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It wasn’t that she wasn’t fond of Dane’s in particular. It was just a particular Dane she found she was rather not all that fond of.
She’s met many over the years. While Uhtred may have been born Saxon, he was every bit Dane she’s ever known. While brash and often blasphemous, Hild could not deny the love she held for the man. His sister by proxy was one of the kindest people she’s ever met. She’s not so sure she’s ever known a Saxon woman who’s treated her as kindly as Thyra has, even after all the poor woman has endured.
In Cochom, the Danish families that reside there were kind as well. Their woman, she discovered, was bold and proud, often keeping their husbands in line and their children proper. The men, while often acting like children themselves, were loyal to a fault. They’d do anything before allowing their loved ones to come in harm's way. They were protectors before anything else. These were all traits she admired in the Danes. They were proud people, and Hild had learned to admire that despite the harm they’d done to her own people. Then again, her people have harmed them as well.
She was fond of them, she’s found. A development she hadn’t expected. Except him.
Sihtric was young, she supposed. A boy Dane, young and wild. She remembered their first interaction well, him calling her girl, then woman, only calling her a warrior because he knew it would catch her ear, if only for a second. She regretted a moment later when she stopped, the title enough to feed her ego at the time to warrant a listen. Alas, it was her stopping to listen to his plea that led to him becoming Uhtred’s sword, as much as Hild hadn't loved the idea at the time. He had tried to kill Uhtred.
But that was many, many months ago. Nearly a year, perhaps. Still, the boy had proved to be useful, and loyal to a fault. Hild would often see him wondering Cochom, following Uhtred or Finan like a loyal dog, always eerily quiet as he stayed by there. The way he pushed himself in the world was quiet, always aware, and alert. In fact, it was this quietness and lack of a loud presence that made him useful. Perhaps that's why Hild didn’t wholeheartedly trust him. What Dane was quiet and hidden?
Hild noticed how Uhtred used him as a scout, and she remembered the time the boy acted as a spy, the key to rescuing Aefelfled when she’d been kidnapped by the brothers. Still, she found it difficult to put her trust in him the way Uhtred had.
“Why do you trust him? Is he not Kjartan’s son? How could anything good come from that monster?”
“He’s proved useful, Hild.”
“Could he not betray you just as easily?”
“Perhaps, but Sihtric won’t betray me.”
“How do you know?”
“I just know.”
That conversation was months ago, and still, Hild didn’t understand the trust Uhtred seemed to have for the Dane. Even Finan was becoming extremely fond of him. If not with Uhtred, then the Irishman and younger Dane were together. The first time she saw the boy smile, and truly smile, was with Finan. Shouldn’t come as a shock; it’s hard to not sport some kind of smile when met with the boisterous personality of the Irishman. Still, Hild could see he’d taken on some kind of role in the young Dane’s life, someone to guide him through a Saxon world. Hild couldn’t say she had taken on any kind of role, which was odd of her. Despite being a woman, she was considered one of Uhtred’s “men,” and before anything else they were brothers-in-arms.
But there was just something about him she did not wholeheartedly trust. After witnessing the wrath of Kjartan on innocent people like Thyra, she found it difficult to trust anything good could come from that man. She’d prayed to her God about it, wondering why she couldn’t shake the feeling, asking for guidance. All she seemed to get in return was nothing.
Months had gone by at a time, long after Ragnar gained control of Dunholm, while Uhtred and his men attacked slaving Danes. Sihrtic appeared to be becoming more comfortable with them, despite the clear outnumbering of Christain Saxons to Pagan Danes.
She’d not forgotten he was a Pagan. He believed in something fantastical, odd, and ridiculous sounding to herself when she’d first heard of the ‘religion.’ men like Uhtred made her more open-minded to the idea. Not for herself, but for others. The empathy, she’d tried to extend toward Sihtric, but found it difficult.
At the moment, it was the night before an attack, and Uhtred’s men had set up as they had begun traveling early that day. The fire was strong, and the tents all put up as some men slept in them while others found comfortable places on the ground to rest for the night.
Hild found herself sitting off among the trees, holding her sword in her hand, praying to God to protect her the next day. The sword always felt heavy to her, not from being unable to hold is physically, but something deeper within her. She did her best to ignore it, opting to focus her gaze on the starting to-dim fire set up in the middle of their makeshift camp.
She wasn't sure how long she stared at the dwindling flame, but her focus was distracted when she heard a cry come from a nearby tent.
Naturally, her hand went to the hilt of her sword. She straightened her back, not standing but ready to at a moment's notice. She focused back on the tent where the noise came from. It sounded painful, but not from something physical. It sounded like a harmed animal.
She relaxed a moment when she saw it was only Sihtrc, but she stiffened once more when she saw the state he appeared in.
He’d thrown open the flap of his tent rather flippantly, immediately rubbing his hand over his braided hair. He was taking in deep, rapid breaths, pacing back and forth a few steps in front of the tent. No one else was around to see the display. Hild just watched a moment, confused and curious.
A moment later the Dane collapsed to the ground. He sat, placing his head in his hands, his body shaking very subtly. He was clearly trying to prevent it, only achieving a worse panic. It was a display of grief if Hild’s ever seen one; she just wasn’t sure what he could be grieving.
It took a moment of hesitation for Hild to approach the boy, a moment she felt eat at her chest; it wasn’t in her nature to leave some in distress without some consolation, and she hesitated for the Dane. He didn't deserve that from her, no matter how she felt about him.
She slowly approached him, and immediately he lifted his head, looking in her direction with a slight panic in his eye. When the young Dane saw it was her, his shoulder fell as he recognized her, but he didn’t look any less distressed. There was a tightness to his shoulders, the way he seemed to be making himself smaller. He must have heard her from at least 15 feet back despite being as quiet as she was. He was Uhtred’s spy for a reason.
So, she approached slowly. The small hill he sat on leading to the tent made it so she was not towering above, but still looking down at him. He did not acknowledge her as he avoided her gaze. Hild thought it was a bit childish as her grip on the hilt of her sword tightened before speaking up.
“Are you okay?” she asked, finding her town tired. She tried to calm herself, to sound kinder for his sake. She wasn’t a monster, and he very clearly wasn’t ‘okay’.
“Yes,” he said, although his tone suggested otherwise. His hand came up the hammer he wore on his neck, larger than the one Uhtred wore, and always above his armor rather than below.
Hild raised an eyebrow at the clear lie. She didn’t have time to be patient with men who refused to admit their ailments. All that ever led to was trouble and war.
She sighed, looking off in the woods, then placing her gaze back on him. “You should speak to someone.”
Sihtric looked away from the ground to Hild, confusion written all over his face. Hild was unclear if it was from the suggestion, or from the fact it came from her.
“Why would I do that?” His English wasn’t bad, not like it had been, but Hild heard the thick accent that made it difficult to understand him at times.
“Because you need to sleep tonight,” she said bluntly. “We’re leaving early, and for reasons beyond my knowledge, Uhtred trusts you and usually only you to scout. Our lives are often in your hands.”
He froze, and Hild saw the expression of someone who knew they were wrong but wouldn't listen. Hild sighed and rolled her eyes, realizing the only person he would truly listen to was his lord, a lord who was currently asleep and she had no desire to wake.
Danes truly did act like children sometimes.
Hild sighed deeply. She unsheathed the sword from her belt, setting it down as she never felt comfortable sitting with it still sheathed. She noted the way Sihtric froze for a moment, moving ever so slightly back as she took the word from the hilt. She paused as she registered the reaction, moving slower as she put the sword down next to her, the hilt pointing towards Sihtric rather than the pointed end. When she did this, he didn’t relax. In fact, he looked even more uneasy with her sitting there.
That seemed to be the spy’s second state of being; uneasy. It saddened her slightly to wonder why he felt he had to be, even among allies.
Hild then realized, he usually was. So it was her.
It was a fact she suddenly hated.
He did not say a word as she sat. She stared at him, but he wouldn’t meet her gaze. She tried to find his eyes as he looked at the ground beside her.
“Nightmare?” she tried, hoping the way she lowered her voice made her out to be an ally rather than a foe.
His silence told her enough. He simply continued to look at nothing, and Hild had the sudden urge to touch his arm, or his face, provide any physical comfort the way she’d done for Uthred. He was still quite young, far younger than Hild. She found herself upset to see him this way. The light from the fire was barely enough to illuminate his face and his eyes.
That’s what she noticed what they looked like.
She had never paid attention to his eyes before, but why would she? When she did see under his brow ridge, finally close enough to pay attention, she saw they were different colors, one brown and the other a much lighter color. She raised her eyebrows as she thought about it.
If he won’t talk about anything else…
“I never noticed your eyes.”
He finally did look up, and when she got a good look at them, she had to admit, they were beautiful. One brown the other a greenish-blue, there was something alluring about them, something uncommon she couldn’t help but notice.
“Why would you?” He said it with a bit of a bite, looking back down at the ground.
She couldn’t blame him. She didn’t interact with him all that often and didn’t give herself the chance to notice.
“Very true,” she admitted, surprising the boy. He finally held her gaze for more than just a few mere seconds. She smiled, trying to soften her features. She know how hard she could look, from years of trying to appear just as intimidating as any man. She’d succeeded, but along the way, she forgot how to be welcoming. She wanted to be, suddenly.
“It’s not something I try to show off,” he said a moment later, picking at a blade of grass on the ground.
“Why?” she asked, genuinely curious.
He paused for a moment, looking at Hild, then back to the ground, returning to the grass. “My people believe those with mismatched eyes were…witches, of a sort. There’s not really a word for it in your language.”
Hild nodded, finding the fact sad, and his voice surprisingly soft and quiet as he spoke. Not loud like most Danes she’d come to know. It wasn’t a bad thing either, almost refreshing.
“Growing up in that place wasn’t exactly…peaceful, so I tried to hide it.”
There was hesitation in the way he spoke about it, and Hild noticed the way he didn’t say the name. Dunholm. The place Sihtric grew up, where Hild assumed he must have had some semblance of a childhood. Perhaps it was wrong of her to presume such a thing? She was blessed with loving parents, but not everyone was.
“Were you not the son of their lord?”
She wasn’t sure if she asked because she knew it to be true or if she simply hoped it to be. Being with him now, the softness of which the Dane spoke, she didn’t want to imagine a childhood otherwise. One where he was loved.
Sihtric nodded his head, quickly. He’d finally broken their eye contact, looking down again. There was something suddenly so vulnerable about him, a side Hild had yet to see. It saddened her to witness, and for a second she’d thought she’d made a mistake bringing up the topic.
“I was his bastard. It’s not like Saxon’s. We’re not given away to live a life without our father. I was their plaything. The son of a slave.” He paused, letting it sit, looking like a ghost as he stirred at nothing. “I was practically a slave myself.”
A moment passed of silence. Hild wasn’t sure why she’d thought otherwise. She was there that day. Whelped on a slave girl. The words, she’ll always remember, because it was then she’d changed some of her mind about him, although not all. She’d never considered what that meant for him.
She remembered finding Uhtred and Finian, two strong men, bloody and broken from their time on the slave ship. The life of a slave was nothing but pain, torment, and the loss of yourself. The Dane beside her was still so young, but hardened. She began to wonder where the scar on his cheek came from, why he clutched the hammer so often, why he was so alert all the time. She was beginning to wonder about Sihtric and not just the Dane she associated him as. The son of Kjartan. The bastard of Kjartan.
“I’m sorry,” she said, knowing it would not do much, but she was.
“I don’t want your pity,” he replied, which came as no shock to her. What Heathen wanted pity from a Nun of God? Still, she’d learned a thing or two from her years around them.
“Empathy. Not pity,” she said and it’s then that he looked at her, and remained looking at her. Eyes she was beginning to become fond of met hers, and in them, she saw someone who still deserved and even wanted it. God, he looked young, too young. She smiled again, the same she’d originally reserved for those like Uhtred. Kind. Welcoming. She was starting to believe the young Dane before her deserved that. “It’s not bad to accept it, Sihtric. Let people care.”
A moment passed. Sihtric did not respond. His eyes darted between hers, and then after another moment, Hild saw the tiny smile put on his lips.
He’d stopped shaking.
“That’s very Christian of you,” he said, a small smile on his face.
Hild laughed softly, suddenly finding she was able to. At the moment, Sihtric reminded her of Uhtred.
“How would you know what’s Christian, Pagan?” she replied, earning another smile from him.
Then he looked down, his fingers caressing the hammer laid on his chest. Hild looked at it, and though about the way he cared for it so deeply, how devoted he was to it.
“My mother was a Christian.”
That came as a surprise to Hild. Hild raised both her eyebrows, wondering why he’d told her something that she assumed he didn’t tell just anyone, but then she thought about it; It was not a response to what Hild said, but rather something he’d told her disguised as a response. His mother had been a Christain slave, which meant…
“You’re Saxon?”
Sihcric shrugged. “I grew up Danish, and my mother was never allowed to teach me anything else. She knew that though, and what they’d do to me or to her if they knew she was raising me as Saxon.” Again, his hand traced along his hammer, a small smile appearing on his face as he caressed the silver object. “That’s why she gave me my hammer before she died. It was my belief, and she loved me more than she loved her God.”
Hild stared, listening intently and in awe. She was seeing him in a new light. The son of a Saxon. The son of a Dane. He was, if anything, what Alfred hoped would eventually be the future of an united England. The circumstances of which were saddening, but still. He didn’t seem to harbor hate for the Saxons or the Danes. Despite what they did to his people, and despite what they did to his mother. She wondered what it would be like to live a life so divided. For someone so young, she was surprised he had appeared to figure it out.
Then he smiled. A soft one, one Hild almost couldn’t see. “She was kind, she’s the one who told me my eyes weren’t that of the devils.”
“They aren't.” She agreed quicker than she expected. She hesitated before deciding to say what she did next. “As a child, I knew a girl with different colored eyes.”
At this, Sihtric picked his head up, curious. He’s wrapped his hands so that clasped in front of his spread knees. He’d never been this open with her, with both body and words.
“She was adored,” Hild began, relaxing as she leaned on her hand, letting her arm support her weight. “Our village said she held both the heaven and earth in each eye, that she could see both the ghosts of those we lost with one eye and the waking world with the other.”
Hild smiled at the memory of the girl coming back to her as she spoke. It’s been years since she thought about her and her eyes. She was gorgeous, that much she remembered. She was also kind, much like the boy in front of her, as she was beginning to learn. The difference between the two was so obvious, though. The way in which they were raised; while she was adored for her eyes, he was victimized. Looking at him now and the small smile he held on his face, she found it impossible, and unbearable, to imagine him at the hands of people like Kjartan the Cruel. It made her angry, irrationally so, given the man had been dead for nearly a year now.
“Did you believe that?”
His question, his voice, pulled her from her angering thoughts. He looked genuinely curious, his body leaning closer to hers. She smiled at the antic.
“That she could see the heavens?”
Sihtric nodded.
“Maybe.” She paused, using her foot and nudging Sihtrics ever so slightly when he chuckled lightly. Instead of her regular anger towards Pagans who scoffed at her religion, she simply grinned. “I do know it was something heavenly,” she continued, voice more serious. Sihtric met her gaze, the fire from behind her lighting up his face ever so slightly. “Not of the devil.”
Sihtric lost his smile, but it was no sadness in its stead. She watched him as he considered her words. Maybe he didn’t believe her, and maybe he never would, but Sihtric deserved to hear it nevertheless. It just so happened to be Hild.
“What was her name?” Hild asked.
Sihtric smiled at the question. He smiled as if remembering something fond, and he was. Years of serving with men in violent spaces have taught Hild many things about them; including that at the end of their lives, it was usually their mother they called out for.
“Aelfflaed.”
Hild nodded, smiling at the name. “That’s a beautiful name.”
“She was.”
Then they were comfortably quiet. She casually looked him over, noting he was no longer shaking, breathing rapidly, or even sweating. He seemed…better. And Hild was glad for it.
It took a simple conversation, but Hild learned she cared deeply about one more of Uhtred’s men that night. She should not have judged him so harshly before; it’s not in her nature. Still, she’s glad she had the conversation.
Sihtric was younger than the rest. She knew most if not all of the men, especially the ones closest to Uhtred, often had an unfortunate reason for being so close to his side; they had no one else. Sihtric was no exception. And he was young, barely a man, in her opinion. He’d probably disagree, but Hild knew better. Maybe it’s the way she was raised, but as a woman and a Nun, they did not deserve the hardships they seemed to accept too easily, claiming it made them men. It was not what a man went through that determined their strength, but rather how to approach others and their life. Hild before was clouded, but she saw it now; Sihtric was kind to others, loyal to a fault, and never killed for the sake of being a killer.
As she watched him, noting her anger stemming from something as silly as judgment, she couldn’t help but think his mother would be proud. He was a man with morals, and Hild saw his strength and kindness. And she wanted to protect it. He deserved that.
“Get some sleep, Sihtric,” she said, gathering her sword as she sheathed it once again. “We have a long day tomorrow.”
Sihtric nodded his head, quiet as he made his way back to his sleeping area. She watch him until the flap closed and she was once again alone.
Damn those Danes, she thought. Who’d think she would be as fond of them as she found herself to become?
“Get him on the ground, carefully!”
Hild rushed forward, watching as Sihtric was laid onto the ground by Finan, blood coating his side and Finan’s torso from where he’d carried the Dane in after he’d taken an arrow to the abdomen. An arrow that was meant for Hild. One the dumb boy jumped in front of with no hesitation.
Hild remembers hearing the pull of the string but reacting too slowly. Before she knew it, the young Dane leaped in front of her just as the arrow pierced his side with a sickening thump, going cleanly through as it lay lodged in his side. He’d looked at her before he fell to the ground, eyes wide and ghostly. She’d thought he’d died then and there. Hild hesitating in shock before killing a man who decided that in Sihtric’s weakened state he would try and lay the finishing blow. Hild had not allowed it.
Everything was a blur after that. The battle ended only a few minutes later, but time passed slowly for Hild in those small moments. In the end, she was by Sihtric's side as he lay on the ground, holding his wound, blood seeping through his fingers as his face grimaced in pain.
He wasn’t alone for long. Hild was by his side, cradling his head in her lap, her thumb caressing his jaw and cheek in an attempt to calm his panicked breath. He hadn’t seemed to realize what was happening, his other hand gripping the solid Earth as he muttered things in Danish Hild could not understand.
Finan had been by his side a second later, screaming for Osferth as he held the Dane’s hand tightly in his. Hild and Finan had shared a look, both of desperation and understanding; they would not allow the Dane in their arms to die, not today.
Then next thing Hild knew, she was here, in a tent as Sihtric lay on the ground, doing his best to be still and manage the pain she knew he must have been feeling tenfold. The arrow was still in his side, the end being broken a few moments earlier by Finan. Neither dared to take the arrow out, the fear of losing their young Dane too strong.
Hild could only watch with still legs and a cold chest as Finan’s hand rested on the boy’s head, his other holding his shoulder down as Finan tried calming him. It did not seem to work very well as Sihtric let out a painful cry when Osferth tried to touch the arrow, his body lurching as Finan tried to hold his still.
“Careful!” Finan spat, voice angrier than it had to be.
Hild knew it was simply a result of fear. Finan got protective, Hild got quiet, and Osferth got focused, which is why Osferth was able to ignore Finan’s tone and continued to work on the injury.
A second later, Uhtred came into the tent covered in blood and grime. He’d looked angry, but the emotion diminished when he saw Sihtric. He paused in step beside Hild when he saw the image in front of him. He stared at her as if to ask “What happened?” Hild simply gave him the same expressions he assumed she’d had on her face since Sihtric took the arrow for her.
Uhtred quickly unfroze, forcing his gaze from his injured man and to Osferth.
“Osferth, where is it?”
“His side,” Osferth said, voice surprisingly calm. “It’s gone clear through. The arrow was cut up, it’s all jagged. The more he moves the more the arrow will tear his body.”
“Dear God,” Hild muttered, surprising even herself that she managed to speak words. She hadn’t since Sihtric took the arrow.
Finan cursed under his breath, hand moving to Sihtrics chest as he pressed down, trying to keep him still. He looked a mix between angry and terrified as he kept his companion close, hand still resting on his head which Hold hoped would provide him some comfort.
Sihtric’s eyes shot open, letting out a pained whimper as Osferth gripped the arrow. Sihtric grabbed Osferth’s arm, stopping him. Sihtric looked at the monk desperately, asking for mercy that everyone knew Osferth could not provide. Still, the plea worked on Osferth as he hesitated. Sihtric’s mismatched eyes stared at him, and Hild’s heart broke then and there. This shouldn’t have happened. This never should have happened.
“Osferth,” Uhtred said, his name a command even though he did not tell him to do anything. “Pull it out.”
And there was pain in the way he said it. Hild heard it; Uhtred also did not desire to subject the boy to more pain, but if Sihtric were to survive, he’d have to.
Osferth took a breath, looking back at Sihtric. “I’m sorry, Sihtric.”
Sihtric closed his eyes, knowing the plea was for nothing as he accepted it. Finan connected his forehead to his temple in an apology for what they were going to have to do, eyes closed and he muttered what had to be a prayer.
Osferth turned his attention to Finan and Uhtred. “We need to turn him on his side. Hold him down. If he moves too much he’ll just make it worse.”
There was a small hesitation with both men, but they still quickly worked to turn over Sihtric, who cried out when Uhtred and Finan turned him by his shoulder, Uhtred now behind him as he faced Finan, who was saying things to him in an attempt to relax the panicking Dane. It didn’t seem to work as Sihtric’s breathing remained erratic.
“Hold him still.”
Finan’s hand gripped Sihtric’s shoulder, the other still resting on his dark head of hair in a soft touch. Uhtred held his arm and ribs, and the poor Dane flinched, whimpering again at the pain. His breathing was getting only faster and faster, panic setting in again as Osferth gripped the jagged arrow.
Hild was suddenly brought back to the night before when she’d found him in the midst of a panic. The image in front of her reflected that night, only worse.
She couldn’t see his eyes, but she knew if she could, she’d see the eyes of a scared boy who just wanted to feel safe again.
Young, so young and so brave.
“Wait! wait.”
The three men looked at her. Finan looked a mix between angry and thankful.
“Hild, we can’t-”
“I said wait!” Hild interrupted, finding command in her voice once again.
The men listened as Hild finally moved. She’d placed her sword on the ground, forcing Finan away from the front of Sihtric as she took his place. When she finally managed to look him in the eye, she thought she might be finally seeing through all the walls he’d put up.
Sihtric’s eyes were watering as he tried to suppress tears from the pain. The young man looked at her with those beautiful eyes, and while Hild suddenly felt she wanted to cry too, she didn’t. She smiled softly, hoping a kind face would act as a comfort. She put her hand on his cheek, stroking his face with her thumb. He was still breathing erratically, but something in his seemed to relax when Hild made the contact. She treated him with the comfort Hild found sometimes only a woman could provide.
“Sihtric.” She said his name quietly, and he focused on her rather than the arrow sticking out of his side. “Sihtric, you’re going to be okay,” she said, and she knew it to be true. He would be. It was not his time, not yet.
And thankfully he seemed to believe her. He took a deep breath, Hild mimicking it. She looked at his hand, then at Finan.
“Finan-”
She didn’t need to finish her sentence as Finan gripped the Dane’s hand in his own, nodding at Hild, then at Osferth.
“Hold your hammer, Sihtric,” she said, taking his free hand and guiding it to his necklace. He took it, hand loose. “Come on, tightly.”
Sihtric did, breathing rapidly as they all knew what was coming. Hild nodded at Osferth, each man taking a deep breath. Sihtric looked at Finian, eyes panicking once again. Hild took his face and forced him to turn his gaze towards her.
“Look at me, not them,” she said, voice stern yet soft. “Me. Come on, love. Me.”
The young Dane was breathing heavily but nodded his head. Suddenly, without warning, Osferth began to pull, and Finan and Uhtred’s hold on the boy tightened as his body immediately began to react to the pain.
He let out a scream, no longer resisting the urge, letting tears fall free as the worst of the pain began to afflict him. His body tightened as he cried out, and without thinking, Hild connected her forehead to his as he began speaking to him softly.
“I’m sorry, it’ll be over soon,” she promised, taking her other arm to the back of his head. He dug his head seemingly closer to Hild, crying out again as Osferth pulled harder. It seemed the arrow was not coming out at easily as they’d hoped. “Just a little longer.”
But a little longer, and probably what was just a few moments, felt like an internity. Hild felt a wetness from where she was leaning against Sihtric, and at first, she thought it was his tears before realizing it was her own. It only made her whisper more prayers for him.
“The Gods are protecting you,” she whispered as Sihtric whimpered once again, tilting his head closer to Hild. “She is watching over you.”
And they both knew she meant his mother, and she was. That much Hild believed. And maybe it was his mother, in all her divine love for her child, who granted him the small mercy of unconsciousness. His body went slack as he passed out, although Hild did not move a muscle. She didn’t want to, he didn’t deserve that.
And in their newfound silence, she whispered once more to the Dane as he lay unconscious.
“I’m watching over you.”
He stayed asleep for a few days after. The blood loss had been severe and his body must’ve been beyond exhaustion, even for a young Dane as strong as Sihtric.
Hild was no Healer and didn’t know nearly as much as Osferth did in the ways of treating battle wounds, but she found herself hovering over the young Dane anyways. Of course, it wasn’t always her. As Sihtric lay in a bed back in Cochom to rest in a healing home, he was rarely alone. Osferth often checked in on him to see how his wound was healing, although Hild knew the monk stayed longer than he really had to. Prayer could be his excuse, but they both then better than that.
Uhtred, while not usually sitting at the bedside, nearly always watched as Healers changed his dressings, keeping a careful eye on him while the healers changed his bandages. If Hild were to mention it, he’d probably make a jest about making sure the Healers didn’t brake one of his best warriors. She didn’t ask, because she as well as he knew she’d see through the lie and know Uhtred simply cared about him. Perhaps because he’s under Uhtred’s protection, and after Halig, Uhtred’s determined to keep those promises.
Of course, the one who did stay by the beside the most was Finan. Hild could tell he’d missed his companion, and the worry seeping from his body was shamelessly obvious. The way The Irishman hovered around Osferth and the Healers, his cross finding a perpetual place between his teeth whenever he sat by Sihtric in silence. Hild knew it was the Irishman’s silent form of prayer, one extremely personal to him and God. He used it for Sihtric.
Then there was Hild. She was nowhere near as close to the young man as Finan, Uhtred, or even Osferth was. That was her own doing, spending the year she’s known Sihtric barely interacting with him. She started to realize how regretful she was of that fact after having a simple conversation with him, and on the days he rested, she found herself wishing he’d wake up quicker.
She had not stayed by his side as faithfully as Finian, or watched over him like Uhtred, or even healed like Osferth. She stayed close, however, saying her prayers she knew meant nothing to the Pagan. She felt selfish, the prayers keeping her mind clear, and hopeful as she wished him awake and healthy.
She needed to thank him. He’s saved her life after she’d shown barely any kindness to him.
It was only by chance he woke up when she’d been saying those prayers silently under her breath, occupying the chair Finan had commandeered. Hild stopped when she’d heard him stir, lifting her head as he grimaced, hand going to his side as soon as his eyes focused on where he was. His chest was bare, furs covering him as badges wrapped around his stomach, holding the cloth to his side where he’d been pierced with the arrow. Hild hadn’t paid attention before, but her eyes traced across a series of scars that surrounded his body as the furs shifted.
“Stay still, boy,” she scolded, grasping his bare shoulder and forcing him back down. “You’re still healing.”
Sihtric, while surprised and confused, still listened to her command and stopped squirming, allowing Hild to help guide him onto his back. She sighed, perhaps putting on a performance of annoyance as she sat down on the chair, body leaning forward as Sihtric stared at her, clearly confused. Hild’s sure he’d expected literally anyone else to be here, Finan or Osferth, not the Nun who’d been ignoring him the past year, who’d allowed him to get shot with an arrow that nearly killed him.
When she realized this, she made to get up and retrieve someone he may actually be interested in having around.
“I’ll go fetch-”
“You stayed?”
His tone, which was not disgust, but rather a happy surprise, paused her in her leaving. She turned, finding a small, teasing smile on the boy’s face as he craned his neck to look up.
Hild smiled, struck by the surprise and joy on his face. Hild never believed she’d ever be on the receiving end of that look, let alone find herself happy as she was. Damn those Danes; they do grow on you.
“When Finan wasn’t here,” she replied, setting herself back down on a chair, allowing it so Sihtric did not need to strain his neck. “He’s very fond of you, you know?”
Sihtric chuckled a bit, wincing slightly as he grabbed at his side where the wound was. Hild looked from his injury to those mismatched eyes, concerned once again. The fond smile on his face relaxed her nerves.
“Don’t tell me you’re starting to as well?” he replied, and Hild shouldn’t be surprised he had the energy to jape at her.
Hild rolled her eyes but did not deny the claim.
“You should be resting,” she replied instead.
“I am,” he said in return, gesturing toward the bed she’d forced him back to lie on.
Hild didn’t hide her smile, and the Dane didn’t try either. They were quiet for a comfortable moment, Sihtric taking a deep breath as he relaxed. His shoulders didn’t have the tension they usually did when Hild interacted with him. At the moment, he did seem at peace, and Hild wished for it to last as long as possible.
“Sihtric,” she began, finding it suddenly hard to look him in the eye as the memories from the days prior came like a flood. The blood, the sound of a piercing arrow, the look on his face before he fell. She paused, rubbing her palms together, nervousness and fear of what occurred making it so he felt like a younger, more nervous woman again. “I wanted to say thank you.”
“Of course,” he replied after a moment, no hesitation in his voice.
At this, she did finally look at him. The Dane had no regret in his eyes, and he’d said it so nonchalantly like it was something that had been no big deal when in reality, he almost died. That was the worse part. Hild did not want a young man dying for her, not when there was a whole life ahead of him, waiting to be lived.
“I want you to know I don’t take what you did lightly,” she replied rather than letting the topic go. “I’ve been…less than kind to you.”
He did not deny this and rather looked down with his eyes as they both knew the fact to be true. Yet, he did not yell at her for it or even judge. He simply let the fact sit as they both allowed it to be true. Eventually, hopefully, it wouldn’t matter.
“You could have just let it hit me,” she said, not as a question, but as a statement.
Sihtgic did not say anything for a moment. Then, he met Hild’s gaze and spoke, his voice soft and sincere.
“I may not be Christian, Abbass, but the lessons my mother taught me will always be here,” he replied, taking his hand and placing it above his chest. “I won’t ever leave a fellow warrior to die.”
And it’s those words that took her back to that day when he’d been just another Dane she didn’t care lived or died. Warrior. Only this time, there was no motive, no tease, just fact. He’d called her warrior, and meant it.
And she believed him. She believed he’d jumped in front of that arrow because she was a warrior and because he was one too. A stupid, brash, young, and reckless one to Hild maybe, but a warrior nonetheless.
What she saw in Uhtred, she was beginning to see in Sihtric. She saw the loyalty, the strength, and even the kindness their people seemed so afraid to reveal at times. She saw the man a mother could be proud of, and Hild knew she would be.
She did not think anything good could have come from Kjartan. How glad she was to be wrong.
“You’re quite kind,” Hild began. “For a heathen.”
Sihric smiled, one she’d seen when he’d joked around with Finan, or teased Osferth.
“And you’re very wild,” he said, a hint of mischief in his eye. “for a nun.”
Hild chuckled, suddenly finding it easier to do so with the young Dane.
“May God protect you, then.”
“I do not need God. I have the warrior nun.”
And again, even with a hint of laughter in his voice, he was serious. Hild knew for sure then that while he’d protected her in battle, she would protect him as well. The way she’d protect Uhtred and Finan and Osferth, her boys. She’d protect them for as long as she could, because she cared for them, and they cared for her. Her boys.
“Sleep, Sihtric,” she said, placing her hand on his shoulder, and giving a soft squeeze. She smiled softly, leaving to allow him to rest a little longer if he wished. She made to get up, to tell the others he’d awoken, when she felt a soft pull on her wrist.
“Hild.” She paused, Sihtric looking up at her with eyes that said he did not wish to be alone. “Stay?”
She knew it took a lot of courage for him to ask. What Dane wanted the company of a nun? Still, Hild smiled at the request, finding herself glad he asked.
“Okay,” she replied, sitting back down on the chair.
And all they did was talk. Talk about the battle, about skills, about Cochom and what it had been like becoming a nun, and surprisingly (although maybe it shouldn’t be anymore), Sihtric listened. He listened and didn’t scoff when she spoke of her God, and in turn, she did not scoff when he spoke of his. Although of different religions, they were just as devoted, and Hild could respect anyone for that.
The peacefulness didn’t last too long when Finan came bursting in, energy high as he hollard when he saw his friend awake. There was an attempt at an embrace, then a berate from Hild, and a chuckle from Sihtric as Finan’s excitement got the best of him (as it often did). Although interrupting the peaceful conversation Hild had been enjoying, she was happy to simply watch the joy on both their faces, Finan telling some very made-up story about a battle that painted him a hero that Sihtric could not have possibly known about since he’d been unconscious from a ‘wee scratch’.
A moment later, Osferth came in, followed by the Lord as both must have heard the happy Irish noises. Uhtred clapped Sihtric on the shoulder, softly enough not to hurt but hard enough to make Sihtric laugh. Osferth immediately wanted to check on the wounds, leading to a series of japes about him being a mother hen, which only resulted in a bashful-looking Monk, two laughing Danes, and a smug-looking Irishman. It was always interesting to Hild how men often showed their affection to each other through insults.
They’d approached Hild too, inviting her in on the joking which she dismissed kindly with a wave. She recognized when her time with the young Dane was done, allowing him to speak and reunite with his brothers-in-arms on his own.
Hild made to leave, looking back at the four very different men who’d managed to find and fight by each other’s side in a world divided. The image in front of her made Hild smile; Sihtric leaned up now, smiling as the three men stood around him, all evidence of fear and panic gone from his body. His eyes met hers, and in grateful silence, he nodded. Hold nodded back, leaving the room where he’d been resting.
As she walked away, she heard the echoed laugh of the four men behind her. Among them, was the unmistakable roar of laughter from a young Dane boy, loud and genuine and alive.
And she found herself smiling at the sound.