drenched hair. "I would get on my knees and beg, but the helm currently wishes to spin like a giant's top!"

"Might as well let it," She mused, "The hull is already filled to the waist!" Her eyes widened as she remembered the baby monk who had been resting on the bottom of it, "Dadga, please tell me Osferth is not still down there!"

Sihtric tipped his head back, and Freydis followed the gesture to the figurehead where the Dane-slayer tied his son to the ship's primary mast, with Osferth praying by his side. She nodded, and then glanced into the dark expanse of the sea in search of any one of her ships. She only glanced one, but it appeared to struggle worse than Uhtreds quickly sinking boat. She looked back to Sihtric, who appeared to be the only one seriously answering her, "How many?"

"Two in the beginning," he said honestly, "another simply disappeared. I've not a clue about the rest, though."

She bit her lip, "And Myfanwy's ship?"

"Still up as far as we know," Finan yelled, "now enough of the chit-chat. Frey, find whatever yu' can to start bailing out some water. Get Osferth to work, too. We need to get as far away from this thing as possible, and we can't do that if the ships-arse is dragging on the bottom of the sea."

Freydis' eyes widened, "The bottom?"

"We're close to land!" Sihtric yelled over the wind, "A few seagulls boarded the ship, but the land was in the direction of the storm."

Finan lifted his foot onto one of the pegs of the helm and pushed down as hard as he could, "That's why we're soggier than a grannys bloody knuckle! Now bail yu' witch, and tell those men to pull!"

Despite his harsh tone, Freydis reluctantly followed the Irishmans orders. She raced down the stairs dividing the helms path, and the hull of the ship, shivering as she was doused in a pool of cold seawater that reached just below her breasts. She moved toward the men seated one behind the other, pulling their oars desperately as they spat water from their mouths. She thought against yelling at them any more, and rather moved to a row of floating buckets as she began lifting bucket-fulls of water, and throwing it overboard. Thankfully, the turbulence of the surface of the water helped as everytime they went up, some water spilling in, they crashed down with even more water falling out. "Osferth!" Freydis called, moving toward him with her hand tightly grasped to her bucket. "Monk!"

The monk turned, his eyes lightening up at the sight of the Irish-rogue, "Freydis!"

"Are you okay?" She asked, her lower back aching as she repeatedly gathered water, and threw it out. She had to grasp his arm at one point to balance herself, and she grew increasingly annoyed as the wind whipped her hair into her face as her braid had become undone.

He nodded his head, "I'm as well as a dying man can be!" He yelled, "Perhaps you should pray to your Son of the Sea, Freydis. My God, and the Danish Gods appear deaf to our plea's!"

Freydis patted his cheek, and perhaps patted too hard as an unwarranted wave caused her to stumble forward into him "Unless you have a pig on you, Osferth, I'm afraid Manannán hasn't a clue we suffer in his enclave."

The man whipped his hands in the air, "Great!"

Swiftly, Freydis planted a bucket in his open palm. "We're on our own, monk. Now bail, it is up to us if your God has truly condemned us!"

When Freydis left the monk, her thighs ached as she trudged across the hull of the ship. The water worked against her, but she overlooked the ships wall nonetheless. She looked for any sign of land, trying to find something that could pull them safely from this predicament. Rather than the light hue of a nearby village, or the contrast of a dark mountain with the stars, Freydis found nothing but darkness and the threatening whistle of hurdling winds. She jumped when someone grabbed her shoulder, and with the velocity of the moving ship she went higher than she had intended in her frightened state. The hand that grabbed her pulled her back to the ship, and Freydis turned to find Finan standing behind her. "The helm's broken!" He shouted over the winds, "hold onto a mast, we're going down!"

Freydis nodded her head, and allowed the Irishman to pull her towards Young Uhtred's mast as her heart thudded anxiously against her chest. Uhtred stood over his son, his back turned toward the oncoming winds to protect the boy's face from being wind-whipped. Similarly, Sihtric and Osferth clutched onto the ropes like it was their last lifeline, and there was no doubt it could have very well been. Father Beocca sat across them, still pulling stubbornly at the oars that fought against his grip. A few men continued to pull as well, but most of them had abandoned their spots; Uhtred allowed them to, most likely guilty for not changing his decisions up to that moment. Freydis yelled as a wave made her lose her balance, and she fell face-first into the mast. When she attempted to move back, she was caught by a structure behind her – Finan was now mimicking Uhtred's actions with Freydis, protecting her from the onslaught of the storm whilst also ensuring she was firmly pressed against the mast incase they did go down, and she was need in something to stay afloat.

Unfortunately, the possibility of the ship going down was not as scenario as impossible as she pleaded it to be, and moments later a wave large enough to block the moon crashed against the helm-edge of the ship, and pulled the massive structure entirely underwater.

Chapter Text

Freydis' bones rattled with a chill vigorous enough to fret a Kievan Rus. Following the tumultuous wave that capsized their ship, Freydis, Finan, and the rest of Uhtred's crew floated unceasingly clutched to the ropes, and splinters of the soggy alderwood mast. Never before had the Irish-rogue felt such mind-numbing exhaustion, not even when she would spend days up at Dunholm working relentlessly as Skjold Arinbjornsson's royal hostage. On multiple occasions she had to dunk her head in the water to ensure she wouldn't fall asleep, and drift into the afterlife that impatiently awaited her arrival. And on multiple other occasions, she had to dunk the boy's heads into the water to ensure they didn't drift into the afterlife. Whilst dying alone, and forsaken in Manannán's forlorn sea might have not been as easy as closing your eyes, and falling into a perpetual sleep, Freydis could feel the life quickly draining out of her in the few short hours they had been stranded in the freezing waters of the North Sea.

Freydis' agony began the moment she awoken ontop the wood of the mast with her body soaked, and belly full of egregious seawater. Her body shook like a victim of a head-injury in battle, and as she coughed up her latest drink, the Irish-rogue, at one moment, imagined an abhorrent creature of innumerable tentacles and untold reputation grappling itself up her esophagus. Nathless of what it truly was, whether it was imaginary or something she had actually swallowed upon their capsizing, whatever she had coughed up was soggy, and it only prolonged her puking-session into their surrounding waters.

Once she executed her last retch, she finally gained the strength and confidence to push herself up from the humiliating sick-stance she took during her episode. The first thing she noticed was the fact her legs were completely numb, with her lower extremities yearning to stretch despite their deprived state. The next thing she noticed was that her hair was being held up. She looked behind her to see her fellow Irishman leaning against the mast with most of his body in the water as his icy-white fist messily accumulated her knotted locks out of the way from her floating puke-water. The man was visibly wretched. His hair slacked against his clammy skin whereas his body mimicked an icy-hue in comparison to her red-blushed misery of inflamed dermis. She furthermore noticed that his lips wept like melted candlewax, and parts of his eyes were tinted yellow in contrast to their bloodshot hue. If her Irishman looked like this after hours of drifting along icy northern waters, the Irish–rogue could only wonder how she appeared after hours of being unconscious without movement.

Finan's teeth chattered as he spoke, and his knuckles struggled to elongate as he removed his hand from her discheveled locks. "Done?" He inquired, pronouncing the 'D' for every frostbit-finger Freydis was bound to have.

She nodded, shifting her hold on the mast so her upper-back was no longer drenched in seawater. "H-How long have w-w-we been out h-here?"

Finan looked toward the horizon, taking in the orange and red-hues that had been nowhere near their current displayal when Uhtred's ship was overtaken by Manannán's snare. "Four or f-five hours," he stated, "feels l-like it's been a-ages tho– o-oi, open yu'r e-eyes, Frey."

Freydis hadn't noticed her eyes were slowly sliding shut, but she widened them nonetheless. Exhaustion reigned at her subconscious, most likely attempting to protect her from the torment of the sea. Nathless, if the others were awake, actively suffering the chill of the sea, it was her destiny to suffer as well. At least, she made it her destiny. Whilst Manannán, the Son of the Sea, hadn't originally known they traversed his seas at the time of their capsizing, he surely knew of their tragedy now as he worked all his Godly-might to protect the stranded peoples. So far, it was working, as everyone Freydis directly cared for were currently grasped onto this mast, holding onto dear life. Actually, she noticed all of her people alive and thriving, all except for one; "Myfanwy?"

Finan shook his head, and Freydis' heart dropped. "Not h-here, at least." He said, attempting to consolidate the misery she felt. "Haven't seen 'er ship, e-either. They could still b-be sailing, for all we know."

"Or drowned on the bottom of the o-ocean," Freydis dejected, resting her chin on the mast. She tipped her head over to look at Osferth, divided by Freydis by Father Beocca on their left. "We-We're all hhere, right?"

Finan nodded, shuffling against the mast with no prevalent changes to his condition. "Ceafor, and several o-other of the oarers d-didn't make it, but o-out of all of us we're r-relatively okay. C-Cold, I suppose. But okay."

"Tired too," a crackly voice interjected, Freydis glanced over to see Sihtric opposite of Finan. She hadn't noticed the Dane beforehand, for his entire body was practically submerged, but her heart elated at the reassurance he was alive. "Enjoy your n-nap, Frey?"

Freydis felt her innards creak as she repositioned herself for the five-hundreth time since awakening, and nodded. "It was a tad uncomfortable, but otherwise void of your incessant sarc-casm, so rather desirable compared to this." The Irish-rogue rubbed her eye with a salty fist, coughing a ricj0salt grasp that put the Irishman up for all of his silver. "Sihtric, pull y-yourself up. Do you want to lose your ears a-and your balls?"

"Couldn't if I wanted to," the Dane lowly replied, spitting out some water that breached the side of his face.

Finan flexed his fingers before running them through his soggy locks, "Mast c-can't hold too much weight. He and I are t-taking turns being i-in and out of the wa-water."

Freydis slowly nodded, looking down the mast to see several others doing the same. Whereas Young Uhtred was in a stance identical to hers, his father was practically holding onto the mast with his little finger. Just enough to stay above the water, and with the group to later on be placed upon a pyre in case he perished. His saex was clasped in his other hand, glinting in the early morning sun. Osferth was quite submerged as well, but not as much as his brethren, the burliest of warriors in their lot took the brunt of the chill whilst the less capable, seemingly Freydis, Young Uhtred, Osferth, and Father Beocca, basked in whatever heat the sun could provide them ontop the alderwood mast. Freydis pretended it was due to her being unconscious most of the time, and not because she was a woman. But even amongst her own lot there was a slight issue with gender-underestimation. The Irish-rogue lazily tipped her head to the Irishman, "What's your excuse?"

He piqued a brow, "M-my excuse?"

"I was unconscious," She began, "Beocca's too old, Young Uhtreds too young, and Osferth is a spineless monk–why are you with the feeble lot?"

The Irishman rolled his eyes, "I w-was falling asleep," he said, "was almost out until y-yu' started hurlin' like a drunken blacksmith."

Freydis smiled weakly, "You're welcome." Then, adverse to her sluggish nature, she threw herself off the mast with only her hand grasping the wood. The temperature of her back from sun-baked, to icy-cold was exhilarating, but was almost immediately overcome with searing pain. The Irish-rogue nonetheless expanded her shoulders, using her legs and free-arm to kick herself back up above water. She blinked away the water from her eyes, readgusting her hold to the mast, and took a large breath that had threatened to break free when she had still been submerged. "M-My turn," she managed to gasp out, "Sihtric, get b-back up you tóin." 'Arse.'

"G-Get back up, Freydis," Sihtric said, "I'm fine. Rán protects me, your Manannán does not, however. Have you looked at yourself? You're a mess! Your eyes are as yellow as my piss!"

Freydis ignored the Dane, and looked to the Irishman, "Finan..."

Finan bit his lower lip, wanting to agree with Sihtric, but compared to Freydis the Daneman was fairing obtusely horrid. "Up, mate." The Irishman gruffed, shuffling so he could move one arm beneath the Dane's armpit to pull him up.

"'M fine!" Sihtric shouted, yanking his arm away from Finan so he dropped further into the waters. "'M fine."

Osferth glanced over from where he floated beside Beocca, "Get up you foolish heathen, no God, or Gods can protect us in these Devil-infested waters. The longer y-you bask in it, the l-longer Freydis will have to stay down there."

The Dane sluggishly blinked at Freydis before sighing, reluctantly receiving help from Finan to help him back on top of the log. The longer Freydis stayed chin-deep in the water, the easier it got. And as the sun rose higher, it had gotten warmer. That, or she has surpassed the depths of cold into the warmth of the dragon-reigned milieu of Albios. Osferth had mimicked Freydis in her actions, allowing Father Beocca more space to escape the cold expanse of the sea. And several moments later, Finan joined them to allow Uhtred some time to warm up. The entire circumstance was relatively silent, except for the light sloshes of turbulent waves that compared nowhere close to what had conquered their ship several hours prior. By the time someone spoke, Freydis had once again pulled herself up on the mast so she could rest her chin on the back of her arms. "Trees," someone croaked, and Freydis half-believed it to be the outgoings of a feverish nightmare. Alas,the voice spoke again, and she recognized it to be Young Uhtred. "By God's grace, there is land!"

Everyone ceremoniously looked toward the boy who pointed eastward where there was, in fact, a grassy hill covered in pine trees, shrubs, and what looked to be a mound of snow. Somewhere in the background something burned, as white-smoke diligently shrouded the sky. Finan squinted to the beach, his above-par eyesight observing the beach, "a-and the-theres our ships."

Freydis looked and said nothing. There were no ships that floated, for every remnant of the boats had washed up on the beach in humps of debris. There were humans scavenging what had washed up, and fury arose in the Irish-rogues chest as she imagined a bunch of vultures picking at the meat of fallen warriors. Uhtred shouted from up front, his voice strained but nonetheless elated by the discovery of land. "Swim!" He ordered, "One arm around the mast. Kick your arm, and legs, and be ready for a fight!"

Freydis followed in suit with everyone else, snorting at Uhtred's additional comment. "I'm sure my fists are as hard as i-ice, perhaps they can be m-my weapon."

Soon enough, they had made it close enough to the beach that they could release the mast, and finally touch their feet to the ground. Alas, Freydis still had to hold onto Finan for most of the trek as she was comparably shorter than everyone else. Uhtred, Sihtric, and Osferth walked up front, with Young Uhtred, Freydis, and Finan in the middle, and Father Beocca to the rear. Sihtric and Uhtred both still had their swords, and saex's, whereas Osferth was lended Finan's. Freydis had lost her sword, Belenus, and instead carried a soggy plank of wood that compared to the skin of a bloating corpse. Finan had his sword, Young Uhtred a large, pointed splinter, and Father Beocca a... whole lot of godly wisdom until he could fetch himself a weapon. The scavengers had noticed them, and most scattered. A few stayed, nevertheless, and one approached them with a steel-pointed sword pointing at Uhtred's front. "Name yourself," he said in accented English, and his friends followed in suit with their own pointed weapons gathered from the debris.

Uhtred examined the group before tactically choosing to raise his hands in surrender, "I am Igor Svjornskoff, and these are my brothers Rief and Mljern."

One weasel-faced runt snarled his rotted teeth toward Freydis, "And who are dees' chaps?"

Uhtred did not glance back. "That is my cousin Patrisisch, his woman Eagidth, my son Igor, and my father Igor."

The lead man seemed satisfied for the made-up covers, "Why has a fleet washed up, Igor Svjornskoff? We have counted nearly one-hundred and eighty bodies, were you planning to pillage our poor old Christian town?"

"We had only planned to resettle," Uhtred stated, "East Anglia has gone dry. The sky had other plans, but alas God has spared us."

"God is good," Young Uhtred chimed, flashing his true cross. Whilst Uhtred hadn't a cross on him, but he at least had his hammer necklace hidden from the unsuspecting scavengers.

"God is good." The others agreed, even if it was half-hearted.

Uhtred glanced around the area, "And your name is?"

"Burchard," responded the lead man, "and these are my brothers Roderick, and Saegeat." Saegeat flashed Freydis another rotten-toothed smile, whereas Roderick had yet to show any sign he existed to do anything put hold a steel sword pointed toward the newcomers.

Osferth squeezed the cross that laid gently against his chest, "Where are we?"

"Northumbria," answered Burchard, "And you are in luck, my friends. About thirty other drowned men had entered just as we were leaving in search of jewels. You don't happen to have any jewels on you, Igor? I could help reunite you with your daunting settlers, but that unfortunately comes with a price. I don't abandon graveyards for free."

Freydis tightened her grasp on her soggy plank as Uhtred took a few moments to respond. Nevertheless, a great smile broke out on the Dane-slayer's face, "Of course, my friend. Of course. This sword here is said to be passed down by one of the old Gods, with a yellow-jewel to represent the sun-God Sol." He held the sword by the blade, pointing the hilt toward Burchnard to coax the man closer. "I've kept the blasted thing for my family's sake, but new land comes with new tradition, eh?"

"We are Christian, anyway," Beocca impently sputtered, "we mustn't associate ourselves with the heathen Gods any longer."

"God is good," Replied Uhtred, glaring at the elder man.

"God is good." Beocca smugly smiled.

"Yellow-jewel, eh?" Burchnard inquired, "what is that little bug doing in there?"

Uhtred shrugged, "Wrong place at the wrong time, I suppose. Could have been the first bug in existence, for all we know."

The man shook his head, and nodded. "I will take the sword, and in return you shall reunite with your men. However, I do not enjoy taking as my brothers receive nothing. What else can you offer, Igor Svjornskoff?"

Uhtred piqued a brow, "Is everything on the beach not enough?"

"It's all wet and soggy, useful as a newborn hound." whined Saegeat, "I want the woman."

Freydis clenched her jaw, "The woman is not up for trade."

Saegeaf smiled, "She's got fire in her tongue, I wish to dampen it with my cock."

Burchard smirked, "My brother wishes to dampen the woman's tongue with his cock, but the woman wishes not to leave her beloved husband. Unfortunately, if we cannot come to a compromise I will have to take everything you have, and kill you where you stand. You understand, yes? I cannot allow anyone to justly enter Northumbria without knowing if they can be trusted, you must remember, the last time this happened we were overtaken by Danes!"

Freydis assumed Uhtred to lie down his life akin to the many times she lied down hers for his. Alas, she was met with his cold voice stating, "You can have her, she whines too much anyhow." Finan tightened his grasp on her, and said nothing as she slowly slid his sword's hilt into her hand.

Burchard smirked, and motioned for his brother to collect his 'prize.' Saegeaf sheathed his sword and pulled out a saex as he left his brother's side. No one made any moves as the rotten-toothed Northumbrian shoved aside Young Uhtred to get to Freydis. Finan loyally stepped ahead of her, too which he received Saegeaf's saex to his neck. Freydis went wide eyed, "Lie down your saex, I shall join you without fight."

"I'd prefer there to be no man competing for my woman," Saegeaf responded, his saex's point digging deeper into Finan's skin.

"Leave him, Saegeaf," Burchard boredly stated, "take only the woman."

Saegeaf grinned in Finan's face, to which the Irishman cringed at his gruelling breath. Saegeaf's pressed his saex's point deeper into the man's jaw bone before releasing his grasp on him, and unsuspectingly turning his head only for a sword, the sword in Freydis' hand, to go through his chin, face, and out the top of his skull. His body dropped hastily, and then full-blown chaos ensued. Burnchard died quickly, but Roderick put up the greatest fight. The mute Northumbrian easily disarmed Osferth, and was in a two-on-one battle with Sihtric and Uhtred. The two Dane's worked sluggishly, but held up their own against the silent warrior. Alas, they were able to kill the man as Sihtric sliced his achilles' heels, and Uhtred drove Serpent-breath through his heart.

Freydis, after ensuring Finan was okay, ran up to Sihtric and Osferth, "Are you okay?"

"I'm great, thanks for asking." Uhtred responded, reposturing himself after the brutal fight.

Freydis glared at him,"I'm at odds with you here on out, Uhtred of Bebbanburg. Unless you are bleeding with your instenstines spewed in the sand, I could give two shit's if you were alright."

The Dane-slayer groaned, "I wasn't going to let him take you, Freydis."

"No, you would have allowed him to grope, and molest me until you gather your wits and slayed the vermin." She crossed her arms, "Finan even did more than you, and all he did was get a saex to the throat!"

"And arm yu' with my bloody sword," the Irishman gruffed.

Freydis ignored him, and turned back to Sihtric and Osferth. "Neither of you are harmed?"

They both shook their heads 'no,' to which the Irish-rogue nodded and sniffed. "Find me when we are leaving."

Finan stepped towards her, "Where are you going?"

"To find Myfanwy." Freydis responded, "to find her corpse."

"There are men at Grimbsy," Uhtred stated, "thirty of them."

"Yes, men," Freydis agreed. "If there was a woman, your best friend Burchnard's vermin brother would have mentioned it. Now, have you lot any more rubbish to bother me with? No? Okay then, find me when we are to leave for Grimbsy."

It didn't take long for Freydis to find her woman amongst the sea of corpsed-men. Myfanwy's raven black hair was sprawled against the sun-colored sand, her clothed drenched and skin bloated as if stuffed with hay. Her shirt was torn, revealing one of her breasts, and her lifeless eyes stared up at the sky as if watching the clouds. Freydis fell to her knees beside her, blanketing the torn pieces of Myfanwy's tunic ontop her showing breast, and then using two fingers to flutter the women's cold eyelids shut. She sat by the Welsh women for several womens, just sitting and watching, before wping away the tears that threatened to fall and using a piece of splittered wood to cut off a strain of the warrior's long locks. Without another glance at Myfanwy's corpse, she pocketed the hair and stepped away, reuniting with her group of drowned rats.

For the rest of the evening they rested by a fire, warming extremities they had believed to be long-gone back into circulation, and good health. And then they slept, resting for the first time in over a day-cycle, with two people taking watch at certain intervals throughout the night. Finan and Freydis were first, as Freydis had slept through most of the time being stranded in the water, and Finan had slept on the boat before it capsized. It was highly unfair, seeing as neither scenario was controlled or enjoyable, but they agreed nonetheless. Freydis fed the fire as Finan kept himself awake pacing back and forth, Freydis had yet to speak of Myfanwy, and did not plan too. Instead, her voice croaked throughout the night, "You got what you wanted." She stated, spinning a twig in the flames.

Finan stopped beside her, his voice low, "What?"

"You got what you wanted," she repeated, looking up at him. "My men are gone, my–Myfanwy is dead, my sword is missing, and Uhtred's ships are demolished. You got what you wanted, I won't be going back to Linnasburgh. It is unreachable, unseigeable, it's now conquered by the Danish Gods."

Finan shook his head, "I didn't want this."

Freydis felt her stature break as she shook, resting her chin on her knee, "You hadn't wanted me to go. And now I am not going, you cannot tell me this is not what you wanted, Finan. Even if it hurts me."

He slowly approached her, crouching down so his sword dug into the sand, "I hadn't wanted yu' to go because I didn't want yu' getting hurt. And whilst I did not show that properly does not mean that I don't feel terrible that yu' have lost all hope in retaking yu'r land."

"There is no hope, Finan." Freydis said, her voice breaking. "Linnasburgh is a land of two-thousand. And the Dane's are a species of reallocating vermin. They took Linnasburgh with almost four hundred, and undoubtedly have doubled, or even tripled in number. I have thirty men now, most of whom have probably scattered following the shipwreck. There is no hope, I cannot take Linnasburgh and I must deal with that. All I can ask, Finan, is that you forgive me for my stubbornness. You were right, and you have gotten what you wanted. I accept that now."

Finan planted himself beside her, their legs touching as he wrapped his arm around her shoulders. "We can find more men," he stated, "once we take Bebbanburg, we will have many to spare. We'll go with yu' too, I've been desiring Irish ale for ages now."

Tears fell from Freydis' eyes, and she tipped her head so that it leant against Finan's shoulder. "Don't Finan," she said, her voice pitifully dull. "Just be here for me, please. Don't try to make me hopeful, it will hurt too much to be hopeful."

Finan was silent, his mouth opening and closing like a gaping fish, before curtly nodding and allowing Freydis to break down in his arms, her tears soaking his newly-dried tunic once again.

Chapter Text

When Freydis awoke the next morning, she was forced to depart the men in order to shake loose sand from every crevice of her body. Then, she used the seawater she so-desperately despised the night before to wetten her hair, and make it easier to rip a strayed crabs claw through her knotted locks. When she returned to the men, she looked exceptionally better than she had in the morning —the others were still asleep aside for Uhtred, who both kept watch and planned their hour-to-hour for throughout the day. A small fire crackled, providing warmth to the sleeping Dane beside it whose hair was scarily close to becoming alight. She sat beside the Dane's head, brushing his hair away from the embers before drawing her knees up, and resting her elbow against them. "Have you a plan?"

Uhtred nodded, "Don't I always?" Freydis glared at him, to which the Dane-slayer shite-eating grin fell. "I'm going to give them another hour, and then we leave for a village called Grimbsy. You should get some more sleep, I doubt Sihtric would mind if you leant against him to keep your hair clean."

Freydis' harsh expression softened, "You noticed?"

"Noticed what?"

The glare found its way back onto the Irish-rogue's exhausted features. "When we return to Coccham, I am going to set your hall alight."

"I'm only joking, Frey," chortled the Danish Saxon, "I've long hair as well, if you haven't noticed. I washed the sand out when I took watch two hours ago."

Freydis nodded, "Before Grimbsy, do you mind if we stop at the village those arse's were speaking of yesterday, lord?"

Uhtred rolled his eyes, "Of course, lady."

Freydis grinned, and shrugged, "I thought you'd be more likely to say 'yes' if I said it."

"We need to buy horses, anyway," he said, "we've got a sum of seventy silver gathered from the bodies, and several more bronze-pieces from yesterday's turds. We can get a good meal, fresh pair of clothes, and some fast horses with some left over."

Freydis nodded, frowning. That day they would be exploiting her mens money, her dead mens money. A flash of Myfanwy's seawater-bloated face shrouded her mind, vanishing just as quickly with a flinch and extra-long blink from the daughter of Linnasburgh. When the Dane's took her from Irland, she was brought with two other Irishman; Myfanwy, and a boy whose name was forgotten with the impression of his face. Both, now, were dead, never to know if Linnasburgh would be re-taken, or able to enjoy its delights if it was. Freydis felt warmth against the back of her hand, and looked up to see Uhtred watching her worriedly. "Are you alright?"

She flashed a small smile, "Just fine, lord. Tired, as you said."

"Then get some sleeep," he exaggerated, "I'm sure those lumps won't mind if they get an extra half-hour."

"I don't think I will be able to, lord," Freydis said, "I only fell asleep last night out of sheer exhaustion from floating in the sea for half-a-day."

"Fair enough," the Dane-slayer curtly nodded, "then you won't mind me awakening them?"

"Kindly, lord," Freydis began, glancing toward her peeling fingertips. "May we sit in silence for a bit? I need some time to... think."

Uhtred nodded, throwing the twig he used to draw into the sand into the fire. "Think away, lady. And perhaps think about the double-standard of calling me 'lord' while you're at it."

"Aye, lord."

As promised, an hour later they were on the move. His men hadn't even time to piss before their trek began, and the boys made sure to complain of it. "Lord, my cock is singing for a piss."

Uhtred sighed, "Then piss, Finan. I'm not keeping you from doing anything."

The Irishman groaned, "I don't feel like runnin' to catch up, and yu'r sure as balls not going to wait for me."

Freydis re-arranged the sheath around her hips, she had taken Burchnard's sword as her own when it appeared the sea would not return her previous sword Belenus to her. "This is a lovely conversation, tell us more, Finan."

"I'm also hungry, looord," the Irishman delighted in his complaints, "in the words of our dearly-departed Clapa-the-Giant; my belly feels as if my throats been cut!"

Sihtric scoffed, "Clapa wasn't called that."

Freydis glanced between them both, "Who is Clapa?"

"A giant." Finan appeased, "Nonetheless, I need ta' piss!"

Osferth matched his pace with Freydis', "Clapa was one of Uhtreds oathsmen. Died bravely, as I'm told."

Sihtric sneezed, and wiped his arm on his wrist before continuing Osferth's statement, "Took four men to take him to his knees, and then another four to have him on his back."

Freydis nodded, "Sounds like a giant."

Finan shoved the Dane, "See!" Sihtric sneezed in response. "Ah, yu' bloody disease-riddled Danish piece of horse shite!"

Sihtric smiled smugly to himself, and Uhtred turned to acknowledge them all for the first time since Finan's initial complaint of needing to piss. "We're here," he stated, and as they approached the height of the hill they were exposed to a tiny village of a single chapel, and several other tiny huts. He pulled out several pouches, handing them to each one of his men. "Sihtric, buy us all a horse. Finan, you piss. Osferth and Beocca, buy food and sale, and Freydis, fetch us some new clothes. Uhtred–"

Young Uhtred tilted his chin up defiantly, "Father, I was actually quite hoping to pray."

Uhtred seethed, clenching his jaw, "Fine. Everyone meet by that tree over there, and Finan, don't piss on it please."

Finan saluted his lord, and everyone then broke out into their separate roles. Freydis found herself making her way to a hut with two women out front its door hanging clothes on a furrowed wire. "How much for those?"

A particular red-head glanced at the trousers, and tunic in her hands, "My husband's clothing?"

Freydis shrugged, "Have you a shop around here for such?"

"The shop is us, Calcherth's physically-exhausted misused women." Said the blonde, standing beside the confused woman. "How much do you need?"

"Clothing for myself, and five other men about the ginger's husband's size." Freydis stated, "particularly a tunic, and trousers for myself."

"Hm, I can do that," the blonde nodded, "for fifteen silver pieces."

"I'll give you twenty if you can braid my hair within the next ten minutes."

The blonde nodded dictatly, "Follow me, lady. I will see you later, Winfrith, and if that man hits you again you must gut him like a codfish."

Winfrith watched her friend with shock, "You mustn't speak like a warrior, Everildis, it is not lady-like. In the old century, women like you would be flayed for such discourtesy!"

Everildis ignored the red-haired Christian, and continued walking. Freydis jogged to catch up with her, "I assume Winfrith hasn't gotten out of this village much?"

"Not once in her life," Everildis shook her head. "She's as naive as a stag's fawn, lady."

Freydis cringed, "How do you know I am a lady?'

"You walk like one," the woman responded, "all ladies have had proper ballroom training. A gentleman mustn't marry a woman who cannot waltz."

Freydis rolled her eyes, "Fair enough, I was a lady. And you? How do you know so much about royal household traditions?"

Everildis ignored her, "Do you happen to be a part of the ensemble of soggy men who stopped by yesterday?"

Freydis nodded, "Yes, are they still there?"

"They left for Grimbsy," she stated, throwing clothes into a basket. "Sit, I must braid your hair–we've got another four minutes before I lose silver."

Freydis listened, plopping down and allowing the woman to grab her locks. "This town... Calcerth, it is Christian?

Everildis curtly nodded, "Rather. Our sheer stubbornness keeps away the Danish conquerors who have already conquered the north."

Freydis nodded, "Quite unfortunate," she stated, "Calcerth is a beautiful little town, Gods–God be praised."

"Aye."

Freydis began to bounce her knee, "How many live here?'

"You talk too much," Everildis blatantly stated, "and I have finished your hair. That will be seventeen silver."

Freydis drew her fingers across the braid, testing its actuality with sheer touch. "Fifteen."

Everildis planted her palm against her hip, "Two more for the wonderful conversation."

"You are a darling-specimen of a woman," Freydis chastised, reluctantly opening her pouch and counting seventeen silver. "I suppose your husband has something to do with it?"

Everildis sniffed, "Yes, rather-so. You may leave now. There is no need to return the basket."

"Does he hit you?"

She crossed her arms, "Rather uncreative, but easy to handle. Winfrith, however, faces tortures no woman should ever face."

"Perhaps you should gut her husband like a codfish." Freydis smirked. "You've the muscle for it."

"But not enough to deter my furious husband; his brother." She rolled her eyes, "besides, it is merely wishful thinking. Our husbands are military-commanders of Calcerth's fyrd, we'd hurt everyone to spare ourselves from such disfortune."

Freydis nodded in understanding, "Very well," she stated, "but if you ever choose differently, broom torns create rather swell defense mechanisms. Especially in the neck, about four fingers from the earlobe."

Everildis squinted her eyes at the Irish-rogue before nodding, and flicking a single silver-piece back to its originator. "For the advice," she reasoned.

Freydis grinned, and took her leave. They all allotted by the tree instructed by Uhtred, and they were all satisfied to find it was free of the Irishmans piss. Freydis plopped the basket into the grass, taking interest in a cloudy-white stallion tied to a treebranch, "A lovely beast."

Finan took a gulp of ale, "Don't name it."

"I'm not," she spat, kicking his foot. He trudged over to Osferth, taking a bowl of stew for herself. "So, Uhtred, what are we to do after we arrive at Grimbsy?"

"Gather information," Uhtred said, picking his tooth with straw. "Buy a small boat, then leave."

"A man of many words," said the woman sarcastically. "Well, a woman told me some rather-soggy men passed through here yesterday for Grimbsy. So we may need a bigger boat, if they choose to join us."

"They've no reason to," Finan grunted, and then glanced up at Freydis, "sorry."

Sihtric leant against the tree, snorting gunk so loudly that it made Freydis' stomach whurl. "Your son still grovels before his God, lord."

Without saying anything, Uhtred passed Young Uhtred's saved-ale toward the Dane, who smirked in Finan's direction. The Irishman rolled his eyes, snatching Freydis' ale and pouring some of hers into his empty cup. Freydis ignored him, "Are you ill, Sihtric?"

Sihtric shook his head, "Merely feverish from the grasses."

"Looks ill, don't he?" Finan asked, unusually concerned. "All ugly and sad."

Freydis sighed, "You're not funny, Finan."

"And you're pissy, Freydis."

Osferth laughed, "Is this a civil war we are witnessing?"

"Should we move away?" Sihtric pondered, "The Irish are quite savage."

Finan pointed at his friend, "Not as savage as the Scots."

"I doubt that," Freydis debated, "we are a rather violent bunch. I've once witnessed a warrior tear open the chest cavity of Norsemen with his teeth."

He glanced toward her, "Was he of the Gods?"

Freydis glared at him, "Yes, and?"

"Uhtred!" The elder Uhtred shouted, standing. "Thank the Gods you are back. Eat your stew swifty, we leave soon. Everyone else, prepare your horses – silently, or I will cut out your tongues."

"Lord?"

Uhtred groaned, and turned, "Yes, Finan?"

The Irishman smirked, "Just wanted to see if yu' had the balls to do it – yu' don't."

Uhtred pointed his saex at his friend, "Finan, shut your loud Irish mouth or I'll tell Sihtric to return your horse so you will have to walk."

Finan raised his hands up in surrender, and in silence, they dressed into the fresh clothes gathered by Freydis and carried out the task commanded by their lord. Moments later, Young Uhtred stacked his bowl amongst the others, and they all began to sit in the saddles of their horses. Freydis, on the other hand, did not. Instead, she moved to Uhtreds side and spoke up to him. "Lord, may I stay behind? I wish to pray to the Gods for Myfanwy before we go. The beach was no environment for such a ritual."

Uhtred curtly nodded, "Head north, and do not stray too far. Shall I leave Finan to keep watch?"

"Watch of what?" The Irishman asked, leaning toward him upon hearing his name.

Freydis rolled her eyes, "No, that is fine, lord."

"Very well," Uhtred nodded, and he looked toward the others. "We leave!"

Freydis watched for a few moments as they left, ensuring that none of them turned to question her whereabouts. Satisfied, she sighed. She stacked all the meal-supplies into the basket Everildis lended her, and moved it a bit away from the tree before falling to her knees, and using her stolen sword to dig a small hole in the dirt. When it was deep enough to fit her fist, she planted the lock of hair she took from Myfanwy's head and planted it inside. She mourned that she could not do a proper body burial, but the hair should be enough. It was a part of her, and thus should still hold connection in present life, and the afterlife. "Deep peace of the running wave to you, deep peace of the flowing air to you," she used her fingers, this time, to place the dirt back into its hole. "Deep peace of the quiet earth to you, deep peace of the shining stars to you," She pattened down the dirt, collecting a few stones to pile on top. "deep peace of the infinite peace to you," she looked to her masterpiece, satisfied. "Suaimhneas síoraí, a stór." 'Eternal peace, my dear.'

Freydis watched the small grave for a few more moments, as if suspecting a hand would reach out and dig itself from its trenches. When her hopes proved unfruitful, she sighed and turned to saddle her horse, and rejoin the rest of the group. Instead, she was left to take a step back as she found Finan standing behind her. "I told Uhtred 'no,'" was all she could say, "why are you here?"

He didn't take his eyes off her, "That was beautiful."

"It was a burial, there is nothing beautiful about it." She refuted, "answer my question."

"I lagged behind until it'd be safe to revert back here without the others noticing," he confessed, "we're in new lands, I didn't want to leave yu' behind."

Freydis tilted her head, "So Uhtred didn't blatantly ignore my wishes, it was just you?"

He frowned, "Well, when yu' put it like that–"

"Because if it was just you," she continued, "I suppose I don't mind." Finan gaped before nodding, and looking to his feet. "And thank you, but it was not as beautiful as I would have hoped. It fulfills what is intended, nonetheless."

He nodded, crouching down to grab a small pouch-sized stone. "May I?'

Freydis nodded, stepping out of the way and watching him lean down to place the stone on the slight mound the Irish-rogue created for her fallen friend. He said a small Christian prayer in English before turning to gaelic, "Suaimhneas síoraí." 'Eternal peace.' He turned to her, holding out his palm for her to use to be hoisted up onto her cloudy-white horse. "Shall we?" He inquired, copying her action with his own recently-purchased stallion.

Freydis nodded, smiling at her Irishman, "We shall."

Chapter Text

Grimbsy was a dainty little town on the cusp of Northumbria with a grand supply of rotting haddock, and jaded fishermen in need of somewhere to train their sealegs. Despite its quaintness and high-supply of inn sleeping chambers, the people of Grimbsy also appeared to dislike visitors immensely. Once Uhtred and his exhausted group of rugged travelers entered the small burgh on horseback, they were watched as if they were fat stags to a starving hunter. Freydis delayed behind the group as the sole woman of the party, but was encouraged to come up front by Finan, "If they don' know yu'r with us, they might try somethin'" he reasoned, "better them know yu'r with Uhtred of Bebbanburg than le' them figure out when they've got their cocks out swingin'."

Freydis gripped the hilt of her sword with it still sheathed to her side, "They won' have time to swing, Finan. I would, however, prefer them to confuse me as a man than even realize I have tits–have you any clue how disturbing it is to see a man saggier than an ox's arsehole fanticizing about you from a mere childs-distance away?"

Finan quirked a brow, pondering for a moment, "No, I'm usually the one fanticizing–excludin' the whole 'soggier than an ox's arsehole' part."

Freydis' jaw slackened, "Vile, truly."

Finan smirked, "It's nature, darling."

Freydis went to retort, but was cut short when Uhtred stopped from beside them and jumped off his stallion. Finan and Freydis followed in suit, as well as everyone else. A boy around eight or nine ran up from a barnyard down yonder, taking the reins of Uhtred's horse as a much larger boy more-so around fourteen took the reins of the rest. They appeared to be orphans, but nonetheless comfortable in their statuses as hostlers. Uhtred flipped them two silver pieces before gesturing to his detail to follow him into the alehouse with the largest assortment of town-dwellers yet. Once the door opened, Freydis was hit with a harsh wave of nausea as the smell of clams and oysters entered her nose. Before leaving Linnasburgh, Freydis hadn't a clue either creature even existed; after being introduced to the Danes, however, they became the centerpoint of what she despised most. Except for brutish men, of course. But she shouldn't have expected less cuisine from a sea-neighboring village such as this.

As they stepped inside, several men the width of a ship's hull turned to watch them with harsh, intimidating glares. Finan spoke her thoughts as he jested, scratching the back of his head apprehensively in face of the possible opposition. "Grimbsy seems like a lovely place," He stated.

Sihtric sniffled, cringing, "I hear the oysters are delicious here."

"You hear nothing truthful, Sihtric," Freydis rolled her eyes, "eating oysters is like slurping snot from a corpse's frozen nostril."

Finan snorted, "Feelin' feisty today, are ya'?"

Freydis yearned to reply, or at least hit the man, but instead kept silent as the inn felt quieter than a mouse's piss on fabric. Freydis knew the apprehension Englishmen took to Irish visitors, and would prefer to deter any ill-fated clashes. However, they only appeared to watch Sihtric and Uhtred; lest not forget, Northumbria was a land grossly invaded by savage Danishmen. A specfic man with inapt eyes watched Sihtric with his one eye, and the table beside him with the other. Finan leant over into his friend, "Sihtric," he warned, his voice low and gravelly, "don't make eye contact."

Freydis smirked, mimicking Finan's actions, "I think he's gettin' a woody for yu', Sihtric."

A man whose arms were drenched in bloody moved ahead of their onlookers, crossing his arms and establishing himself as the leader of the establishment, "What's your business here?" He asked in a deep, Northumbrian accent. Freydis recognized it twofold from her long, unwanted stay in Dunholm.

"We're traders," Uhtred shrugged, "We're taking pelts to Frankia."

The innkeeper looked as disbeliving as Freydis had with Uhtred's terrible lie, "Pelts?" Uhtred shrugged again, not caring to keep up the facade. The innkeeper scoffed, "Well, you keep trouble out of my alehouse, agreed?"

Finan stepped forward, holding up two surrendering hands, "Hey, we're just hungry for some food, nothin' more." He then used his right raised hand to point to Osferth, "And women. Do you have women, he's in need of a lie."

The innkeeper glanced at Freydis before looking toward Finan, and the well-established leader of their group, "We're not that sort of alehouse."

Uhtred smirked, looking at his Irishman. "Finan."

Finan held up several gold pieces, and soon enough, he, Uhtred, and Osferth were spirited away. Freydis, Sihtric, and soon enough Young Uhtred and Father Beocca were alone in the inn, waiting for the arrival of the rest of their group. Freydis took a long, pondering sip of her cup of freshly-brewed ale, "I don't like the way that innkeep looked at me when Finan asked for whore's."

Sihtric plucked the cooked eye of a codfish out of the creature's roasted corpse and plopped it in between his molars, crunching it like a nut. "Why?"

"Firstly, you somehow ate that fish eye in the most disgusting variation I have ever witnessed," she paused, gulping more ale to erase her nausea, "second–you truly don't understand why I may be miffed when a stranger confuses me as a whore?"

Sihtric shrugged, copying his gruelling feasting skills for the second fish-eye, "There's nothing wrong with being a whore–my wifes a whore."

"Eahlswith was a whore," Freydis corrected, "and I am a warrior in a tunic and trousers–I should begin questioning every fat lard for a predatory sack of shite."

Young Uhtred sipped the pitcher of ale he shared with Beocca, "Gluttony is a sin, have at it."

Freydis piqued a brow, "What is gluttony?"

Beocca held onto the lower-end of his cross, "In short, it is a greed of eating. The church often finds the meatier of men the most greedy, and so we request they repent to yet again become their truer selves as He desires it."

Sihtric shaved the fins off his fish with a sickly crunch, "Then why are priests always fat?"

Beocca's face redenned, but he answered nonetheless, "Priests often sacrifice the pleasures of family and whoring in order to serve the church, and aside from our deep connection with Him we are prized with delights such as feasts, and desserts. We serve the lowest of men, so is it not natural that we are allowed some extra rations?"

"No man is lower than his brother," Freydis stated, "just as no woman is lower than her sister. Priests capitalize on the vulnerable with a greedy God as their facade; no offense, Father."

Beocca smiled, "I expect nothing less from a pagan."

Young Uhtred was red in the cheeks, a light sweat tainting his brow and slur to his tongue, "He is not greedy!" He stated rather loudly, "He is sacred!"

Sihtric smirked as Freydis flexed her fingers on the handle of her cup, "He is a low-God who fashions it that man is superior to woman. And so, he grows popularity over turds tall as he is wise; what are you, Young Uhtred, five feet?"

"Women adore Him more arduously than most men!" Young Uhtred tried to reason, "The Lady Aelswith fostered Him a Saint and a God! He receives as many prayers from women as He receives confessions."

Freydis took a long sip of her ale, "I do not doubt that women adore this false-diety with ferocity. Society is only shaped to do as that; God is an envisionment of hope. And women, especially those of whom are forced into marriages and treated as breeding hounds, desire hope in order to keep them thriving. And so, we find comfort in what the world can be. Your God promotes false peace and prosperity through violence, torture, and restriction, but that is nevertheless better than what a woman faces every night their husband arrives home. In paganism, I presume for all pagan-religions, women are allowed as much freedom as a man has. If we wish to be breeders, we do so–if we wish to become warriors, our commanders greet us with smiles. Yes we may be faced with doubtful, or inconsiderate men, but we choose to pray to our Gods freely. With true devotion, and not the greed that comes with the hope to be free."

The boys were silent. Beocca and Young Uhtred watched the Irish pagan with bewilderment as Sihtric was frozen with his saex cut half-way through the fish's tail. That was until he dropped the hilt harshly onto the table, snorting with indecision, "I'm too drunk for whatever this is."

"Drunk and dumb, Sihtric," Freydis stated, patting his shoulder. "Drunk and dumb."

A guttoral voice approached Freydis from behind, "I like my women holy," stated the man. He looked around his mid-thirties, and wore a head of messy blood-red hair. He would have been attractive if it weren't for his spluttering drunkenness, and intention to pull off Freydis' trousers amidst the bustling innkeep. "Are you holy, miss?"

Freydis spared a short glance at the red-head, "Piss off, cunt." She looked over to Sihtric who was clutching his saex more grandly, "You mustn't waste your strength on a flee, leannan." 'Sweetheart.'

The red-haired man took a step back, his pals gripping their own swords apprehensively, "You a Briton? We don' like Briton's around here."

"Irish," Freydis corrected, "he's a Dane, and those two chaps in bathing robes are Saxons. We've yet to find ourselves a battered Briton, unfortunately."

"Briton?" Sihtric pondered, "Is Father Pyrlig not a Briton?"

"Indeed he is," she feigned surprise, "so we've got Saxons, Irishman, Dane's, and a Briton. So that leaves the Scots, and the Franks."

The red-haired man was taken aback, "We do not care if you are seal or a seabird, but if you are not Saxon, then you are not welcome here."

Sihtric crossed his arms, "The innkeep says we can stay."

"The innkeep retired," stated the larger man beside the drunken Grimbsy-an. He was brutish, his long black hair tied into a messy braid of sweat and burr-sized knots.

"Mister Caenwulf is in charge now," said the freckled antagonist, "Mister Caenwulf, sir!" He began to call, "May we request your presence for a moment?"

Father Beocca stood, his expression fierce but body expression adjacent to the cross dangling upon his chest, "We shall leave if you request it, we do not mean harm."

"I want to finish my ale," Freydis stated matter-of-factly. "And I'm quite comfortable in my seat. Young Uhtred, does He not promote comfortability and peace? Or are these blood-mongerers not true God-fearing Christians?"

The red-haired man's face reddened as deep as his hair, "I do not like your tongue, miss." He looked to Sihtric, "You must silence your woman, or I shall silence her for the sake of all of us."

"Blade's a bit dull though," said the broader Saxon, "might have to use other... techniques."

Freydis stood, knocking her stool back, "Say that again, amadán." 'arse-tit.'

"For a woman with such tongue you appear to dislike the idea of my cock in your mouth," said the ginger, his voice low and proud. "But one is not to desire their punishments, for what will deter them otherwise?"

Before Freydis could unsheath her sword, Sihtric has his saex pressed deeply into the jugular of their opposition. The red-haired man's drudge them respectively held a dagger to Sihtrics throat, as Freydis held her sword to the red-head and saex toward the drudge's groin. The new innkeep that had been summoned approached them with wide, wild eyes. "Mister Boor! What is Judases name are you doing?"

"Me?" Shouted the furious red-head, his voice cracking in the midst of it. When he turned his head, Freydis noticed a familiar yellow-sigil sewn into his dry, but immensely dirtied uniform. "It is they, these guests, who are threatening our lives over friendly banter!"

"No mind!" Said the heavily-accented old man, "Out! All of you!" He began hitting the burly drudge, and Sihtric with a cloth as he aggressively shoved the blades from Mister Boor's essential arteries. "Lady, I don't know what hysteria y're festerin', but you need to leave as w'll!"

Freydis stayed silent, grabbing onto Sihtric's sleeve as Mister Caenwulf and his fish-smelling guards pushed the trouble out of the inn. It was dark outside, and Freydis' back grew immensely cold as she noticed Young Uhtred, and Father Beocca had abandoned them. They had approached the rest of their group, who were more-or-less interested in the chaos ensuing outside the inn. "Mister Boor, you must be proud of how far you've gotten."

"I've gotten?" He sputtered, "I've not gotten as far as I liked–but I intend to, miss. I surely do."

Freydis smiled, "I presume you were born a slave? That is how all of Lady Gele's sell-swords come to her, is it not?"

The man's face contorted from amusement, to uneasiness in a split second. And then it was realization, "You're the Lady Freydis!"

"And you are my sword," Freydis nodded, "I'm quite disappointed in what I found. I expected hard, brutish men–instead I've only received dumb lards who run their minds on their cocks."

The red-haired man was furious, stepping closer into Freydis' face and sputtering as he spoke, "You are the reason so many of my brothers are dead!"

"I do not harness the sky," Freydis stated calmly, "for if I did, you would not be speaking to me as a common whore. Nonetheless, I premuse that you, at least, have some honor. And so I request this one action from you; let Sihtric and I go without bloodshed, and you shall live your free Northumbrian lives without the fear of recapture. I shall tell Lady Gele you succumbed to a fate of water, and crabs feasting on your clammy skin."

Sihtric looked at her bizarrely, "Let me kill him. Let us kill them!"

At the sounds of a house-sized Dane threatening death, the rest of the inn followed their kin to surround both Freydis, and Sihtric, who found their only escape to be the blank-space where the two Saxon's had abandoned them from. Despite the shrivel of fear that haunted her, she started deeply into the eyes of the pondering red-haired sell-sword that had moments before threatened to rape Freydis, but now watched her as if he were a scolded underling of a lord. "I died well," he finally stated, the silence breaking.

Freydis' nostrils flared, "You died choking on water, like everyone else."

Mister Boor stepped closer, "I died a warrior."

She straightened her posture, standing up to the taller man as well as she could for someone the size of a child in stature. "You died with seawater in your lungs, and weeds wrapped around your extremities."

"You will tell her I died a hero!" Boor fumed, "I died well, I died proudly!"

"And now I know, Mister Boor, that you were friendly with Lady Gele," Freydis said, her voice low and threatening. "I shall tell her that before you died you threatened to rape your lady, and furthermore sought to lie to better your reputation."

Boor shoved the elder Mister Caenwulf aside, "Sieze them!" He ordered, commanding the surviving sell-swords of their preilous trip overseas. A man quickly reached for her arms, but was met with a saex through the nerves of his wrist. Another, furthermore, knocked his hilt against Sihtrics temple–the Dane, full of adrenaline, hardly reacted and continued to stab his saex directly into his sternum. A familiar Irish accent filled her ears, and Freydis was able to re-gather herself as Finan, Osferth, and Uhtred joined the bar-fight. They more-or-less pulled their own people away as Sihtric drunkenly challenged anyone in sight, including his lord.

"What the bloody hell is happenin'?" Finan asked, holding Freydis around the waist as he shoved someone with the kick of his boot. "What did yu' do?!"

Freydis shoved his arm off of her, stepping out of the chaos with him, "I stood up for myself, is all. Plus, I condemned that ugly beithíoch for betraying his commander." 'beast.'

Finan glanced over her, spotting the red-head being taken down by his larger lieutenent, "He was one of yu'r men?"

"Was," Freydis nodded, "and now he is a mere boy with wounded pride, and aching balls."

Finan was amused, smirking, "'Aching balls?"

Freydis held her chin up high, "Whose balls wouldn't ache when rejected by me?"

"The Devils," he stated, "that's whose."

Freydis studied the Irishmans rugged features, the mischievous glint in his eye as behind the most beautiful thing in existence was a drunken fight of sweaty, butthurt men. She went to step closer to him, to kiss him for the first time in what felt like ages, when she was shoved into by a familiar face; Osferth. "We've got to go," he stated, not noticing the moment he had interrupted. "Angry fools with swords incoming."

Uhtred rushed past them, Sihtric by his side with a bleeding temple, "We leave!"

And leave did they, rugged and exhausted in the midsts of the night with stolen horses, stale ale tainting their breaths, and unresolved tension within the Irish-rogues lips.