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Chapter Text

Brigid Syggisdottir had spent her whole life in the Danelaw. She spoke the Saxon language fluently, and could pass for a native speaker, just as she did Norse, which her father had taught her first when she was a child. He raised her in the Old Way of the Vikings, to worship Odin and the other gods, but she also learned very young how to pretend to be a Christian. The Saxons didn’t like the Old Way, and tended to persecute Danes who continued to follow it. Not that Brigid was Danish; she and her father had come from Norway, but she didn’t bother to correct others on this fact. All Norse were the same to the English, just like all English were the same to the Norse.

    Brigid looked enough like the Saxons to blend in. She was tall and strong by their standards, but still smaller than many of the Norse women her age, and had long, wavy hair the color of rust on iron. She had narrow brown eyes and fair skin that freckled any time she spent more than a few minutes in the sun, and a smile that, according to her father, could stop time, with a small, straight nose set squarely in the middle of her face. This similarity served her well after the St. Brice’s Day massacre. She and a few other young adults from her village had left the feasting in the village and wandered off into the woods to find trouble. They ran back when they heard the screams and saw the smoke from the fires, but hid in the treeline when they saw the English soldiers attacking their friends and families.

    Since they knew the forest better than the soldiers, they were able to hide, not only for that night, but for many after. They found others that had escaped the massacre, and built themselves a hideout deep in the woods, where they could forage and hunt, and raid nearby farms and villages when they got truly desperate.

    They lost many over the winter. Cold and hunger found them first, and then sickness—a fever that raged through the little camp and took over half of them before it left. By spring, they were weak with hunger and the last vestiges of illness, but they were alive, and determined to stay that way. Spring brought them food again, in the form of wild plants and breeding animals that were easy to snare. They built up strength and swore revenge on the English. The warriors among them talked about raiding the nearby farms and villages, or going home to Scandinavia to rouse a force of Vikings to wipe the Saxons from the English countryside. These talks seemed to bring them strength, so no-one bothered to point out that they had no way to get home to Norway or Denmark. They were too busy trying to survive to worry about getting back to a home most of them had never known, anyways.

    It was the end of summer when Hjalte, a boy of barely thirteen summers who had nearly died from fever during the winter, came racing into camp after visiting one of the nearby villages to steal food. He told them of a great Viking force that had come to England for vengeance for the massacre, led by the great King Canute of Denmark and Norway. It was then that they knew how they would get home. They listened in the villages for news of the Viking force as it swept closer and closer to London, and determined to meet their people there. They made their way through the countryside, keeping far from the roads and sticking to the forests and fields in order to avoid detection by the English soldiers fleeing the Viking force.

    They approached London not far behind Canute’s army, and made camp in the southern marshes. They marvelled at the fallen bridge, and at the sight of dozens of longboats filling the ports on the Thames. Brigid, Hjalte, and a tall, strong man named Gunne were elected to make their way into the city to plead an audience with King Canute; Brigid, because she spoke the best Norse, Gunne, because they hoped he would indicate strength to the other warriors, and Hjalte simply because he refused to be left behind. They stole a rowboat from one of the marsh towns, and made their way across the Thames, only to promptly be very roughly arrested by a party of half-drunk Vikings who dragged them to their camp outside of the city, flaunting their “catch”. Brigid and Gunne stood tall as the warriors mocked them, assuming they were Saxons, and kept Hjalte behind them.

    Something about the commotion drew the attention of a tall, surly-looking man dressed in black leather studded with silver. There was another man at his side, just as tall, with longer golden-brown hair pulled into a low bun, and dressed in a rough tunic of soft-looking leather patchwork. The first man pulled back a warrior who had been jeering at Gunne, joking about forcing him to fight them, and sent him sprawling on the ground. “What is all this?” he asked, eyeing the trio up, his gaze lingering on Hjalte in the back. “You’re scaring the child,” he laughed. He walked up and pushed Gunne aside to grab Hjalte’s arm and drag him forward. “What are you doing here, boy?” he snarled, switching to speak Saxon.

    Brigid pushed herself between the man and Hjalte, staring defiantly up into his eyes. “Let him go,” she growled in Norse.

    The sound of his own language seemed to startle the warrior, and he obliged by dropping Hjalte’s arm. “And what is this?” he grinned, leaning down into Brigid’s face. “She speaks our tongue.”

    “I speak my tongue,” Brigid retorted. “We are survivors of the Danelaw, all of us. We have spent the past year trying to survive in the forest. When we heard of the Viking army that had come to England, we hoped to find an audience with King Canute. We want to go home.”

    The man took a step back, and he looked over the three of them with new eyes. “What are your names?”

    “I am Brigid Syggisdottir,” she said, standing tall and proud. “This is Gunne Fenrirson, and the boy is Hjalte Birgerson.”

    “Don’t they speak?” one of the other men gathered around them sneered in the direction of Gunne and Hjalte.

    “Hjalte knows only a few words in Norse, and Gunne has not spoken it since he was a boy,” said Brigid. “That is why I have been asked to speak for all of us. Does that bother you?”

    The man in black laughed at that, and he clapped the other on the shoulder. “Don’t mind Arne. He doesn’t know what it means to be in a good mood. I, on the other hand,” he said, walking around Brigid to stand between her and Hjalte and slinging his arms over their shoulders, “do. And I know that you must have had a hard year. I am sure that King Canute will be happy to hear your plea. I will take you to him.” His arms still around Hjalte and Brigid, he led them towards the city proper. Gunne fell in behind, along with the man called Arne and the one in the patchwork leather tunic. “My name is Harald Sigurdsson, by the way. I am glad to hear that there were survivors of the massacre.” He said this in Saxon, a sad look crossing his face. “I left England that night,” he said, his voice tight. “If I had stayed but an hour or two longer, I would be dead too, like my brother and his sons.”

    Brigid nodded. “We were in the woods near our village. We saw them killing our families, but there were so many, and we had no weapons, so we hid, and swore revenge.”

    “How many of you are there?” Harald asked.

    “Just over a dozen,” said Brigid. “There were more, but we lost over half in the winter.”

    “Do you know of any others who survived?”

    “Not from the Danelaw. We’ve heard of a few half-Danes from other villages who survived, but even they are few. We’ve offered prayers to all the gods we know, hoping for others who may have lived, but haven’t encountered any since early winter.”

    Harald scowled. “I wish we could have made Æthelred pay for that slaughter,” he snarled. “Pity the coward had to die two weeks before we got here.”

    “King Æthelred is dead?” Gunne asked. “I guess that explains those bells a while back.”

    Harald laughed at that. “It certainly does.”

    By this point, they had reached the great castle. Viking guards at the gates bowed to Harald and let him and the others enter unquestioned. Harald took them to a large hall, with three thrones set on a dais at the front of it. The hall was filled largely with Viking warriors, but others were clearly English and Saxon nobles by their clothes. On the throne in the center was an armored man, with a bushy black beard and long black ponytail, the sides of his head shaved. To his right, Brigid—who had been to London once before, along with her father—recognized Edmund, the late King Æthelred’s youngest son by his first wife. She was surprised to see him still alive, especially with a Viking on the throne.

    “King Canute!” Harald called, finally releasing Brigid and Hjalte to bow to the Viking king. “King Edmund,” he added as an afterthought, first bowing to Canute, then nodding to the boy king. “I have brought some of your citizens. They have a petition for you.”

    “Come forward,” Canute beckoned, and Harald stepped back, giving Brigid a tiny shove in the small of her back.

    “King Canute,” she bowed deeply. “It is an honor to meet you.”

    “You speak Norse!” the king smiled down at her.

    “Yes, my lord. I was born in Norway. My father brought me to the Danelaw as a baby, and I was raised here, but he made sure to teach me the language and customs of our home.” Brigid continued to speak in Norse, but heard Harald murmuring behind her in Saxon, and silently thanked him for translating for Gunne and Hjalte.

    “My name is Brigid Syggisdottir, and these are my friends, Gunne Fenrirson and Hjalte Birgerson. We, and a few others, who are still camped in the marshes to the south, are survivors of the St. Brice’s Day massacre. Most of us were not in our villages when the soldiers came, but there are a few who managed to escape the English. We had more to our number, but many died of fever in the winter.”

    “I am sorry to hear of those losses, but glad to know that some, even if only a few, survived the massacre.” Canute stood and stepped off of the dais, coming to stand in front of Brigid. “Harald said that you had a petition. What is it?”

    “We would like to go home,” said Brigid plainly. “Even for those of us who were born in England, or those like me who came here as children and no longer remember anything else, we no longer think of England as home. There is no longer a place for us here. We want the chance to return to the land of our ancestors, to make a new home there.”

    Canute was silent for a moment, looking between Brigid, Hjalte, and Gunne. “How could I say no to such a plea?” he said finally, smiling kindly down at Hjalte. “I would not refuse such a heartfelt request. How many of you are there?”

    “Fourteen,” said Brigid.

    “We will find room for you on the ships that return to Norway next week,” Canute promised. “For now, bring the others to London. You can all stay here until the ships leave.”

.*.*.*.*.*.

For the next week, Brigid and the others did their best to make themselves useful around the city and the Viking camp. Some of them joined the healers, tending to the wounded from the battles, while others joined the warriors, who were happy to train them. Once they were recognized as Norse, the Vikings were, for the most part, welcoming. They were eager to teach their language to the survivors, and told them tales of the fjords of Norway and the forests of Sweden, promising a beautiful homeland waiting for them.

    Harald—who, to Brigid’s surprise, was revealed to be none other than the second prince of Norway, after his older brother Olaf, who was one of Canute’s most trusted men—visited them often, making sure that they needed nothing. He was sometimes accompanied by the man in the patchwork tunic, who was introduced to them as Leif Eriksson. At night, over fires, the warriors told tales of how Leif and Harald, along with a few others, and three of Olaf’s ships pulled down London bridge. Hjalte in particular drank up these tales, staring wide-eyed at Harald and Leif as he listened, asking Brigid the meanings of words and phrases he didn’t know. This proved to be the best way for Hjalte in particular to learn Norse, which he took to like a fish, much to the pride of the warriors who quickly adopted him and Gunne into their ranks.

    Brigid, on the other hand, found herself drawn to Leif. The Greenlander was quieter than most of the others in the camp. He didn’t boast or brag or tell tales, but always listened with the smallest smile on his lips, clearly proud of his accomplishments. When Harald and the others would mention certain names, though, Brigid noticed that the smile would fade away, replaced by a look of inexorable sadness.

    Brigid spent much of her free time in the healers’ tent—she didn’t know much about medicine, but helped out where she could, even though that often meant that she was simply sent to sit with those who needed company, or to keep vigil over the dying. One person that she became fairly familiar with was a dark-haired woman with a wicked wound in her shoulder that had become infected and begun to fester. Her name was Liv, and Brigid was told that she was a Greenlander, and the last of Leif’s small party. After three days without improvement, the healers gave up on Liv. They told Brigid to sit with her and pray over her, but that there was no hope for her. Brigid sent Hjalte to fetch Leif as Liv’s fever rose and she began to cry out in her delirium. When Leif came, he sat by Liv’s side and held her hand, lips moving in silent prayer to any god who would listen, but, an hour later, she was gone. Brigid was sitting with another warrior across the tent when she heard Leif cry out, and looked over to see him holding Liv in his arms and sobbing.

    It took Harald and two of the healers to pry Leif away from Liv, and Brigid helped Harald lead him outside. She fetched a cup of water while Harald set Leif, who had almost gone limp, the color drained from his face and his eyes completely unfocused, in a quiet part of the camp, in a small tent. “I have to go,” said Harald when Brigid brought the water. “Keep an eye on him. Send for me if anything changes, or if he does anything… foolish.”

    Brigid nodded, not wanting to protest that she should probably get back to the healers’ tent. Her heart went out to Leif, and she agreed with Harald that he probably shouldn’t be left alone, so, once the prince was gone, she sat down in front of Leif and handed him the cup. He drank from it, looking more like he did it just because he knew he was supposed to than because he was actually thirsty. When he finished, the cup fell from his fingers, and Brigid caught it before it hit the ground and set it aside. After a moment, she moved to sit beside Leif, resting a hand on his shoulder. Another moment passed, and he reached up to take her hand, then turned to look at her, his eyes shining with tears and full of sorrow. Brigid felt her heart break, remembering how she had felt when she found her father’s body, the day after the massacre. She squeezed Leif’s hand and leaned over to kiss him on the forehead, brushing his hair out of his face. They sat in silence for a while, listening to the bustle of the camp outside.

    “You and Liv were close?” Brigid said finally, once Leif seemed to have calmed down slightly.

    He nodded slowly. “There were very few of us in Greenland. We were all close. But Liv and I—and my sister Freydis, and the others who came with us—were especially close. We were the only ones our age in the settlement. My brothers were a bit younger, so they didn’t join in quite as much. They had their own handful of friends. The eight of us… we fought to survive there. We learned to hunt polar bears and seals and walruses, to catch fish, and fight men, and sail ships together. We did everything together.

    “I haven’t had time to grieve the others,” he continued after a pause. “When Ulf died, I was nearly drowning at the hands of English soldiers and didn’t even find out that he was gone until later. Njall and Skarde died when we were trying to pull the bridge down, and that was when Liv was injured. I almost felt… I felt like if she lived, then everything would be alright. The others would be gone, still, but… But I…”

    “You wouldn’t be alone,” Brigid murmured. She knew the feeling. “I felt like that after the massacre. We went back to our village the next morning, before dawn. I saw the bodies of almost everyone I had ever known—my father, my friends, children I had known since they were born… They were my family. Even though there were others left with me, I felt so alone. And when the fever hit our camp this winter, and more and more of us began to die, I felt it all over again. Hjalte and I are the last ones left from our village. I don’t know what I would do if I lost him.”

    Leif nodded, a single tear escaping from his eye to trace a path down his cheek. She wrapped her arms around him and pulled him close, offering what little comfort she could as he began to weep silently. She pulled his head down to rest against her shoulder, stroking his hair and murmuring soothingly. When Harald returned, a few hours later, he found them still sitting like that, and chose not to enter the tent, knowing that, right now, Leif didn’t need anything he could offer.

Chapter Text

When it came time to figure out which ships the survivors would sail on, Harald insisted that Hjalte and Brigid join him and Leif. Brigid and Leif had continued to grow close in the wake of Liv’s death, and Hjalte followed Harald and Leif around like a puppy, so much so that Harald doubted he’d even allow himself to be assigned to a different boat. Anyways, he liked the boy.

    It was autumn now, and a fresh chill was in the air. Harald took it upon himself to make sure the St. Brice’s Day survivors had heavy clothing for the voyage to Kattegat—and for their arrival there.

    “Is it really much colder in Norway?” Brigid asked as Harald handed her a bundle of clothes.

    “Yes,” he chuckled. “In the height of summer there, it gets as warm as it is here right now, and the winters are much worse than English winters. Trust me; I’ve experienced both.”

    Brigid couldn’t help but shiver, also glad that she was far less likely to have to spend a winter camping outside in Norway as she had this past one in England.

    Leif noticed the shiver and smiled, resting a hand on her shoulder. “Don’t worry; you’ll be fine.”

    “Yeah; if you get cold, I’m sure Leif would be happy to keep you warm,” Harald teased. If looks could kill, he would be doubly dead from the glares Leif and Brigid shot him at the comment, and he quickly made an exit, laughing to himself.

    The morning they were to depart, Brigid packed her extra clothes into a pack, bundled herself up in an extra layer—she assumed she’d need it for the voyage, especially given that she was already cold in the English autumn—and swung her cloak around her shoulders before heading for the boats in the harbor. The docks were full of commotion as warriors shouted farewells, taunts, and promises to “say hello to your wife” to their friends who would be remaining with Canute in England. Brigid found Hjalte already aboard Leif’s boat, with a handful of other warriors, including Arne Gormsson, who they had met upon arriving in the Viking camp the week previous. Hjalte was eagerly helping Leif check the sail when Brigid arrived, and Harald was speaking to Canute on the dock.

    Leif crossed the boat to offer his hand to Brigid to step into the boat, which she accepted—and still almost fell as she stepped down. Leif caught her and steadied her against the rocking. “Don’t worry; you’ll get used to it.” He pointed for her to settle in the aft, near the rudder, where she would be out of the way while they loaded the ship and made their preparations to sail. She saw Canute bidding Harald farewell, and heard him call out to Leif as well. The other survivors had been spread across a few of the other boats in groups of four. Some of them were to help row, although Brigid and Hjalte had been told they weren’t required to do the same—Hjalte insisted that he wanted to learn, though, and Arne promised to teach him.

    They rowed out of the harbor alongside Olaf’s boat, leading the way for the other ships. “A great city,” Harald remarked as they pulled away from the docks and got a good look at London.

    “Yes,” Leif agreed. “It’s a pity about the bridge.”

.*.*.*.*.*.

The first two and a half days passed without event. The novelty of being aboard the ship quickly wore off, and Hjalte became bored, even after Arne began teaching him to row. Harald promised that they would only have a few more days at sea—probably only two or three, as long as the weather held up—which placated the boy somewhat. Leif taught Hjalte how to navigate by the stars at night and the sun by day, how to feel the wind, and how to steer using the rudder. Just like the language, the boy picked up these skills like a fish learning to swim, and Harald praised him for his “Viking blood”. Occasionally, they would pull up beside one of the other boats, and Hjalte and Harald would jump across to it to plague its occupants, giving their companions a bit of peace.

    Brigid spent most of her time either tucked into the small alcove at the prow, where the port and starboard keels met to rise in the figurehead, or seated next to Leif behind the rudder. Often, Harald joined them, but he also spent much of his time keeping Hjalte either occupied or out of trouble. Leif and Brigid talked about anything they could think of, largely telling each other stories of their childhoods in Greenland and England. As it was impossible to get any privacy on the small boat, they were often peppered with questions from the other sailors, as their upbringings had been so different from everyone else’s.

    The third day, around midday, the clouds began to cover the sky and grow dark. A horn blast went up from the ships at the rear and was carried up the fleet, only just outpacing the rain. They drew up beside the boat Harald and Hjalte were visiting just as the rain began to fall, and the prince hopped back on board, Hjalte on his heels.

    “Lower the sail!” Leif called, the wind whipping Brigid’s skirts around her legs as it picked up.

    “Go; over to the mast,” Harald instructed, giving Hjalte a push in that direction. “Hang on to it.” He pushed Brigid towards the mast as well, and joined Leif aft, grabbing onto a rope that had been used to lash cargo to the keel as a swell hit the boat and knocked him off balance.

    Brigid and Hjalte huddled at the base of the mast and clung to ropes wound around it. All around them, the rowers yelled at one another, taunting and harassing one another. The whole of the heavens seemed to break loose, drenching them all and puddling water in the middle of the boat where Brigid and Hjalte were crouched. Between the deluge and the splashing seawater that broke over them every time a wave struck the boat, they were all soon soaked to the bone. Brigid and Hjalte clung to one another and shivered, gasping for breath between waves.

    The longer the storm raged, the bigger the swells grew. Leif’s eyes swept the sky and sea, reading them as well as a scholar reading a book, calling out commands that Harald echoed to make sure they were heard over the wind and waves. The rhythm of the rowers became jerky as they struggled against the waves, but they continued to plug on. They lost sight of the other ships between the massive waves, and Brigid prayed that they themselves would not be lost. A bolt of lightning flashed, and they saw one of the other ships just as the lightning struck the mast, blowing it onto its side. The next glimpse they caught of it showed the keel, the rest of the boat submerged. They saw no more of that ship.

    Brigid twisted one of the ropes from the mast around her arm, clinging to it with fingers that were white and numb with cold and lack of blood flow. Her other arm was wrapped around Hjalte’s waist, and his small hand clutched her sleeve. His other hand gripped the ropes so tightly that his knuckles were white, but, when Brigid caught sight of his face, he didn’t look frightened—only elated.

    As the storm began to abate, they began to relax slightly. Hjalte let go of Brigid’s sleeve—although she kept hold of his belt, and made sure he was still holding on to the rope around the mast—and stood up, staring at the waves with wide eyes. The mood on the ship began to lighten, and the rowers’ calls became less tense and frantic as the storm died down. Brigid was just beginning to relax herself and consider letting go of Hjalte when something hit their boat.

    In an instant, Brigid felt a flashing pain in her head and a burning one in her wrist, and Hjalte was gone. When she opened her eyes, blinking away rain and seawater, it was just in time to see Harald dive over the side of the boat where Arne had been sitting, just in front of her and Hjalte. A few minutes later, the other rowers were pulling Arne aboard, Harald not far behind him… and Hjalte nowhere to be found.

.*.*.*.*.*.

It wasn’t until the storm had completely passed that Brigid found out exactly what happened. Harald bandaged her wrist where the rope had ripped through her skin, and explained what he had seen. One of the other boats had capsized and broken up in the waves, and a piece of the hull had struck the keel of their boat. That had been the impact Brigid had felt. When they were struck, Hjalte had lost his footing and fallen, and his head had struck Brigid’s, explaining the pain she still felt in the side of her head. Hjalte had apparently lost consciousness at the impact, and had slipped out of Brigid’s grip and lost his own hold on the ropes as the ship nearly overturned, sending him tumbling into Arne and knocking both of them into the water. Harald had leapt overboard to try and find them both, but had only found Arne.

    “If Hjalte was unconscious when he went into the water, he would have drowned before anyone could have gotten to him,” Harald said, face grim, as he tied off the bandage on Brigid’s arm.

    Brigid fought back tears, turning her face away to look out at the sea that had stolen yet another precious life from her. Harald moved away to take Arne’s place rowing for a while; the man had gotten a good few lungfuls of water that he was still trying to cough up, and was bleeding sluggishly from a cut on his forehead where he had struck his head on his oar that he refused to let anyone bandage. Brigid found herself alone with Leif, who was still focused on the sea and sky—although she noticed his eyes flicking towards her ever so often.

    As night fell, Arne took his rowing bench again, even though they weren’t rowing at the moment; the seas were calm enough, and the wind strong enough, that they were making good headway, and everyone needed a break after the storm anyways. Leif tied the rudder into place and sat next to Brigid, his arm coming to rest around her shoulders. The tears that she had fought to hold back all afternoon finally escaped to flow down her cold cheeks. She cradled her injured wrist and leaned into Leif, crying silently into his shoulder. He rubbed her shoulder and gave it a reassuring squeeze before gently kissing the crown of her head. She heard footsteps and thought she should probably compose herself, but couldn’t quite manage it in time. She heard Harald’s voice next to them, and then heard and felt Leif respond, and another hand squeezed her shoulder briefly before the footsteps moved away.

    Leif didn’t rush her; he let her stay there, tucked under his arm, until she had cried herself out and was completely exhausted. That night, she slept at the back of the boat, curled up between crates and barrels of provisions, listening to the waves striking the side of the boat, and the creaking of the hull and rudder, and dreamed of friends and family long gone.

Chapter Text

After the storm and Hjalte’s loss, the mood on the ship stayed sour. Brigid kept to herself, tucked under the figurehead. They found that one of the other ships that had gone down was the one that had borne Gunne and three of the others, and she said silent prayers for them and Hjalte.

    During the storm, the fleet had been separated, making it difficult for them to get a true count of who exactly had been lost. Olaf’s ships, who had been planning to turn for Denmark anyways to deliver Canute’s men that were returning rather than staying behind in England, had split off, which meant that the fleet was now less than half the size of what it had been when they left London.

By the time they reached Kattegat, Brigid was half frozen from the salt spray that kept her permanently soaked to the bone, combined with the frigid air. Harald had been right—the cold was much worse in Norway than she could have imagined. She sat, as she had for most of the voyage, huddled into the smallest ball possible, tucked away in the prow of the ship, in the tiny alcove under the carved figurehead, doing her best to ignore the jabs from the crew about her shivering, although most of the men were silent now, weary from the long voyage. She rose slightly, turning to peer over the bulkhead next to her, and her eyes widened. 

Kattegat was a larger city than she had expected. Fires flickered here and there throughout, stretching off far in the distance, towards the looming shadows of distant mountains. There was a heavier concentration of flames near the port, illuminating the long wooden docks, and Brigid could already hear shouting and horns blowing as the ships were spotted and heralded to the town. She turned back to look at the crew, her eyes finally landing on Leif and Harald, both nestled neatly into the stern of the ship, by the rudder, lit dimly by the distant firelight. Harald wore a small smile, mostly hidden but still tugging at the corners of his mouth and eyes, but Leif had schooled his face into a non-expression, giving away nothing about his feelings at reaching the city.

    Brigid snuggled back into the alcove as the ship hit the rougher water over the shoals, bracing herself as she had done countless times over the voyage, and grimacing as her head bounced off the bulkhead despite her efforts. She tucked her head down between her knees, wrapping her arms around it to protect it, and silently prayed they would dock soon. She didn’t know how much more of this battering she could take. The minutes it took to slow and come to a stop in the port felt like an eternity.

    When she heard—and felt—the ship bump against the wood of the dock, Brigid finally raised her head. The crew were stowing their oars, gathering their possessions, and chattering amongst themselves as they eagerly began to disembark. Brigid slowly uncurled herself and began to stand up, when she was hauled to her feet by a large hand.

    “Here, take the cargo,” the voice was joking and easily recognized as Harald’s as he handed Brigid up to Leif, who was already on the dock.

    Leif flashed a small smile down at Brigid as he set her on the dock. She grabbed onto his arm almost immediately as her body continued swaying with the motion of the boat and she nearly collapsed. “It will pass soon,” Leif said, catching her before she could fall.

    Brigid nodded numbly and accepted her bag from Harald as he climbed off of the ship. “Come on,” he said, offering Brigid his arm. “Leif is about to be busy.” Brigid nearly fell again as a tall, blonde woman pushed past her and Harald to throw herself at Leif, greeting him warmly with a giant bear hug. Brigid let Harald lead her on wobbly legs towards the beach at the end of the pier, where they were met by an imposing, dark-skinned woman in an impressive fur cloak.

    “Prince Harald.”

    “Jarl Haakon,” Harald bowed politely.

    “I don’t remember this face,” the Jarl said, eyeing Brigid up. “Where did you find her?”

    “She and a handful of others survived the massacre and spent the last year in hiding,” said Harald. “King Canute allowed those that wanted to rejoin their people in the north the opportunity to return to us. A few took it, so there will be some other new faces as the rest of the ships arrive.”

    “Well, they’re certainly going to have a warm welcome,” Haakon smiled. “You can take this one back to the hall with you; tell them to find room for her.”

    “Of course,” Harald bowed again as Haakon stepped away to speak with one of the other captains whose ship had already come into the port.

    Brigid remained silent as Harald led her to the hall at the center of the city, taking in the sights, smells, and sounds of the unfamiliar place. Most of the city appeared to have been sleeping, but many curious faces peered from windows and doorways, looking towards the commotion at the docks. Harald ignored them, so Brigid did as well. In the hall, he handed her off to a woman in a yellow jerkin, who he said was one of Jarl Haakon’s shieldmaidens, and promptly vanished.

    The woman took pity on Brigid, who was damp and shivering, and looked very much like some sort of drowned and water-logged creature, and took her to a small room tucked far away from the growing bustle of the hall. She helped Brigid build a fire, and promised to send a servant with hot water and something dry to wear. Once she was gone, Brigid stood in the middle of the room, trembling with exhaustion, cold, and even a vague notion of fear for being alone in this unfamiliar place. As the fire began to warm the air of the room, Brigid slowly came back to herself and set to work. She shed her cloak and other outer layers, draping them over available surfaces and hanging them from a handful of hooks fashioned on one of the walls. She remained in her damp underdress and other undergarments and crouched in front of the fire, soaking in the heat.

    The servant came, as promised, with a kettle and a bucket of steaming water, followed by another with a bundle of clothing and a bowl of something that was also piping hot.. “It will not fit,” she said, eyeing Brigid up, “but will be dry.” They poured the water into the kettle, left it on a small table next to the folded clothes and full bowl, and departed. Several long minutes later, Brigid forced herself to her feet. She peeled off the last of her damp clothes and laid them out to dry near the fire, then soaked a rag in the hot water and washed herself as best she could. Even with the warmth of the fire, the water cooled quickly on her skin, and soon her teeth were chattering again. She finished the makeshift bath in a hurry and fumbled through the clothes to find a chemise and underdress to pull on with trembling fingers. The servants had also brought a knitted shawl, which she wrapped around her shoulders as she took a seat on the floor in front of the fire.

    It was late, and the journey had been long, but despite her exhaustion, Brigid was far too awake to attempt sleep. Instead, she freed her hair from the scarf she had kept it wrapped in to be out of the way from the journey and set to freeing the damp locks from the tight braids they had been wound in under the scarf for the past week. Her scalp burned as her hair was freed and she shook it out. By that point, all of her energy was gone, but she still was too much on edge to sleep, so instead she drew her knees up to her chest, wrapped her arms around her legs, and rested her chin on her knees, staring into the fire and pondering the choices that had brought her to Kattegat. She wasn’t regretting them, not truly, but… the city was far more foreign than she had expected, and she wasn’t sure how to make it less so.

    She wasn’t sure how long she sat there, entranced by the dancing flames. A knock at the door made her aware of the world again, but before she could speak or move the door creaked open and a figure stepped into the room. Brigid’s heart leapt into her throat and she lurched to her feet; it took a moment for her eyes, hazy from staring into the fire for so long, to adjust, but once she recognized the intruder, she relaxed. “Leif,” she breathed.

    “I did not mean to startle you,” he said, closing the door behind him. “They told me where you were, and I wanted to make sure you were alright.”

    Brigid smiled softly. “I am,” she said, doing her best to keep from shivering as she moved towards him, away from the fire. “Thank you for coming.”

    Leif nodded, shifting his weight uncertainly.

    Brigid bit her lip and took another step towards the Viking. Leif watched her carefully, his piercing gaze reminding her very abruptly of how little she wore. Before she could speak, he reached out and took her hands, bringing them up to his lips and pressing a warm kiss to her knuckles. “You are still cold?”

    Brigid let out a short laugh. “I am afraid the cold will be set in my bones forever. I did not imagine it could be so much more cold in Norway than England. I’m worried I’ll never get used to it.”

    Leif smiled and released her hands. He reached out and cupped her face, tilting it upwards so he could press a kiss to her forehead. “You will,” he promised. “You may feel the cold in your bones, but the North is in your blood. Soon enough you will remember this.”

    “How can I remember something I’ve never known?” Brigid whispered. “My father took me to England when I was a baby. I never lived in Norway.”

    Leif shook his head. “It does not matter. Deep down, you are Viking. You may have lived in England, but your blood is from the North. I spent my whole life in Greenland, but when I came here, my blood reminded me that I was Viking, just like everyone else here.” The corner of his mouth lifted in a faint smile, and his voice softened. “And if you need help to discover this… I will provide it.”

    Brigid couldn’t help but smile at the promise, and she raised her hands to rest over Leif’s, still cupped around her face. “Thank you,” she whispered.

    Leif responded by leaning down, this time pressing his lips to hers. Time stalled, and Brigid felt warmth blossom in her face and chest at the touch. When Leif finally pulled away, she felt her head spinning. She couldn’t help but smile up at him, and he smiled back. One of his hands slid down from her face, along the curve of her neck into her shoulder, gently tracing a path downwards to settle at the small of her back and pull her towards him, closing the already small gap between them. The thumb of the other hand stroked her cheek as he leaned down for another kiss.

    Brigid moved her own hands in reaction to Leif’s touch; the palm of one hand rested on his chest, where it had almost naturally fallen when he moved to pull her towards him, and she ran the other along the length of his arm, refusing to break contact, until it rested on his back. She found herself gripping the tanned hide of his coat, pulling herself closer until their bodies were pressed together. Leif responded by stepping forward, pushing her towards the bed. She lost her balance when she collided with it, and would have fallen had it not been for Leif holding her up.

    He pulled back, allowing both of them to catch their breath. Brigid was suddenly aware of how close they were and abruptly released her grip on his coat, her hands dropping to her sides. Leif released her instantly and leaned back. “I’m sorry. I did not mean to make you uncomfortable.”

    “No, it’s not that,” Brigid said hurriedly. 

Leif removed his hands and stepped away. “I did not come here intending to…” He chewed his lip, cheeks flushing slightly under the beard. “Please, if I have offended you or overstepped, tell me. I do not want to… to hurt you. In any way.”

    Brigid shook her head. “I just need a moment,” she said.

    Leif nodded and took another step back. “I will go,” he said, turning towards the door.

    Brigid lurched forward and grabbed his wrist. “Don’t leave. Please.”

    Leif looked back at her. He nodded, slowly. Brigid sat down on the edge of the bed, her legs practically giving out as exhaustion hit her like a crushing boulder. Leif stood for a moment after her hand fell away, then moved towards the door. Brigid was too tired to protest this time, but watched as he slowly removed his belt, coat, and boots before returning to sit beside her on the edge of the bed. He wrapped his arm around her shoulders, pulling her close, tucking her head under his chin and rubbing his hand over her shoulder. The calluses on his hand snagged on the fabric of the borrowed underdress, and she could feel the coarse hair of his beard pressing into her scalp, catching on her damp hair whenever he shifted. Brigid felt her eyelids growing heavy, and more and more of her weight rested against Leif as she began to doze off. Her head fell back against his shoulder, half-lidded eyes staring aimlessly towards the fire as they drifted shut.

“Are you warm enough?”

    The whisper sent a shiver down Brigid’s back and startled her awake. She was suddenly aware of the knot forming in the bottom of her stomach at the Viking’s proximity; she could feel the warmth of his body against her back and side, even from his arm where it wrapped around her shoulders.

    “I’m not sure I’ll ever be warm here,” Brigid murmured, eyes trained on the flickering fire in front of them. Her breath caught in her throat as Leif shifted to wrap his arms around her waist and pull her more tightly against him.

    “I’ll keep you warm.” 

Brigid heard the smile behind his words and rested her hands over his. His chin came to rest on her shoulder and he pressed a light kiss to her jaw, just under her ear. She didn’t move as he shifted again, loosening his hold just enough to reposition himself behind her so that she was between his legs, her back pressed against his torso, the arms and legs he wrapped around her providing more warmth than any fire or blanket. Brigid felt heat rising in her stomach, chest, and cheeks, suddenly too warm, even in only her borrowed chemise and underdress. Leif buried his face in the back of her neck, his breath almost scalding hot against the skin over her spine. Slowly, Brigid began to relax again, letting herself sink further into him, time floating away in the heady warmth that surrounded them.

    It was Leif who moved first, moving his chin back to rest on top of her shoulder, cheek against her ear. His arms wrapped even more tightly around her, and she felt the twinge in her core again. “Better?” he murmured.

    “A little,” Brigid said. Leif hummed in response, a satisfied sound, and fell silent again. A few moments later, though, Brigid felt a soft rumble in his throat and chest where they pressed against her, and a soft melody reached her ear. She didn’t recognize the song he was humming, but allowed the sound to fill her. Her eyes drifted closed and she let her head fall back on Leif’s shoulder. She raised a hand to trace the shape of his face, finally coming to cup his cheek. Leif turned his head into her hand and kissed the outer edge of her palm.

    Brigid could feel sweat prickle at the small of her back, and she suddenly longed to be free of her clothes. She lifted her head and pulled away from Leif. He released her without protest or question, and the humming stopped. Brigid stood and took a few steps away, keeping her back to Leif as she undid the lacing of her bodice and pulled the underdress over her head, letting it fall to the side. Now clad only in the knee-length chemise, she slowly turned to face Leif, still seated on the edge of the bed.

    Without a word, he stood and took a step towards her, peeling off his shirt and tossing it aside to join the borrowed dress. He crossed the remaining distance in a single stride and took her hands in his, bringing them up to wrap her arms around his neck. His hands settled around her waist, burning hot through the thin fabric of the chemise, and he pulled her close again. Brigid stared up at him through her eyelashes, heart pounding in her chest. Leif brought up a hand, hooking a finger under her chin to tilt her face up towards him, then cupped her face and pulled her in for a long, deep kiss. When they finally separated, Brigid was practically gasping for breath, head spinning. Before she had entirely caught her breath, she pulled him down into another kiss.

    When they broke apart for the second time, Leif reached down to slip his hands under the backs of her thighs, lifting her up and guiding her legs to wrap around his waist. Brigid took this opportunity to wrap her arms around his shoulders and lean down for a third kiss, this one hungry and demanding, her teeth scraping against his lips as he pulled away. One strong arm wrapped around her waist to hold her up, the other rose to the back of her neck to pull her in for another kiss.

    If Brigid had thought about it, she might have found it absurd, the way she clung to Leif like he was a strong tree in a storm, like letting go would mean that she was lost to gusting wind and driving rain. But she didn’t think—hardly even noticed her surroundings any more. She was vaguely aware of Leif stepping back towards the bed, but didn’t really become aware of anything further until he turned around and bent down to lower her to the bed. Once she was safely on the bed, they both loosened their grips on each other and separated slightly, panting for breath. Leif smiled down at her, cupping her flushed cheek in his hand and running a thumb over her cheekbone. “Tell me to stop.”

    “Only if you go too far.”

    He bent down to kiss her again, one hand planted on the bed beside her, the other resting lightly on her bare knee. Slowly, he slid it under the chemise, sliding up her thigh and pushing the chemise towards her hips. Brigid rested a hand on the back of his neck, tangling her fingers in his hair; the other moved to his bare shoulder, fingertips tracing the scar over his heart, then following the lines of his muscles to his side, then stomach, before finally hooking on the waistband of his breeches. He pulled away, leaning back enough to free both of his hands to undo the lacing on the breeches. Brigid squirmed backwards until she could sit up, pulling the chemise over her head and throwing it away from the bed. Leif stood and shed his breeches, kicking them aside before kneeling back on the bed in front of her. Brigid got her legs under her and knelt in front of him, close enough for their knees to touch. This time, she was the one who brought her hands up to cup his face, pulling him in for a kiss.

    Leif wrapped his arms around Brigid’s back, his rough hands exploring her bare skin, running over her shoulders and down, all the way down to her hips, brushing over the curve of her rear, and gripping the back of her thighs again to pull her forward so that she was straddling his legs. He pulled away from her lips, peppering kisses along her jaw and down her neck. She tilted her head to the side, draping her arms over his shoulders, as he rested his forehead in the crook of her neck for a moment, his breath hot against her chest. Brigid ran a hand over his hair, smoothing down unruly waves, stiff from a week’s worth of salt spray. He must have come straight to her from the boat. She rested her cheek against his head for a moment, before he moved again.

    A rough hand came up to cup her breast, thumb brushing over her hardened nipple. Brigid gasped, a shiver running through her body—this time, not from the cold. Leif seemed to take the gasp as encouragement and pinched the nipple between his thumb and forefinger, rolling it between his fingers. Brigid let out a soft moan, her fingers tightening in his hair. Leif pressed a final kiss to her jaw before continuing his path downwards. Before she knew it, he had reached her breast, and replaced his fingers with his mouth. He swirled his tongue around it, alternating between sucking and gently nipping at her with his teeth. Unaccustomed to such a touch, Brigid whimpered slightly, waves of pleasure rolling through her body. She leaned down and kissed the top of Leif’s head, her hand stroking over his hair again.

    Leif straightened up and wrapped his arms around her again, holding her close for a moment. Brigid didn’t even realize that she was still stroking his hair until he reached up and pulled her hand away, leaving her arm hooked around his neck. He kissed her forehead, the tip of her nose, her cheek, and finally her lips before pulling back to study her face. He took in flushed cheeks, full lips, and hooded eyes struggling to stay open and smiled softly down at her, reaching up to cup her face again.

    “You are tired.”

    Brigid hadn’t felt tired for a long while, but as soon as the words left Leif’s lips, she felt her whole body sag, weary through every fiber of her being. “Don’t stop,” she murmured.

    “Not tonight,” Leif said firmly. He reached around her to tug the blankets down, then carefully slid out from under her and lowered her to the bed, pulling the blankets up and around her. Brigid kept her arm around his shoulders, refusing to let go. Leif smiled and leaned down to kiss her. “I’m not going anywhere. I’ll be here when you wake. I promise.” Seconds later, she was sound asleep. Leif pried her arm from around his neck and sat next to her. The same weariness was rapidly creeping over him, and he knew that, even if he wanted to, he wouldn’t be able to stay awake much longer. He settled for pulling on his pants, struggling to lace them halfway up before giving up completely and climbing under the blankets next to Brigid. He took her into his arms, pressing a last kiss to her temple before sleep overcame him as well.

Chapter Text

Leif woke first in the morning—or, more likely, afternoon, given the amount of light streaming through the small window above the bed. Brigid was still sound asleep, cradled in his arms, her head resting against his shoulder. He shifted slightly, trying not to wake her, but rapidly realizing that he’d have to get up sooner than later.

    “About time; I thought you’d never wake up.”

    Leif nearly jumped out of his skin at the voice, reaching frantically for his axe only to realize that it was still in his belt, on the table across the room. He squinted at Harald, lounging on the room’s only chair, staring into the fire—which he must have rekindled himself—burning low in the fireplace. “What are you doing here?”

    “Just because we’re back in Norway doesn’t mean there’s nothing to do.” Harald stood and grinned down at Leif. “Although clearly you’ve figured that out for yourself.”

    Leif glared up at his friend. “If you wake her, I’ll kill you myself,” he whispered.

    Harald chuckled. “Get dressed and meet me in the hall. The Jarl wants to speak to us. Apparently, your sister has been busy while we were gone.” Leif continued to glare until Harald turned and headed for the door. “There’s clean clothes for you on the table. Hurry up or you’ll miss lunch.”

    Once the door shut behind Harald, Leif let his head fall back and ran a hand over his tangled hair. He looked down at Brigid; the woman was curled against his side, her head on his shoulder, face half-hidden where it was buried in his chest. Her arm was draped over his stomach, her long hair splayed across his arm, sticking to his skin and her own back. Leif shifted his arm under her slightly, wrapping it around her back to run his fingertips over the curve of her shoulder. She stirred at his touch, and he leaned down to kiss the crown of her head, giving her shoulder a slight squeeze.

    Brigid murmured and raised her head, looking up at him through her eyelashes. She yawned and stretched slightly, her eyes beginning to flick around to take in the unfamiliar surroundings. Leif kissed her forehead and smiled down at her. Slowly, she sat up, clutching the blankets to her chest, still looking around. Leif climbed out of bed and rested a hand on her shoulder. “Are you alright?”

    Brigid nodded slowly. “Good morning.”

    “Afternoon,” Leif grinned. On the table, as Harald had promised, he found clean clothes; he dressed with his back to Brigid, and turned to find her pointedly looking away. “There should be food in the hall.”

    Brigid nodded and smiled faintly. “I’ll meet you there.”

    Once Leif was gone, she stood slowly and got herself dressed, moving almost mechanically. She finally felt rested, to an extent, for the first time in days, but was also entirely overwhelmed by her surroundings, and still trying to process the events of the night before—largely wondering why Leif had stopped before going any further, if she had done something wrong or to offend him, although it also seemed unlikely that he would have still been in her bed when she awoke if that was the case. She was glad to have him and Harald, in particular, as familiar faces in this strange place. It would be unbearable to be in this new world alone.

    Over the days that followed, Brigid became familiar with many of the others who lived in Jarl Haakon’s hall, and in the city around it. Foremost among them was Leif’s sister, Freydis, who was one of Jarl Haakon’s shieldmaidens. Freydis was tall—even taller than Leif and Harald—and intimidating, almost overbearing at times, but was friendly enough. Brigid could tell that there was a wildness to her, as well. Freydis and Leif were clearly very close, but also definitely did not see eye to eye much of the time. Harald almost seemed like a tentative peacekeeper between the two of them, trying to placate the newfound tension between the siblings. And it was, most certainly, newfound; both Leif and Freydis had changed a great deal during their time apart—it didn’t take a genius to catch on to that—and neither seemed to know quite what to do with the other any more.

    Brigid spent much of her time watching and learning about Kattegat. She watched the warriors in the great hall, the villagers on the streets and in the market, and, perhaps most interesting, she watched Freydis and the other shieldmaidens train on the beach. She made friends with one of the merchants in the market—a young woman near her own age named Kelda—who sold wool and yarn. Kelda was kind and outgoing and immediately invited Brigid to sit with her at her stall when they met, and began to teach her how to knit and spin wool into yarn with a drop spindle. Brigid was vaguely familiar with the concepts already and picked them up quickly. She spent most afternoons in the market with Kelda, spinning and knitting and chatting about Norway and Kattegat, and sharing stories from her childhood in England in return.

    Something was brewing in the city, and it didn’t take long for even Brigid, newcomer as she was, to realize that. A tension was growing in the air around them. Every day, there were fewer visitors to the market, and fewer merchants in the stalls. Kelda noted their absence as well, but seemed unconcerned. “Everyone comes and goes. It is nearing winter; they are likely preparing for the snows.”

    Brigid thought to herself that that should mean more traffic in the market, as people stocked up on provisions for the harsh winter, but she didn’t argue. Kelda knew her people far better than Brigid ever would.

    In the great hall, the warriors grew quieter, more anxious. Shared meals that had once been raucous, full of clamor and laughter and song, became practically quiet events, where no-one spoke above a murmur. Even the scuffles that had previously broken out at nearly every meal became scarce. Brigid sat tucked between Leif and Harald, watching the others from shadows cast by the torches and fires of the hall.

    At night, as if by some unspoken promise, Leif joined Brigid in her small, warm room. Most nights, after retiring, they would lay together in the bed and tell stories of their respective childhoods and homes while they drifted off. Brigid sang English lullabies she had learned from others in her village and Norwegian lullabies her father had taught her. Some nights, she would wake in the darkness to the sound of Leif singing or humming songs from his own past. On these occasions, she would keep as still as possible, pretending to be asleep so that he would keep singing. She found that she quite liked the sound of his voice—almost as much as she liked waking up in his arms.

    Over a week after their arrival in Kattegat, Brigid woke with a start in the middle of the night, long after the fire had burned to embers. In the silver glow of the moonlight streaming through the window, she could see Leif sitting at the end of the bed, his back to her.

    “Leif?” she murmured, sitting up. When he didn’t respond, she moved forward to kneel behind Leif, reaching out to touch his shoulder. “Leif? What’s wrong?”

    Leif reached up and took her hand from his shoulder, tugging her forward. Brigid didn’t resist and leaned against his back, wrapping her arms around him and resting her chin on his shoulder. Leif brought her hand to his lips and kissed the back of it. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”

    “You didn’t,” said Brigid. “It’s alright. What is wrong? Why are you awake?”

    Leif was silent for a while, and Brigid began to think he wasn’t going to answer her. “Nothing is wrong,” he said.

    Brigid pulled away abruptly. “You’re lying.”

    “I am not. It is nothing. Just… a feeling.”

    “A feeling is something,” said Brigid. She crawled off of the bed and knelt on the floor in front of Leif, taking his hands in hers and staring up at him. “Tell me.”

    Leif sighed and shook his head. “It’s Freydis. She says that a Christain Jarl is coming to destroy Kattegat.”

    “Do you believe her?”

    “Yes.”

    “Then it isn’t nothing.”

    Leif nodded.

    “Is that what has everyone so on edge? Worry about this jarl?”

    Leif nodded again.

    “When has he promised to attack the city?”

    “We do not know,” said Leif. “He only told Freydis that he would be coming. There have been no further signs.”

    “He could attack without warning at any time,” Brigid murmured.

    Leif grabbed her by the shoulders and pulled her up, leaning down to rest his forehead against hers. “I will not let anything happen to you. Kåre may attack, but when he does we will defend the city. You will be safe.”

    Brigid smiled and reached up to cup his cheek, running her thumb over the cheekbone. “I know. I am not afraid.”

.*.*.*.*.*.

Mornings in Kattegat were often foggy, thanks to mists rolling in from the sea, and with the weather changing as winter began to loom on the horizon, the fog was getting heavier and lingering longer. Brigid woke with a start and blinked with confusion, trying to figure out what had woken her—again. Beside her, Leif shot out of bed, darting for the table where his axe was, only for the door to fly open and Harald to burst in. “The harbor. Let’s go.”

    Leif glanced over his shoulder at Brigid and locked eyes for a moment as he reached for his clothes. She nodded and waited until Harald was outside and the door was shut to get up, hurrying to get her own clothes on over the chemise she had slept in.

    “Stay here,” Leif said, buckling his belt over his vest before reaching out to grab Brigid’s hand. “Don’t leave the hall until you know it’s safe.”

    Brigid nodded and watched him bolt out the door, nearly running into Harald in the hall. She dressed more slowly before heading for the main hall, hoping to find more information about what was going on in the harbor. The hall was filled with a quiet buzz of voices, but most of the warriors were still there, beginning their breakfasts, so she knew it couldn’t have been an attack. She joined one of the tables with some of the warriors she was more familiar with, trying to listen in on their conversation, but none of them were saying anything about the harbor or anything of interest happening that morning, so she also guessed that it wasn’t any sort of huge event. She kept her eyes trained on the door, watching for Leif or Harald, or any of the shieldmaidens; they would likely know more.

    The first ones back through the doors of the hall were Leif, Harald, and Freydis. Freydis was at the forefront of the trio, her lips drawn in a grim line and her brows furrowed, moving as if she was on a mission. Harald and Leif were directly behind, both looking nearly as concerned as Freydis. Leif’s eyes scanned the hall and caught Brigid’s gaze, but he only nodded towards the door that led back towards their borrowed room. Wordlessly, Brigid stood, slipping quietly away from the table and hurrying after them. In their room, she found Leif hurriedly gathering his things.

    “Are you leaving?” she asked, shutting the door behind her, chewing her lip with worry as anxiety bubbled in her chest.

    “A boat came into the harbor this morning, carrying a corpse, severed heads, and the child of a woman who helped Freydis when she was injured on her way to Uppsala. The woman’s entire village was killed for helping Freydis and Yrsa, but Freydis said that Kåre took the baby with him.”

    “It’s a threat, then,” said Brigid. “He is coming.”

    “Yes,” said Leif, pulling on his coat. “Jarl Haakon is sending us to Uppsala. The body on the boat was a priestess. She and Freydis fear that Kåre has attacked the temples.”

    Brigid nodded. “Please… Be as safe as you can.”

    Leif moved to stand in front of her and took one of her hands, cupping her face with the other. “We will be back. I promise.”

    Brigid smiled up at him and nodded. “I will hold you to that.”

    Leif leaned down and kissed her forehead, the tip of her nose, her cheek, and finally her lips, drawing the final kiss out as long as he could. They both heard Freydis and Harald’s voices in the hall, coming towards their door, and pulled apart. Brigid reached up to brush a stray strand of hair out of Leif’s face, tucking it behind his ear. “I’ll see you soon.”

    Leif nodded and reached around her to open the door. She stepped out of the way, bowing her head in acknowledgement to Harald and Freydis, and watched the three head back towards the great hall.

.*.*.*.*.*.

Two days after the party left for Uppsala, Brigid was back in the great hall. It had been raining off and on all day, so she had chosen to stay inside rather than visit Kelda in the market. Only a handful of others were in the hall; many of the warriors seemed to be making quiet preparations, and spent most of their time sparring in the fields near the city walls, or readying armor and weapons, or fortifying the city. Brigid found herself sharing a fire with a young woman with a screaming baby.

    “I’m sorry,” the woman said over the wailing. “He never seems to stop crying.”

    “It’s alright,” Brigid smiled, leaning over to peer at the baby, bundled in a heavy yellow blanket. “Is it colic?”

    “No, I don’t think so,” the other woman sighed. “He just… cries. He has cried since we found him.”

    “Is this the baby from the boat?” Brigid asked.

    “Yes,” the woman nodded.

    “Would you like me to take him for a while?” Brigid asked, noting the dark circles under the woman’s eyes.

    “Are you sure?”

    “Of course. I used to help with children in the village I grew up in. I’m used to crying.”

    A look of pure relief washed over the woman’s face, and she passed the baby to Brigid. She began rocking and gently bouncing the baby, shushing and humming to him. To their surprise, it wasn’t long before the baby began to quiet, and soon enough he was asleep in Brigid’s arms. “He tired himself out,” Brigid laughed.

    “Or maybe he just likes you better,” the woman chuckled. “I am Tove. What is your name?”

    “Brigid. What is the child’s name?”

    “He has no name,” Tove shrugged. “No-one knew it, and we have not had time to give him one yet. I have just been calling him Sveinn. It was my brother’s name.”

    Brigid smiled down at the baby she held. “It suits him.”

    “Then Sveinn it is,” Tove smiled, reaching out to run a fingertip over the child’s round cheek. “I think he likes you more than he likes me.”

    Brigid laughed. “I don’t know about that.”

    Tove glanced over her shoulder. “I have work to do. Would you mind watching him for a little while? If you need anything, or if he wakes, you can find me in the kitchen.”

.*.*.*.*.*.

Over the next several days, the city grew even more tense. Brigid took care of Sveinn to allow Tove to return to her regular duties. The market emptied, only a few merchants remaining to half-heartedly hawk their wares to the handful of customers that passed through. Kelda was one of the last to leave, nearly a week after the party for Uppsala had departed. Brigid hadn’t expected her friend to leave—Kelda had teased the other vendors around her for falling prey to the rumors and abandoning their stalls, and sworn up and down that she wouldn’t do the same.

    “You should come with me,” said Kelda, strapping a bag full of yarn to the side of her horse. “My village isn’t far, but it is small and out of the way. You will be safer there than here. So will the child.”

    Brigid shook her head, bouncing Sveinn on her hip. “Leif promised to come back to me here. We will wait for him.”

    Kelda smiled and rolled her eyes. “Silly girl.”

    “Not like you’re that much older than me,” Brigid laughed. “Anyways, don’t you have a husband?”

    Kelda shrugged. “You could meet him if you came with me.”

    Brigid smiled and reached out to grasp the other woman’s hand. “I promise we will meet again someday, my friend.”

    Kelda squeezed her hand. “Be safe.” She reached out and patted Sveinn’s head—the baby now wore a little poorly-knitted cap that Kelda had helped Brigid make for him—at which the child cooed and reached for her hand. “You too, little one.” She took a small bag off of her belt and handed it to Brigid. “Keep practicing. That one will grow fast; he’ll need a new hat before you know it.”

    Brigid laughed. She pulled Kelda into a tight hug, careful not to squish the baby. “Thank you.”

    Kelda climbed onto her horse and smiled down at the others. “Be safe,” she repeated.

    “You as well.” Brigid stepped back. As Kelda rode away, joining the trickle of people leaving the city, she glanced back, and Brigid lifted a hand in farewell. Kelda smiled and waved back, and then she was gone, leaving Brigid and Sveinn standing alone in the empty market.

Chapter Text

Eight days after they had left, Freydis, Harald, and the shieldmaidens returned, along with three young girls—the only survivors of Uppsala. Brigid was in the great hall with Tove and Sveinn when they arrived to speak with Jarl Haakon. She scanned the party for Leif, panic rising in her chest when she didn’t see him among the others. Harald caught her eye and offered a reassuring nod before turning to join the conversation between Haakon, Freydis, and Altora. Tove excused herself to help take the girls away to get cleaned up from the attack and the journey, but Brigid sat as still as a stump, hardly even remembering that Sveinn was in her lap as she watched the hushed, yet animated, discussion taking place across the hall. When the conversation ended, Altora and Freydis bowed to Haakon—followed by Harald a split second later—and hurried out of the hall. Harald started to follow them, then abruptly changed course to reach Brigid instead.

    “Welcome back,” said Brigid.

    Harald sat on the bench in front of her. “He’s fine; don’t worry. He’s scouting Kåre’s forces so we know what is coming.”

    Brigid nodded and forced a smile. “I’m sure he’s alright.”

    “He should be just a few days behind us.”

    Brigid nodded again, bouncing Sveinn on her knee.

    “Is this the baby from the boat?”

    “We call him Sveinn,” Brigid said. “I’ve been taking care of him, since everyone else is busy.”

    Harald grinned and reached out to tap the baby on the nose, eliciting a bright giggle from the child. “Sveinn is a good name. Will you keep him?”

    The question took Brigid by surprise. She had only thought of caring for the baby as a temporary thing, but she had never thought about what might happen to him or where he might go for the long term. “I don’t know,” she said. “There are more important things to worry about right now.”

    “True,” Harald sighed. He stood and rolled his shoulders. “I have to go.” He rested both hands on the sides of Brigid’s face to tilt her head down and kiss her on the crown. “Take care of the little one.”

.*.*.*.*.*.

If the mood in the city had been tense before, once the warriors went into full swing with their preparations, it became practically frenetic. The marketplace emptied completely, although visitors to the city increased drastically in number—refugees fleeing the scourge of Kåre and his warriors, who were decimating towns and villages from Sweden to Norway, practically obliterating the landscape, based on what the survivors were saying. The great hall was taxed to the limit trying to handle the influx of new arrivals, and Brigid saw almost nothing of Tove. She saw even less of Freydis, only catching distant glimpses of her across the hall at dinner in the evenings. Harald, on the other hand, almost seemed to seek Brigid and Sveinn out, very excitedly taking the baby whenever he could, chattering inanely to the infant as though Sveinn could understand him. He had Brigid in stitches half the time as well, and she almost wondered if it was his way of relieving stress as the days passed without news of Kåre and his army—or Leif.

    With Tove busy, Brigid assumed full care of Sveinn. Harald helped her find a makeshift cradle and blankets, even some old clothes—that were too big for the boy, but were certainly better than nothing—and warm overlayers to help combat the dropping temperatures. Brigid set up the cradle on the floor at the foot of her bed, where it would be kept warm by the fire and was in easy reach when Sveinn woke up crying in the middle of the night—which he did most nights. Brigid wondered if babies could have nightmares, because it almost seemed like Sveinn did. Although, based on what Freydis had told her about what happened to Sveinn’s village and Uppsala, the baby had certainly been through more than enough to give anyone nightmares.

    Three days after Harald and Freydis had returned, Brigid had just settled Sveinn down for an afternoon nap when her door burst open, nearly making her jump out of her skin. Leif stepped into the room, and Brigid felt every ounce of the tension she hadn’t realized she was holding leave her body in an instant. He opened his mouth to speak and she immediately shushed him, gesturing to the sleeping baby in the cradle. Leif turned to shut the door and in the time it took him to do so and turn back around, Brigid had crossed the room and flung herself into his arms.

    “You’re back,” was all she said, burying her face in his coat. He smelled of wind and rain, sweat and horse, but she didn’t mind. Leif’s arms wrapped around her back, lifting her off her feet in a huge bear hug.

    They stayed like that for several long moments before Leif set her back on her feet and loosened his grip. She ran her fingers through his hair and pulled back to look him up and down. Seeing no sign of injury, she released him and took a step away. “Are you alright?”

    “I am.”

    “Kåre?”

    “He is coming. He has allied with Harald’s brother, Olaf, to destroy Kattegat. They will be here soon.”

    Brigid nodded and sat down on the edge of the bed, looking down at Sveinn in the cradle. Leif followed her gaze.

    “There was no-one else to take care of him,” Brigid said, looking up at Leif. “I know what it’s like to be alone. I will take care of him, at least for now, until I find someone who is sure to love him.”

    “And if you do not?”

    “Then I will do it myself.”

    Leif nodded and sat down beside her, wrapping an arm around her shoulders to pull her close. “So will I.” They sat in silence for a while, watching Sveinn sleep, but, eventually, Leif kissed Brigid on the temple and pulled away. “I must go. There is much work to do to prepare the city for Kåre and Olaf’s attack.”

.*.*.*.*.*.

Sure enough, the next few days were a flurry of activity. The walls were being fortified, armor repaired, weapons forged and sharpened. Brigid helped Tove and the other servants in setting up the hall as an infirmary, preparing bandages, herbs, tinctures, and beds for the wounded that were expected. She still saw Harald more than Freydis, and even Leif. The prince would visit her a few times a day, each time taking Sveinn to allow her to work, while he sat and talked to them. 

Leif she would see at mealtimes, when he, Harald, and occasionally Freydis would join her in the hall, although they would usually disappear again after the meal was over. At night, he often did not return to their room until the fire was burning low and Sveinn was fast asleep. Brigid was usually sleeping as well, but tended to wake when Leif crawled under the blankets beside her. She would tuck herself against his side, wrapping her arms around his stomach and resting her head on his chest, under his chin, and soon they would both be asleep.

    In the mornings, Brigid would be the first to rise, slipping away from Leif as gently as she could. He always woke despite her efforts, but would be coaxed back to sleep with a kiss and a whispered promise that everything was alright. If Sveinn was awake by the time she was dressed, she would take the baby with her; otherwise, she would leave him in his cradle at the foot of the bed, trusting Leif to manage with him for the short time between waking up and finding her. These early, foggy mornings were the best time to gather herbs, and she would join Tove and the servants in the garden.

    The fourth morning after Leif returned, Brigid was in the garden working alone. She carried Sveinn in a sling on her chest while she worked; the baby had been fussy since the evening before, and had kept her up most of the night, so she had come to the garden even earlier than usual. Sveinn’s fussing kicked up into full-blown crying, so she set aside her basket to sit down and try to soothe him.

    While she was sitting there, rocking and shushing the wailing baby, something sent a prickle down her spine, the hairs on the back of her neck standing up as goosebumps rose on her skin. Slowly, she stood, hugging Sveinn close as she turned around. Behind her, a hazy figure loomed in the mist, growing closer with long strides. She started to move backwards, whispering soothingly to the baby.

    “Don’t worry; it’s just me.”

    Brigid let out a sigh of relief, relaxing instantly. “Harald! You startled me.”

    Harald’s figure solidified in front of her as he took the last few steps to approach the pair. A wry smile played across his lips, but his eyes were distant and empty. “I did not mean to frighten you. I heard the baby crying, and wanted to see if you could use a hand.”

    Brigid passed Sveinn to Harald, and the big warrior held him close, smiling and cooing at the baby, who settled slightly. Brigid smiled and shook his head. “He likes you more than me. Now I know how Tove felt.”

    Harald chuckled, bouncing Sveinn slightly. Brigid took a moment to look him over; he was fully dressed, and wore his full armor and his weapons as well. “Harald, is something wrong?”

    “No, not at all,” Harald offered her another forced smile and passed Sveinn back. “I couldn’t sleep, so I’m out for a stroll.”

    Brigid arched an eyebrow at the blatant lie. Harald shifted his weight and glanced over his shoulder, then reached forward and rested his hands on her shoulders to pull her forward slightly, bending down to kiss the crown of her head. “I’ll see you both later.”

    Brigid smiled slightly and watched as he walked away, fading back into the mist, unable to shrug the twisting worry writhing in her stomach.

.*.*.*.*.*.

“Have you seen Harald?”

    Brigid glanced up at Freydis, freezing with a spoonful of broth halfway to her mouth.

    “He’s been missing all day, but he always comes to see you and the baby,” Freydis continued, sitting down across from Brigid and Leif. It was the evening meal, and the hall was bustling. Leif was taking a turn at holding Sveinn—who was still fussy and almost certainly teething—so that Brigid could eat her meal, and looked just as surprised at Freydis’s question.

    “Not since this morning,” Brigid said. “I saw him in the garden before breakfast, but not since then.”

    “This morning?” Freydis pressed.

    Brigid nodded. “I was awake early because the baby was fussing. I went to gather herbs in the garden. Harald said he heard Sveinn and came to see him.” She paused before continuing. “He was wearing his armor and weapons.”

    “He is gone.” Freydis seemed to deflate, sinking into the bench. “He has gone to join his brother.”

    “You have no way of knowing that,” said Leif. “He is more likely out scouting for Kåre’s army. He will be back later tonight or tomorrow, I’m sure.”

    Freydis didn’t seem to believe her brother’s words, but took comfort in them nonetheless. She nodded and stood, heading towards a cluster of the other shieldmaidens at the other end of the hall.

    “Do you really think Harald has just gone to scout?” Brigid asked once Freydis was gone.

    “We will know in a day or two,” said Leif. He freed the edge of his vest from Sveinn’s grasping fingers and passed the baby to Brigid when she finished eating. She bounced Sveinn on her knee while Leif ate, staring off into the distance, the worry in her stomach settling into a solid knot.

.*.*.*.*.*.

Harald did not return that night, or the next… or the next. Nearly a week later, there was still no sign of him, and Freydis was half frantic with a combination of worry and anger that she was doing a poor job of hiding. Her temper had grown short, and Leif’s to match it—at least when dealing with Freydis herself. Sveinn’s first tooth had finally broken through his lower gum, a second not far after it, and then a third on the top before his fussing subsided abruptly, much to Brigid’s relief. 

    Haakon sent out scouts to search for Kåre’s army. They returned, in shorter and shorter intervals, to report on the progress of the approaching force. Not all of them returned, however; less than half were able to escape Kåre’s own scouts to bring their reports back to Kattegat. Haakon stopped sending them after a few days, not wanting to lose any more men.

    On the sixth day, word arrived that Kåre and Olaf wanted to parley with Jarl Haakon. She accepted the offer, and rode out with Leif, Altora, Freydis, and her other shieldmaidens. The entire city waited with bated breath for their return. In just a few hours, the party was back. Altora was barking orders instantly, and soon the fortification efforts were split between the walls and, to everyone’s surprise, the beach.

    That night, Brigid waited up for Leif to return, sitting in the bed to practice her knitting while she waited. Leif was silent as he entered the room and shed his outer layers. Once his boots were off and he was stripped down to his trousers and shirt, he sat on the end of the bed and let out a deep sigh, scrubbing his hands over his face. Brigid gave up on her knitting and crawled to kneel behind him. She rested her hands on his shoulders, leaning down to kiss his cheek, and began to massage his shoulders and the back of his neck, waiting for him to speak first.

    “We have two days,” Leif said finally.

    “That is when Kåre’s army will arrive?”

    Leif nodded. “They are waiting for the wolf moon. Olaf will attack by sea, and Kåre by land. The high tide will allow the boats to get close enough to the city to attack the beach. We are building trebuchets to stop as many of the boats as possible, but with just two days to prepare…”

    Brigid nodded, her hands stilling. “How do you know this?”

    “Harald,” Leif smiled wryly. “He has gone to spy for us. He gave me a warning, in code, about this attack.”

    “Then this is good news!” Brigid grinned. “Now we know for certain that Harald has not defected to join his brother. He is still on our side.”

    Leif nodded, reaching up to take her hand. “That he is.”

Chapter Text

The next two days passed in a blur. On the morning Kåre was to attack, the sun dawned on a silent Kattegat. The villagers huddled in their homes, praying to whatever God or gods they worshipped. The warriors rose with the sun to offer their own prayers over their weapons and armor. Brigid woke with Leif and walked through the hall with him, carrying Sveinn along with them. At the great doors, Freydis met them. Leif wrapped Brigid and Sveinn in his arms, clinging to them like he was afraid he’d never see them again. After a moment, Freydis stepped forward and wrapped her arms around the three of them as well, cupping their heads in her hands to bring them in close. Brigid turned her face upwards into Leif’s neck, ignoring the scratching of his beard, and taking a deep breath. She was just as worried about losing him, and that fear set her heart pounding. She wanted to take in every bit of him, just in case; the way the hard edges of his new armor dug into her fingertips, the way his beard rasped against her nose and cheeks, the sound of his breath, the way he smelled… If this was, gods forbid, the last time she saw him and had him in her arms, she would remember it forever.

    Sveinn began to fuss at being squished between the three adults, and they reluctantly pulled apart. Freydis set a hand each on Brigid and Leif’s cheeks. “I will see you both after the battle.” She smiled down at Sveinn and kissed him on the top of the head. She kissed Brigid on the temple, and Leif on the cheek, giving her brother a final, brief hug before heading towards the wall.

    Leif watched her go for a moment before turning back to Brigid. “Stay in the hall with the others who are not fighting. It is the safest place for you. Do not leave it until I or Freydis comes for you.”

    Brigid nodded, ignoring the heat prickling at the back of her eyes. There was no reason to cry, and she refused to do it now—not without reason. She reached up to cup Leif’s face, and smiled up at him, memorizing every detail of him in that moment. He smiled back, running a thumb over her cheekbone, then leaned down, kissing her forehead, the tip of her nose, her cheek, and finally her lips. His hand came to rest on the back of her neck, and he rested his forehead against hers, eyes closed. 

“I will be back.” His other arm came up to join hers around Sveinn. “You are my family. I will not let anything happen to you. Either of you.” His hand drifted from the back of her neck, tracing a path down her shoulder and arm to take her hand in his. “Wait for me,” his voice dropped to a whisper. “After this battle… When it is all over, we will go somewhere else. Somewhere quiet. Somewhere safe.”

    Brigid smiled and leaned up to kiss his cheek. “Come back to me, and then we will talk about what comes next.”

    Reluctantly, Leif pulled away, but not before pressing a final, hard kiss to her lips. He kissed Sveinn on the top of the head as well, tugging the ill-fitting hat back into place on the child’s head before turning away. He squeezed Brigid’s hand before stepping away; she squeezed back and then released his hand slowly, his fingertips rasping across her palm before they fell apart. Brigid watched for a moment as he faded into the throng of warriors heading for the beach, then turned and went back inside the hall, clutching Sveinn tightly.

.*.*.*.*.*.

The day seemed to drag on for years, but it was really only a handful of hours before the sounds of battle could be heard even from the hall. Brigid hugged Sveinn with one arm, rocking him gently and humming the lullaby that Leif favored. Her other arm was wrapped around Tove’s, their hands clasped so tightly their fingertips were white. Tove’s lips moved in silent prayer, her eyes squeezed shut and her face hidden in Brigid’s shoulder.

    As the sounds of battle moved closer and closer, Brigid closed her eyes and rested her cheek on Tove’s head, humming louder to drown out the sound of her own racing heartbeat.

    When the doors to the hall slammed open, many of them screamed. Brigid leapt to her feet, dragging Tove with her as she staggered backwards. Sveinn, who had been sleeping, woke at the movement and began to cry. But it was only four shieldmaidens, easily recognized in their golden yellow tunics and brown armor, bearing a stretcher with a fifth on it. As most of the occupants of the hall scattered, fleeing for the back rooms, Brigid watched the women carry their burden to the dais at the end of the hall and lay it down there.

    “Jarl Haakon!” Tove gasped. She rushed forward, passing three of the shieldmaidens as they ran back towards the battle.

    Tove helped the final shieldmaiden—who Brigid recognized as Freydis under a layer of blood—peel off Haakon’s armor, a grim look coming over her face as she surveyed the pair of arrows sticking out of the Jarl’s chest. “There is nothing I can do,” she said softly. “This one has pierced the heart.”

    “I know,” said the Jarl. “Give me a moment alone with Freydis.”

    Tove bowed and stepped away, rejoining Brigid in the center of the hall, her eyes brimming with tears. They turned away to give the other women a moment of peace.

    Brigid looked back at the dais when she heard Freydis move. Jarl Haakon was unmoving on the stretcher as Freydis passed a hand over her face, closing her unseeing eyes. She passed Sveinn to Tove and moved to stand at Freydis’s side, resting a hand on the other woman’s shoulder. “I’m so sorry,” she murmured. Freydis reached up and squeezed her hand.

    A piercing scream made Brigid whip around and Freydis fly to her feet, sword already in hand. Freydis shoved Brigid behind her. “What do you want?” she snarled at the men who stood in the doorway.

    There were three of them, clad in black armor, faces adorned with black paint. The one in the center, currently stalking towards Tove, who was frozen with fear, was tall and wiry, bald with a bushy beard, and had a wild look in his eyes. There was no doubt that he was Kåre.

    “Tove,” Brigid cried, lurching forward, arms outstretched, towards her friend and the child, but Freydis held her back.

    Tove took a half-step back, shaking violently with fear, but Kåre pointed his sword at her. “Take another step, pagan ,” he spat, “and this sword will gut you and the child in a single blow.”

    Tove began to weep, clinging so tightly to Sveinn that he began to cry louder.

    “Let them go,” Freydis growled, taking a step forward, Brigid at her heels. “Let them all go, and you can have me.”

    “Freydis”—

    Freydis whipped around and grabbed Brigid hard by the shoulder, silencing her. “Take them and find Leif and Harald. Get out of the city.”

    “No, Freydis”—

    “ Go. I will find you in Uppsala.” Freydis turned back to Kåre, who wore the most wicked grin Brigid had ever seen.

    “Leave us,” the zealot flicked a hand at his men. “These two get a running start, but they do not get safety.”

    “Go,” said Freydis.

    Brigid lurched past her and ran towards the door, grabbing Tove and dragging her along. She heard the clash of Kåre and Freydis’s swords, but did not allow herself to look behind.

    Brigid dragged Tove through the streets, dodging warriors from both sides of the conflict, heading for the beach. They were halfway there before she realized that there was no-one there—there were boats in the water, sailing away, but the beach itself was deserted. The fighting would be far heavier near the gate, but they had no other choice. She pulled Tove into a hut to catch their breath and took the wailing baby from her, trying to soothe him. “We have to get to the gate.”

    “Are you crazy?” Tove hissed. “That is where the fighting is worst. We will never escape!”

    “That is where Leif and Harald will be,” Brigid argued. “They will help us get out of the city.”

    “No,” Tove shook her head. “I’m not going. I will go to the mountain, or hide in the city until it is quieter. I will not go to the gate.”

    “Well, I am going,” Brigid snapped. She stood, wrapping her shawl around herself to carry Sveinn in.

    “At least leave the baby with me,” Tove said. “Your chances will be even worse with him. And even if you survive the escape, there is no way he will.”

    “I am not leaving him,” said Brigid. “I will die before leaving him behind.”

    “You will die if you do not,” Tove sneered. “Do what you want.”

    Brigid softened, tears welling in her eyes. She bent down and took Tove’s hands, pressing a kiss to her forehead before standing again. “Gods be with you, Tove. I hope that someday we will meet again.”

    Tove stood and embraced Brigid and Sveinn. “I hope to see you in this world, not the next. And I hope to see this child grown, as well.”

    Brigid wiped tears away as they separated. “Good luck, Tove.”

    “Good luck, Brigid.”

    Brigid watched out the door for a moment, waiting for a lull in the fighting before slipping out and heading for the nearest alley.

    Brigid had never run so fast, so hard, or so long in her life. She clutched Sveinn close as she ran, eyes sweeping her surroundings so that she could dodge the brawling warriors around them. She took refuge in another alley, just out of sight of the gate, to catch her breath and scan the crowd for Leif. When one of the corpses, leaning against the wall a few feet from her, groaned, she screamed, falling backwards and scrambling away from the blood-covered man. It wasn’t until he opened his eyes and stared at her, his gaze surprisingly alert despite how badly he was wounded, that she recognized him. “Harald!” she cried, staggering to her feet to lurch across the distance to him. She saw his hand clasping his side, blood bubbling up from between his fingers, and swallowed a lump in her throat. No wonder she had thought he was dead—he practically was.

    Steeling herself, she fumbled with Harald’s armor, tugging it out of the way, despite his weak groans of protest. The wound was not huge, but it was deep, and she prayed that no organs had been damaged. She ripped pieces off of her overskirt to pack the wound and bind it, then sat back and surveyed the surroundings. There was a barn a few feet from the alley opening, only a few yards from where they were. “We have to go,” she said, grabbing Harald’s arm and pulling it over her shoulder. He cried out as he moved, but did his best to help Brigid get him to his feet.

    “You should leave me,” Harald mumbled as Brigid staggered towards the barn, dragging him with her.

    “No way in Hel,” Brigid grunted.

    They barely made it to the barn. Fortunately, most of the men and women fighting around them were more worried about tearing each other apart than stopping a woman trying to save a dead man. Inside, Brigid did her best to lower Harald carefully into a bed of hay, but she mostly just dropped him. He groaned in pain and laid still. Brigid glanced over her shoulder, keeping an eye on the battle outside. She unfastened the makeshift sling in which she had carried Sveinn and nestled the baby into Harald’s arm, covering their heads with the shawl. “Stay as still and quiet as you can. I’m going to cover you with hay so you’re harder to see, and then I will go and find Leif. He will know what to do.”

    Harald didn’t protest as Brigid piled the hay on top of them, and even Sveinn was mostly silent. Once she had concealed the two as much as possible, Brigid moved back to the door and peered through the crack in it. Finding Leif in this mess would be akin to finding a specific blade of grass in the middle of a meadow, but she was determined to at least try. After all, if she didn’t, she wouldn’t be the only one dead—Harald and Sveinn wouldn’t survive long in this barn. She nodded firmly and steeled herself to step outside at the next lull.

.*.*.*.*.*.

The battle was nothing more than one soon-to-be-corpse after another to Leif. Once they had realized that Olaf’s boats in the bay were a trick, they had made straight for the gate, where Kåre’s men were already swarming over the walls and through the gate. From that point on, it was just a matter of where his axes would strike his opponent to fell them. He felt something bubbling up inside his chest. It was like nothing he had ever felt before. He had felt rage when Ulf was killed in the ambush in the marshes south of London, and that had been multiplied exponentially when Njall, Skarde, and Liv had been slain trying to bring down the bridge, and when he had found their bodies floating in the Thames, but none of that compared to what he felt now. It was white-hot and uncontrollable, threatening to consume him from the inside out. Had he been more himself, he would have feared it, but now… now he only wanted to destroy.

    He hadn’t truly heard anything since joining this front of the battle, everything around him being drowned out by a roaring in his ears, but a scream pierced through that. It cut through the fog filling his brain and dragged him back to the surface. He staggered backwards, suddenly exhausted beyond belief, narrowly dodging a blow from his opponent’s axe. He got his own axe up in time to swing it into the side of the other man’s head before he could recover, and stood for a moment in the midst of the melee swirling around him, looking for the source of the scream that had awakened him.

    A dozen yards away, one of Kåre’s soldiers had his arm around the waist of a woman in bloodied, ripped clothing. He didn’t need to see her face to know who she was. The rage that had threatened to burn him alive surged to new heights and he broke into a dead sprint, crossing the distance in seconds. He blinked, and found his axe buried in the man’s throat, the warrior’s head half-severed. The man fell, and would have taken Brigid with him if Leif hadn’t snatched her from his lifeless grasp, wrapping his own arms around her. She sobbed into his chest as he dragged her away from the fighting, around the corner of the nearest building. He set his back to the wall and let his head fall back against it, clinging to Brigid’s trembling form like an anchor to ground him in the storm swirling through his head and heart. 

Finally, he pushed her away, holding her by the shoulders as he searched for the source of the blood staining her clothes. “Where are you hurt?”

    “It isn’t mine,” Brigid said. “It’s Harald’s. Leif—he’s dying. Please. We have to go.”

    Leif took a second to process her words. “Where?”

    “I’ll show you.” Brigid took his hand and started to pull him back towards the battle. 

He yanked her back and pushed her behind him as he straightened up. “Stay behind me. Point the way.”

    It took longer than it should have to reach the barn where Brigid had left Harald and Sveinn; Leif was more exhausted than he had realized. Once they were safely in the barn, he barred the door and helped Brigid uncover Harald and Sveinn. Sveinn was awake but quiet, and burbled happily when Brigid picked him up. Harald, on the other hand, was deathly pale and soaked with sweat and blood. His eyelids barely fluttered when Leif shook him. The packing and bandage Brigid had made were already soaked through with deep red blood. Leif tore off his armor, then peeled off his shirt and ripped it to pieces to make a new compress and binding.

    “We need horses,” he said once he was done, looking around the barn. The only thing in here was an old goat, baa -ing to itself in the corner. That wouldn’t get them out of the city. “Stay here. I will be back.”

    The horses proved surprisingly easy to find; the mounted warriors that had ridden into the city with Kåre’s army had been dismounted, and the horses were milling around the streets. Leif grabbed the two least-frightened mounts he saw, a large black destrier and a smaller brown gelding with a white star on its chest. Back in the barn, he and Brigid struggled together to get Harald onto the destrier’s back, and then Leif held him in place while Brigid climbed up in front of him. Leif let Harald lean forward onto Brigid, draping his arms over her shoulders. “Don’t ride too hard; if you feel him begin to fall, stop. If he falls, he will take you with him.”

    Brigid nodded, and Leif set to getting Sveinn settled into the sling across his chest before mounting the other horse. “Ride for the gate, no matter what. If we get separated, just keep moving east, for the mountains. I will find you in the forest.” Brigid nodded again, and they turned the horses towards the barn door.

    The ride out of the city was easier than Leif had expected. The few warriors who were still standing were more concerned with looting and raping at this point than stopping a pair of racing horses or fighting. In addition, as they left the city, a round of horns came from the port. Leif glanced over his shoulder and saw a host of blue striped sails, flying banners of Denmark. Something bothered him about the sight, but he had bigger things to worry about for the moment, and he turned back towards the road east, heading for the mountains.

Chapter Text

When the horses began to tire, they slowed to a trot. Leif brought his up beside Brigid and matched her horse’s pace. Brigid spared him a tiny, weak smile. “Are you alright?” she asked, reaching for his hand.

    Leif took her hand and squeezed it. “I am fine. What happened? I told you not to leave the hall.”

    “Jarl Haakon is dead,” said Brigid. “Freydis and some of the other shieldmaidens brought her back to the hall. We watched her die. Kåre followed them. Freydis bargained with him; she said that if he let me and Tove go with Sveinn, she would fight him. She told me to find you and Harald and get out of the city, and to meet her in Uppsala.”

    Leif nodded. “Olaf tricked us all. The boats were hardly manned; his army was following Kåre’s to sweep through and kill any of us who survived, as well as Kåre’s men, to take Kattegat for Olaf.”

    “Whose boats were those in the harbor?” Brigid asked. “The banner was King Canute’s, wasn’t it?”

    “It was the banner of Denmark, but…” Leif stared off into the distance. “Canute is in England. If he was the one to come, he would have brought the English fleet, and the men who remained there with him. Most of them would not have been sailing under the Danish flag.”

    “Then… If it was not King Canute… who was it?”

    “I’m not sure. Maybe Harald will have some ideas when he wakes. If he wakes.”

.*.*.*.*.*.

It was Brigid’s idea to head for Kelda’s little village at the foot of the mountains. She left Leif, Harald, and a very tired and hungry Sveinn in the forest with the horses and waited for dusk to enter the village. In the falling light, she crept from house to house peeping in windows and listening at doors for any sign of her friend. Fortunately, it was a small village, and she was lucky enough to run into Kelda herself carrying a bucket of water. Kelda cried out and dropped the bucket, running forward to embrace Brigid. Brigid found herself sobbing into the other woman’s shoulder as she hugged her back, standing in the grey darkness and biting cold of the unfamiliar village.

    Kelda released her and stepped back, holding her by the shoulders to look her over. “You’re covered in blood!” she gasped. “Are you hurt?”

    Brigid shook her head. “Harald. He and Leif and Sveinn are back in the forest, but Harald is hurt badly. We needed somewhere to hide for the night, and I couldn’t think of anywhere else…”

    Kelda pulled her close for another hug. “Bring them to the barn. I’ll meet you there.” She pointed out the barn in question and grabbed her bucket, hurrying back to the well while Brigid turned and ran back to where she had left the others in the forest. 

Sveinn was crying in Leif’s arms when she returned, the warrior struggling to placate him and also keep Harald from falling off the destrier at the same time. Brigid took the baby and the reins to Leif’s horse, letting him mount up behind Harald to keep hold of the now fully unconscious prince. They had decided to leave Harald on the horse until they knew where they would be making camp for the night, not wanting to deal with the struggle of getting him down and then back up again if they had to move. Brigid stayed on foot, leading Leif’s horse towards Kelda’s barn, while the destrier trailed behind, struggling slightly under the weight of both Leif and Harald after the day’s travel, clearly just as exhausted as any of the humans.

    Kelda met them in the barn with a bucket of water and an armful of blankets. Her husband helped Leif get Harald off the horse and onto a makeshift bed of hay and blankets. Kelda took Sveinn and started feeding him some broth while Brigid and Leif got Harald’s tunic off and washed and rebound his wound with a poultice of strong herbs that Kelda had brought. By the time they were done, Sveinn was asleep in Kelda’s lap. She passed the baby back to Brigid and promised to return with food for the rest of them. When she returned, it was not only with food—and broth for Harald—but with clean clothes for all of them.

    “The shirts won’t fit but they’ll be better than nothing,” Kelda said, passing a bundle of clothes to Leif, who nodded gratefully. He took the bucket of water and a rag and disappeared into an empty stall, leaving Kelda and Brigid with the sleeping Sveinn and Harald.

    “Thank you, Kelda,” said Brigid, unlacing the bodice of her overdress so that she could pull it off. Her underdress—and likely her chemise as well—was also stained with blood, but not nearly as badly, so she left it on, not having enough energy to fully strip and change.

    “You should stay here,” said Kelda, sitting down in the hay next to Brigid. “Prince Harald can’t travel in his condition, and taking him and the baby into the mountains with the winter snows coming is as good as a death sentence for both of them.”

    Brigid shook her head. “We can’t stay. Harald’s brother Olaf betrayed Kåre to take Kattegat from him, and Harald betrayed Olaf to try and save the city. If Olaf won the city, he will be unstoppable. He wants to be king of Norway. He’ll work on taking the rest of the country, and Harald is a threat to him; even if he hadn’t chosen Kattegat over his brother, Olaf would probably want him dead. Any of us staying here puts you in danger, but Harald most of all. We have to keep moving. Anyways, Freydis promised to meet us in Uppsala.”

    Kelda looked like she wanted to protest, but refrained. “I’ll bring you some supplies. If you want to leave without being seen, you’ll have to go before dawn.”

    Brigid nodded. “Thank you.”

    Kelda wrapped an arm around Brigid’s shoulders and hugged her, then stood and slipped out of the barn. Once the door was shut behind her, Leif emerged, dressed in a patched and worn pair of pants and an oversized shirt. He had scrubbed the blood from his skin, but some of it was still stained pink, and his hair was dripping wet from washing the blood from it.

    Silently, he knelt in front of Brigid and took her hands in his, leaning forward to rest his forehead against hers. In the low light from a torch Kelda and her husband had brought, the barn was nearly silent, only the soft sounds of the horses, and the occasional noise from Kelda and her husband’s farm animals, or a tiny snore from Sveinn breaking the quiet. Brigid could hear her own heartbeat, and could feel Leif’s pulse where his fingertips pressed into her wrist. His breath was warm against her cheek, even as the water dripping from his hair traced cold paths across down her face and neck.

    Still without speaking, Leif released her hands and began to unlace her underdress. When he was done, he leaned back, taking her by the wrists to pull her to her feet. He lifted the underdress up and over her head and tossed it aside, followed by her chemise. He checked her quickly for wounds, determined that all of the blood on her really had been from Harald, and helped her pull on a tunic that Kelda had brought her before letting her sit back down on the blanket in the hay. He knelt in front of her again, taking one hand at a time to scrub Harald’s blood from her fingers and arms, then took the time to clean her face and neck as well before finally setting the bucket aside. He rested a hand on the side of her neck, running his thumb over her lips to the edge of her jaw, and leaned forward to kiss her forehead, the tip of her nose, her cheek, and her lips, finally settling to rest his forehead against hers again.

    Brigid reached out to wrap her arms around Leif’s shoulders, letting out a sigh of relief. The moisture from his hair was cold as it soaked into the sleeves of her tunic, but she ignored it. “Are you alright?” she asked finally.

    Leif nodded. “You are alive, and that means that I am alright. If anything had happened to you… To any of you,” he glanced over his shoulder at Harald, “I would not be alright.”

    Brigid smoothed his hair back away from his face and hooked a finger under his chin to force him to look her in the eyes. “We are fine. And Harald will be fine, too. Once he is stronger, we will find Freydis in Uppsala.”

    Leif kissed her forehead again and pulled away, moving to settle beside her on the makeshift bed. “Travelling will be difficult with Harald and Sveinn. It will be slow. Freydis will have to be patient, and that is not her strong suit.”

    Brigid smiled, slipping her arm around his waist and resting her head on his shoulder. “I’m sure she’ll wait for us.”

    “In the morning, we’ll head for the mountains. There will be caves we can shelter in. In a few days, once Harald has started to regain his strength, we will set out for Uppsala. If we don’t go too high in the mountains, there should be game to hunt and food to gather. We can manage on that.”

    Brigid nodded in agreement. She stifled a yawn, snuggling closer to Leif. He squeezed her shoulder. “Get some sleep. We have to leave in a few hours.”

    “Make sure you rest, too,” she said, letting go of him to lie back in the hay. 

Leif smiled down at her and brushed her hair back from her face, tucking it behind her ear. “I want to check on Harald, and then I will sleep,” he promised, bending down to kiss her temple as he pulled a blanket up around her. He stood and crossed to where Harald was lying, bundled in blankets. The prince was shivering slightly, even under three thick blankets, and sweat beaded on his face. Leif rested his hand on Harald’s forehead and found it hot to the touch. He frowned and moved the blankets aside to check the wound; thankfully, it had stopped bleeding, and wasn’t festering—yet—but Leif knew that infection could set in even without the flesh rotting. They would have to keep a close eye on Harald in the coming days. He packed the blankets back around Harald and made his way back towards Brigid, pausing to check on Sveinn, bundled up in an empty crate serving as a cradle, as he passed. The baby was sound asleep, half of his fist in his mouth and drool running down his cheek. Leif smiled to himself and used his sleeve to wipe the spit off the baby’s face. Satisfied that the others were both fine for the night, he rejoined Brigid, lying down next to her and pulling her close. She had fallen asleep already, and didn’t wake even when he pulled her into him. He rested his chin on the top of her head and kept his eyes trained on the door until they drifted closed of their own accord.

.*.*.*.*.*.

The next morning—really only a few hours later—Brigid woke to Leif shaking her gently by the shoulder. “Get dressed. We have to go.”

    She scrambled to her feet and tugged on a pair of breeches that Kelda had brought the night before, along with her blood-stained underdress, and an underdress and heavy overdress from Kelda. The last was too long, so she took a moment to tuck the skirt up into the waistband in the front, gathering it up so that she wouldn’t trip on it. In the time it took her to get dressed, Leif had managed to get a clean shirt and vest onto Harald, and Brigid helped him put a coat on the still-unconscious prince. “We need to keep him warm,” said Leif. “He had a fever last night. It is less now, but he is still warm to the touch. You ride with him again; if the fever spikes again, we will have to stop.”

    Brigid nodded and helped Leif lay Harald back in the hay. While he went to saddle the horses, she fetched Sveinn from his makeshift bed. The baby was happy and bubbly, chattering happily at her when she picked him up. She smiled and kissed him on the cheek before laying him down on the floor to change his soiled wraps. They were just getting ready to mount the horses when the door opened just enough for Kelda to slip into the barn, carrying two bags and three waterskins.

    “This is all the food we could spare,” she said, passing the bags to Leif so he could strap them to his horse’s saddle. “These two”—she handed him two of the waterskins—“have water, and the third has milk from the goat, for the child. It will get him through today, at least. Take the blankets with you, too. You’ll need them.”

    “Are you sure?” Brigid asked, joining Kelda and Leif by the horses.

    “I am,” Kelda smiled. “We have plenty of others in the house. You will need them more than we do.”

    Brigid passed Sveinn to Leif and wrapped her arms around Kelda in a tight hug. “There are not enough words to thank you for your kindness, my friend. I vow that I will repay you for it someday.”

    Kelda hugged her back and kissed her on the temple. “All the repayment I need is for you to survive.” She smiled, reaching out to rub Sveinn’s head, then rested a hand on Leif’s cheek. “All of you.”

    “Thanks to your help, we will,” said Brigid.

    “There are herbs in the bags for your friend, too,” Kelda said as she pulled away, glancing at where Harald lay in the hay. “When you leave the village, head north for a day, then turn to the northeast to climb into the mountains. By nightfall on the second day, even with him and the baby slowing you down, you should reach a small cave, hidden in the mountainside and surrounded by white stones. My father used to shelter there when he was hunting. I have spent the night there on my way to Uppsala as a child. It is small, but it is out of the way, and near a stream for fresh water. When you leave, head east, and you should be able to get through the mountain pass, so long as the snows have not come too heavily and too early.”

    Leif nodded. “Thank you.”

    Kelda gave Brigid another hug, then slipped back out of the barn. Brigid rolled up four of the blankets and helped Leif strap them to the horses. Once all of the supplies were stowed away, they wrangled Harald up onto the destrier, and Leif helped Brigid up in front of him, then passed her a blanket to wrap around them both. He got Sveinn settled into the sling on his chest, and led his horse to the door, Brigid guiding the destrier behind him.

    Out in the grey light, Leif mounted his horse, wrapping the last blanket around himself and Sveinn, and led the way towards the foot of the mountains, heading northward. As they crested a small hill near the village, Brigid took one final glance behind them. She took in the little village, and clouds of smoke mingling with the sea fog in the direction of Kattegat, and then turned the destrier to follow Leif into the mountains.

Chapter Text

True to Kelda’s word, by the end of the second day, they reached the little cave surrounded by white stones. Harald had yet to fully wake up; he had moments of semi-lucidity during the ride, but was never truly well enough to speak or converse. His fever climbed throughout the first day, and peaked on the second afternoon, but, by that point, they were so close to Kelda’s cave that they didn’t want to stop and make camp, deciding that getting to shelter would be better for Harald in the long run. In the cave, they made a bed with some of the blankets and settled Harald into it. Leif set about changing the bandages again, while Brigid fed Sveinn the last of the goat’s milk and settled him into a nest made from the other blankets.

    “I’m going to find the stream Kelda spoke of and gather some firewood,” said Leif. “Make sure you eat something, and keep an eye on them. I’ll be back soon.”

    Brigid nodded and set to unpacking the horses, gathering the supplies in the back of the small cave to protect them from wild animals and rain. She unsaddled the horses and tied them off to the branches of a nearby tree with some of the rope they had used to tie the supplies to the saddles, leaving long enough leads to give them room to graze on the sparse grasses around the cave. While she did this, she munched on some stale bread and hard cheese that Kelda had packed them, and, by the time she was finished, Leif was back with full waterskins and an armful of kindling. He built a small fire right in the entrance of the cave, just far enough inside to shield the light and keep in most of the warmth, but where most of the smoke would blow out of the cave instead of getting trapped inside. He took the empty skin that had been filled with milk to the stream and washed it out, returning with it filled with water. Brigid added herbs to it, crushed as finely as possible with a pair of rocks, and strung it up over the fire to heat the water and make a tea for Harald to drink.

    “I should try to hunt some game,” said Leif. “There are fish in the river too; we can eat those, although they’re few and not very big.”

    “Not tonight,” said Brigid. “It is late, and we are both exhausted. We can eat some of the provisions from Kelda tonight, and you can set traps tomorrow.” She took another of the waterskins and ripped apart some dried meat to drop inside, then hung it over the fire with the other one. “Broth, for Harald and Sveinn. It won’t be very good, or very strong, but it’s better than nothing, and when you catch or hunt something else, we can figure out how to make something better.”

    They sat quietly by the fire, watching the sky grow dark outside the cave. Once the waterskins over the fire began to steam, Brigid took them down. She let the tea cool, and then wrapped a piece of clean cloth over the mouthpiece. Harald was shivering, even under his three blankets, although sweat beaded along his forehead. His jaw was clenched shut, and Leif had to pry it open for Brigid to hold the waterskin over and let the tea drip onto Harald’s tongue. After a few moments, she would stop until he swallowed, and then start again. It was a long and tedious process, but they managed to get nearly a quarter of the tea down his throat. By the time that was done, night had long since fallen. Sveinn was sound asleep in his little nest, and the fire had almost burned out. Leif put out the embers and kicked them out of the cave, then brought the horses inside out of the cold, tying their leads to some of the protruding white rocks nearest the cave’s mouth. 

With the horses blocking most of the entry, the sun long gone, and the moon not yet risen, it was nearly pitch black in the cave. Brigid picked up Sveinn and felt her way to Harald’s side, taking his clammy hand in hers. Leif joined them a moment later.

    “He’s still shivering,” Brigid murmured, fumbling to rest her hand on Harald’s forehead. “And his fever is still high.”

    “Do you have Sveinn?” Leif asked.

    “Yes.”

    “It will be very cold tonight. Colder than anything you’ve ever felt; we are up high, the moon is new, and the stone is cold; even with two blankets between it and us it will steal the heat from our bodies. We have to stay warm, and keep Harald and Sveinn warm too. Lie down next to Harald, and give me the baby.”

    Brigid handed Sveinn over and tucked herself against Harald, careful not to bump his wound. She heard Leif shuffling around on Harald’s other side, and then the blankets were pulled up and around her, the one that Sveinn had been nestled in added to the three that had covered Harald.

    Harald was still shivering hard enough to make his teeth chatter, and mumbling deliriously in his sleep. Brigid reached across his chest, wrapping her arm around him for a little bit of added warmth. She rested her chin on his shoulder, resting her forehead against the side of his head, just behind his ear, and closed her eyes, trying to ignore the chill of the cold stone under her shoulder and hip. Leif’s hand found hers on Harald’s shoulder and he wrapped his fingers around hers, squeezing them in reassurance. Despite the discomfort, she soon fell into a fitful sleep, filled with dreams of soft beds and warm fires.

.*.*.*.*.*.

Leif woke as the first light of dawn began to creep into the grey sky, shivering with cold. He had used most of the blankets to cover the others, leaving his back partially exposed to the cold air. Between him and Harald, he felt something move. He fished Sveinn out from under the blankets and sat up, holding the baby close. Sveinn gurgled and reached up to grab Leif’s beard, tugging hard on it. Leif winced and pried the tiny, surprisingly strong fingers away. He tucked the blankets back around Harald and stood up, feeling his way towards the entrance of the cave. He squeezed past the horses and coaxed them outside, tying them to the tree like Brigid had the evening before. With that done, and the sun starting to rise, he returned to the cave and fetched Brigid’s shawl to sling Sveinn across his chest, then set to work building a fire. The flames were just starting to eat at the kindling when Sveinn started to fuss, whining and kicking his little legs.

    “I know, I know,” Leif sighed. “I’m working on it.”

    As soon as the fire was going, Leif hung the waterskins of tea and broth over it to warm them again. Sveinn continued to fuss, growing more and more vocal. While he waited for the broth to heat up, Leif fetched one of the saddle blankets from where Brigid had set it the night before and wrapped it around his shoulders. He sat in the mouth of the cave, watching the fire flicker and humming to Sveinn, bouncing the baby in his arms. As soon as the broth came out warm when he dripped it on his wrist, Leif covered the mouth of the skin with a scrap of cloth and held it carefully to the baby’s mouth, letting Sveinn suck the broth out of the soaked cloth. When the baby pushed his hand away, he capped the waterskin and set it aside, resting Sveinn against his shoulder to burp him. Once that was done, he set Sveinn on his lap and sighed, looking down at the child, who returned his gaze with a happy smile.

    “What are we going to do now, Sveinn?” Leif sighed, letting Sveinn grab onto his finger and stick it in his mouth, his two little teeth surprisingly sharp as he gnawed on Leif’s knuckle. Leif arched an eyebrow. “I’m not sure that’s much of a solution.”

    By the time the sun had fully risen above the horizon, Brigid was awake as well. She pulled away from Harald, tucking the blankets back around him. “I think the fever has broken,” she said. “He is still a little warm, but hardly more than normal now.”

    Leif nodded. Brigid pulled some of the bread and cheese from the bags at the back of the cave and joined Leif and Sveinn by the fire, handing some of the food to Leif. They ate in silence, watching the sky change colors as the sun rose, and the horses roaming the rocky hillside outside the cave. When she finished eating, Brigid took Sveinn from Leif and sniffed, wrinkling up her nose. While Leif ate, she changed the baby’s wraps and cleaned him up before handing him back over. “I’m going to wash these. When I come back, I want to make Harald drink more of the tea.”

    Leif nodded and watched her head off towards the stream, vanishing into the trees. It wasn’t long before she was back. She draped Sveinn’s wraps over some of the rocks outside and re-entered the cave, taking the skin full of tea from over the fire, then kneeling beside Harald at the back of the cave to drip the tea into his mouth again. Fortunately, his jaw was not clenched like the night before, so she was able to do it herself. She checked the bandages before returning to Leif at the mouth of the cave. “He still does not wake.”

    “Is the wound festering?”

    Brigid shook her head. “It looks surprisingly clean. I think it is good enough to sew shut now.”

    Leif nodded. “I’ll do that. Now that the fever has broken, I think he will be alright. Or, at least, I hope. We should keep giving him tea and herbs, as well as broth and water when we can. After I sew the wound, I will go and set some traps. Hopefully I can catch something before tonight, so we can cook it and have something real to eat, and a way to make better broth for the two of them.”

    Brigid nodded in agreement. “I’ll see what I can forage nearby. If I can find roots, we can roast them to add to the meat. So long as they’re soft enough, I can even mash them to feed to Sveinn.”

    Leif handed the baby to her and got up to change Harald’s bandages and sew the wound.

    “I should wash those,” Brigid said, picking up the bandages.

    “They would need to be boiled to use them again. Burn anything with blood on it, but if there is no blood, you can wash them and lay them out to dry.”

    Brigid nodded. She tied the sling over her chest and settled Sveinn into it, then headed for the stream again. By the time she was back, Leif was sitting on a large rock outside the cave, sharpening his knife. “Don’t go far,” he said. “Not out of sight of the cave. We can’t afford to get lost.”

    Brigid smirked slightly. “Aren’t you about to wander off to go hunting?”

    Leif rolled his eyes and smiled wryly. “That’s different.”

    “Sure it is,” Brigid laughed, bending down to kiss him on the cheek. “Be careful.”

    Leif nodded. “Keep an eye on Harald, and the horses.” He stood, sliding the knife into its sheath. “I will not be far. If you shout, I will come back.”

    Brigid watched him disappear into the woods and sighed, her breath coming out in a puff of steam in the frosty morning air. She glanced back at Harald, still asleep at the back of the cave, and got to work exploring the nearby area, seeing what she could find to forage.

.*.*.*.*.*.

Leif returned by midday carrying a pair of rabbits. They were small and stringy, but made a decent meal for the two of them. Brigid refilled the broth skin with water and added some of the rabbits’ bones to it, as well as some of the cooked meat, to supplement. She had found some edible roots and plants in the nearby forest and let the fire die down to roast them in the embers. Once they were black on the outside and soft on the inside, she wrapped them loosely in cloth and mashed them between two heavy rocks. She used Leif’s knife to scrape the burned layer off of the skins, and added what she was able to salvage to the broth. She and Leif ate the mashed vegetables on the last of Kelda’s bread for supper, and fed some to Sveinn, letting him suck the mash off of their fingers. They made sure to force Harald to drink water throughout the day, and gave him tea and broth at night.

    Leif spent the afternoon creating a screen to cover the mouth of the cave and camouflage it once they were all inside at night. He used reeds from the edge of the stream to lash branches together, and covered them with vines pulled from the sides of the cliff. He drove stakes into the ground at the corners of the cave’s mouth to tie the horses to at night, so they would be less obvious to prying eyes.

    They took some time during the day, while Sveinn was napping, to move Harald and lay the heavy saddle blankets down under the flat section of the cave floor they had designated for sleeping. The other two blankets were laid back over the saddle blankets, for better insulation against the cold stone, and they tucked two of the remaining blankets back around Harald.

    At night, they spread the other two blankets over the others, overlapping all four so that they covered a wide enough area for all of them to sleep under, but still all covered Harald, who still had a low fever and occasionally shivered and murmured in his sleep. Brigid took some time to wash his face and neck, wiping away the sheen of sweat from his skin, and cleaning the last of the blood from the battle from his beard and hair.

    When the fire burned to the lowest of embers, and hardly gave off any light, Leif brought the horses back inside and tied them to the stakes, then stamped out the fire and pulled the screen over the mouth of the cave. He felt his way along the wall and joined the others on the makeshift bed. Once again, Brigid laid down against Harald’s injured side and wrapped her arm around his shoulders, resting her head on his shoulder, while Leif nested Sveinn between his underarm and chest and Harald’s arm, using the folded shawl as a pillow for the baby. He wrapped his hand around Brigid’s and squeezed it firmly once he and Sveinn were settled. She squeezed his in return, and they settled in for another cold night.

.*.*.*.*.*.

When Harald opened his eyes, he thought at first that he was either blind or dead and in hell. But then, he thought, if he was in hell, he would be burning. Instead, he was laid on something cold and hard, with warm things over and around him. He stared upwards and tried to force his eyes to focus on something, anything, in the darkness, trying to understand where he was and what was going on. He thought he could hear a horse, maybe even two, somewhere extremely close, whickering in the darkness. He lifted his head a few inches, not having strength to raise it any higher, and looked around from this slightly new perspective. He thought he saw the faintest glimmer of light in the distance in front of him, but it was not nearly enough to see by.

    He let his head fall back, wincing slightly as it hit the hard thing he was laying on. The longer he was awake, the more he felt. There was a sharp and burning pain in his side, and he vaguely remembered the axe that had struck him there. Something was digging into his shoulder—not something sharp, per se, but something… bony? He couldn’t move his hand to feel for it; his arm was bent at the elbow, his hand resting on his stomach above the wound in his side, and whatever was laying beside him was trapping it there. There was even something stretching across his chest and over his other shoulder, and he could feel something else warm on that side as well.

    It wasn’t until the thing on his right let out a deep sigh, their breath ghosting across his chin, and their chest pressing into his arm as they inhaled, that he realized that it was, in fact, a person. Once he realized that, many of the other pieces clicked into place; the thing digging into his shoulder was a chin, and an arm was wrapped across his chest, trapping his own arm in place. On the other side was another body. He could feel a hand next to the one resting on his shoulder, another hand resting on his left arm, and a knee against his thigh. He even thought that he could feel the toe of a boot resting just against his ankle. Without light, he couldn’t see who was lying with him, but, based on what he could feel about the size of them, he guessed—and hoped—that it was most likely Brigid on his right, and either Leif or Freydis on the left. He had a vague memory of Brigid finding him in the street after being injured, but nothing after that. Hopefully these were his friends, although their surroundings were so strange he couldn’t imagine where they might be. He hoped it wasn’t a dungeon.

    More and more light began to appear at the far end of this strange place, tinted oddly green. Harald squinted towards it, trying to figure out what he was seeing. There was definitely a pair of horses between them and the light—he could see the silhouettes of their shoulders as the brightness spread—which most likely ruled out a dungeon, as did the frigid air nipping at his exposed face. Dungeons were not pleasant, but the few he had been in throughout his life were at least slightly warmer than this.

    Something squirmed on his left, and a tiny foot kicked his arm. He smiled to himself. Sveinn . There was a murmur, and then the full-sized person there stirred, their hands moving away from Harald’s shoulder and arm.

    “Alright, alright.”

    Leif’s voice . Harald let out a sigh when he heard it, even as Leif pulled away, taking Sveinn with him. Harald watched Leif’s shadowy form as it headed for the light. He pushed something aside, and light streamed in, revealing their surroundings in brilliant clarity—they were in a cave of some kind. Leif led the horses outside and vanished briefly, then returned and crouched down out of Harald’s limited line of vision near the mouth of the cave. A few minutes later, Harald heard the crackling sounds of a fire, joined by Sveinn’s fussing. “Are you always this cranky in the morning?” Leif murmured, and Harald smiled to himself. 

He raised his head, just able to see Leif and Sveinn at the mouth of the cave when he did, and swallowed, trying to wet his throat enough to speak. “Leif.” Harald’s voice was raspy and weak, but split the silence of the cave like a knife.

    In an instant, Leif was back at Harald’s side, Sveinn cradled in one arm as he reached out with his other hand to cup Harald’s face, then brushed the back of his fingers across his forehead. Harald let his head fall back again, offering a weak smile up at his friend. “So. We’re alive.”

Chapter Text

Leif set the horses’ saddles behind Harald for him to lean on and helped him sit up. Brigid brought him the waterskin full of tea and held it to his lips to drink awkwardly through the screen of cloth. Once he was done, Leif handed him a chunk of cold meat, some sort of paste smeared across it. Harald didn’t know what it was, and he was too hungry to care. Leif was eating the same thing, while Brigid held another waterskin for Sveinn to drink out of.

    When Leif finished his breakfast, he stood. “I’m going to check the traps. I’ll be back.”

    Brigid nodded. She watched him leave the cave before turning back to Harald. “How do you feel?”

    “Like I’ve been run over by a wagon,” Harald groaned. “And I’m hungry.”

    Brigid laughed and passed him the waterskin. “Here. You shouldn’t eat too much; it might upset your stomach. That’s broth. It should sit a little bit better. Keep the cloth over the mouth; there are bones in there.”

    Harald took a sip of the broth and made a face. Brigid chuckled. “Sveinn isn’t too happy about drinking it, either, but it’s all we have.”

    “How can it be burned?”

    “I used some of the skins from the roots I roasted yesterday. I thought I had gotten all of the burned parts off.”

    Harald didn’t say anything else. He felt foolish, sucking the rapidly cooling broth through the cloth over the mouth of the waterskin like an infant, but he was too hungry to really care.

    “You can finish it,” said Brigid. “I need to wash it out today, anyways.”

    Harald passed the empty skin back to Brigid, who set it aside. She glanced out the mouth of the cave, then back at Harald. “Will you be alright if I go to the stream for a little while? I need to wash the skin and Sveinn’s wraps and get fresh water.”

    Harald nodded. “I can manage.”

    “It’s not far,” said Brigid. “If you need anything, call, and I will be back in just a few minutes.” She looked down at the baby in her arms. “Can I leave Sveinn with you?”

    Harald nodded again and reached eagerly for the child. Brigid smiled softly as she placed Sveinn in his arms. “I won’t be long.”

    Once she was gone, Harald let his head fall back against the saddles behind him. It was not comfortable, sitting like this, especially with the added weight of the child on his chest, small as Sveinn was. The burning of the wound in his side made it even worse; there was no way he could sit or lay to ease the pain. Trying to get comfortable (without jostling Sveinn so much that he woke up) occupied Harald enough that the fifteen minutes that passed before Brigid returned passed quickly. Once she had laid the wet wraps in the sun to dry, she rejoined them in the cave and took Sveinn from Harald, settling the baby in the sling on her chest.

    Before long, Harald dozed off again, and woke to the sound of Leif’s voice. He raised his head and saw the others sitting near the mouth of the cave. Leif was skinning a fox, and Brigid was feeding something to Sveinn, who definitely didn’t want to eat whatever it was. When Leif noticed Harald moving, he set aside his work and came to the back of the cave. “Welcome back,” he smiled, resting a hand on Harald’s shoulder. “How do you feel?”

    “Hungry,” Harald said. “Sore. Tired. And like I really need to piss.”

    “Can’t be too bad, complaining like that,” Brigid teased.

Leif laughed. “Do you think you can walk?”

    Harald shifted his legs slightly. “Maybe.”

    Leif pulled Harald’s arm around his shoulders. Brigid joined them at the back of the cave, tucking Sveinn into his sling, and took Harald’s other arm, careful to avoid the wound in his side. It took all three of them, but together they got Harald up and on his feet, and even out of the cave. The further they went, the stronger Harald felt, and Brigid released him a few steps out of the cave, leaving Leif to haul him into the trees. Once Harald had done his business, Leif returned and helped him back to the cave. Brigid was sitting on the ground just outside of it in the sunshine, Sveinn next to her on the ground while she peeled roots and a handful of sad little vegetables. Leif sat Harald on a large, flat rock, and settled on the ground nearby, picking up Sveinn and setting him between his legs. He took off his bracelet and let the baby play with it, watching Brigid work.

    After a few minutes, Harald spoke: “How long has it been?”

    “Three days,” said Leif.

    “And where are we?”

    “In the mountains to the northeast. A friend of Brigid’s helped us—she gave us provisions and blankets, and told us where to find this cave. It took two days to get here, and this is the second day since we arrived.”

    Harald nodded. “What happened in Kattegat?”

    Leif and Brigid exchanged glances. “What do you remember?” Brigid asked finally.

    “I remember Kåre attacking. He knew that I had betrayed him, and I think he was going to kill me after the battle. His men had me, but Olaf came and rescued me. The boats were a trap; he used me to split Kattegat’s forces. He knew I wouldn’t abandon you and Freydis. I left him outside the city and tried to stop Kåre, but one of his men struck me with his axe. I remember the battle continuing, but not much else after.” He nodded to Brigid. “I remember you appearing out of nowhere, trying to stop the bleeding and drag me to safety. I told you to leave me. I’m glad you didn’t.”

    Brigid smiled and nodded to him. “I hid you in a barn and went to find Leif. He found horses, and we got out of the city. We went to a village at the foot of the mountains, which is where Kelda gave us provisions and told us how to get here.”

    “Where is Freydis?”

    “She promised to meet us in Uppsala.”

    “Then we should start heading there.”

    Leif snorted. “You wouldn’t make it a day. We will wait a few days, until you are stronger. Freydis will wait for us there.”

    Harald scowled, but he knew his friend was right. He wouldn’t be able to stay on horseback, and trying to force himself to travel before he was strong enough would only make things worse in the long run. He groaned and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees and his face in his hands. This was a lot to take in.

    “There’s one more thing,” said Brigid.

    More? Harald raised his head and looked at the others.

    “When we were riding away from Kattegat, we saw ships approaching,” said Leif. “They had blue striped sails, and they were flying the flag of Denmark.”

    “But Canute is in England, with a fleet of Englishmen and a handful of Viking warriors that stayed behind with him. Had he somehow come to our aid, it would not have been with the Danish fleet.”

    “That is what I thought,” said Leif.

    “It must have been his father,” Harald mused. “Sweyn Forkbeard, king of Denmark.”

    “I thought Canute was king of Denmark,” said Leif.

    Harald groaned. He wasn’t sure he was in the mood to explain the complicated relationship between Denmark, Norway, and their kings. “Sweyn is technically king, yes, but he has left ruling Denmark, Norway, and his other territories to Canute, his other son, Harald, and vassals like my father and Olaf for a while. He wants to conquer, not to rule, and he doesn’t mind these others using the name ‘king’ for themselves, so long as they acknowledge him as the true ruler of whatever territory they’re claiming as their own. When people call Canute ‘king’, he doesn’t correct them, but technically he is only king of England, at least for now. Even when Forkbeard dies, though, Canute won’t be king of Denmark—unless his older brother Harald dies first.”

    Both Leif and Brigid squinted at Harald, neither seeming to understand quite what he was talking about, but no-one wanted to press the issue.

    “If Forkbeard took Kattegat from Olaf, then it has been reclaimed for Canute,” said Harald after a moment.

    “Does that mean it would be safe to return there?” asked Brigid.

    “Maybe,” said Harald. “I’ve never trusted Forkbeard; I’d feel better about going back to Kattegat with Canute himself there. It may be better to let Olaf and Forkbeard fight it out, and wait out their war somewhere safe, or try to find reinforcements to fight Olaf.”

    “Where would be safe?” Leif asked.

    Harald shrugged. “Anywhere but here, really. Sweden, England, Iceland. England might be a good bet; we could get to Canute, and he could come back here with his army and make sure Olaf isn’t victorious.”

    “And then make you his new king?” Leif teased.

    Harald grinned and shrugged again. “Doesn’t sound so bad to me.” He straightened up slowly, easing himself into a new posture, as his sore body and aching wound protested any movement. “Or we could lay low in Sweden. That’s probably a safer option, to be honest. But… If Olaf defeats Forkbeard, or even if he is able to gather enough forces to raid the country and manage to hold Forkbeard, he will continue his forced conversions. He could obliterate the people of Norway.”

    “So what is safer for us could be far worse for others,” said Brigid.

    “Even worse, if Olaf were to somehow defeat Forkbeard, or drive him out of Norway, and could gather more strength under his banners, he could begin attacking Sweden, and the other countries around here. While raids may be a part of life for Vikings, raids in the name of God, with the only purpose to either convert or kill anyone they encounter, would do nothing but devastate our people.”

    “‘Our’?” Leif repeated.

    “ Viking people,” said Harald. “If Olaf takes Norway, he will take Sweden next, and, from there, he will strike out against others. Denmark, Iceland—maybe even Greenland. All Vikings would be at risk.”

    “Let’s start by getting to Uppsala and finding Freydis,” said Brigid. “That is the first step. We can decide what to do next from there.”

Chapter Text

When Kåre’s head fell to the floor, Freydis felt a wave of something wash over her—a combination of relief, pride, and emptiness. She had avenged Uppsala, and she was proud of that, and relieved to have survived, but… now what would she do? She staggered backwards and fell to her knees, staring mutely at Kåre’s corpse. With him and Jarl Haakon both dead, what did she have left to fight for? A glimpse of Brigid’s frightened face before she had run out of the hall with Tove and Sveinn flashed before her eyes, and she heard herself promising to meet the others in Uppsala. She set her mouth in a grim line and hauled herself to her feet, turning towards the hall door and steeling herself for the battle outside.

    Fortunately, the battle hadn’t quite reached the hall yet, so she was able to get out into the street and start heading for the gate with little trouble. The few who were foolish enough to try to attack her met swift deaths at her sword, and she left a trail of bodies in her wake as Kåre’s men died at her hands just as their leader had. The majority of the actual fighting was at neither the hall nor the gate, but in the city between both points, where Kåre’s men had met Leif’s coming from the harbor. Bodies lined the streets, and blood turned the packed earth to mud. Freydis picked her way through corpses, over broken shields and discarded weapons, dodging the blades and axes of those still fighting around her. At one point, halfway to the gate, she heard screams from a small hut just off the road, with its door hanging off one hinge. She burst into the house to find a pair of large men struggling with a woman whose dress had been ripped open. Without a pause, Freydis severed the first man’s head from his shoulders. As the other stared at her in shock, she drove her sword through his throat. The woman, now covered in blood, was still screaming and sobbing as she fell to her knees in front of Freydis.

    Freydis looked around and snatched a shirt from a hook on the wall, tossing it to the woman. A bit of rummaging produced a sleeveless overdress, and she tossed that towards her as well. “Change. I will get you out of the city.”

    It wasn’t until the woman had changed and turned to face Freydis again that she recognized her through the blood smeared across her face. “Tove?” Freydis crossed the small room in a single stride and grabbed the thrall by the shoulders, giving her a hard shake. “Where is Brigid?”

    Tove started crying again and shook her head. “She left. I wouldn’t go with her.”

    Freydis frowned and glanced out the ajar door of the hut. A fresh wave of warriors was swarming down the street. She scowled as she caught a glimpse of Olaf’s colors. “Where did she go?”

    “She wanted to go to the gate. She was looking for Leif and Prince Harald.”

    Freydis nodded. “Once these men are gone, we will make for the gate.”

    Tove shook her head and tried to pull away. “We’ll never make it.”

    Freydis tightened her grip and shook Tove again. “We will. I promise; I will not let you die in Kattegat today.”

    While they waited for the wave to pass, Freydis rummaged through the hut for supplies. She shoved as much food as would fit into a sack, which she handed to Tove, and grabbed the blankets from the bed, wrapping one around each of their shoulders as makeshift cloaks. As the commotion outside began to die down, Freydis took up a position by the door. “As soon as I open this, we run.” She took Tove’s hand and wrapped the other woman’s fingers around her sword belt. “Do not let go of me.”

    Tove nodded.

    A few moments later, the street was as still as it would ever be in the middle of a battle. Freydis yanked the door open, and they were off. She kept her pace slower than she would have liked to, as Tove stumbled along behind her, jerking Freydis’s belt every time she tripped. Freydis kept alert, looking around them for any threats, but everyone else was too concerned with plundering the city to pay attention to the pair. Near the gate, Freydis saw several horses milling about; she thought she recognized one as Harald’s, and grabbed its bridle, snatching another as a horn blow from the harbor startled the creature. Ignoring the new commotion, she hoisted Tove onto one of the horses, and climbed onto the other herself. From this new vantage point, she could see the harbor—and hundreds of ships with blue sails and the flag of Denmark flying from their masts. She shook her head and led the horses out through the gate. Let the Danes deal with Olaf; she had no interest in cleaning up this mess. All she cared about was getting to Uppsala and finding her family.

.*.*.*.*.*.

Freydis did not follow the road when they left the city, instead setting a course due north through the forest. “We will follow the foot of the mountains, and go around them. With winter coming, I do not want to get caught in the passes if snow comes.”

    “Where are we going?” Tove asked.

    “To Uppsala,” said Freydis. “I told Brigid to find Leif and Harald and meet me there.”

    That night, they took shelter under a great oak tree next to a river. The cold was biting, and they wrapped both blankets around their shoulders and huddled together under them for warmth. In the morning, they woke covered in frost, fingers, toes, and noses numb with cold. Freydis built a fire to warm them, and they took time to wash the blood off as best they could in the river before setting off again.

    Two days later, they came to a small village—or what was left of it. Most of the village had been burned to the ground, and the occupants all slain. The gruesome manner in which the bodies were dismembered and displayed indicated that Kåre and his army had been the ones to do so. Freydis left Tove and the horses at the edge of the village and combed through the ruins for anything that might be of use to them. She found more blankets and some furs to keep them warm—although everything smelled of smoke—and they set off once more, despite the fact that dusk was falling. Neither of them wanted to make camp in the village.

    Now that they had left Kattegat behind, Freydis allowed them to travel on the road. There were few other travelers; with Kåre harassing the countryside for the past weeks, Freydis was not surprised by this. At night, they would make camp a few yards from the road, well out of sight of anyone that might be hunting them. On one of these nights, beside a flickering fire and tucked under a makeshift lean-to made of hides salvaged from the burned village, Freydis finally asked the question she had been avoiding the past several days.

    “Why didn’t you go with Brigid when she went for the gate?”

    Tove was quiet, and at first Freydis didn’t think she was going to answer. “I was afraid,” she said finally. “I didn’t want to die.”

    Freydis nodded. “I understand that. I used to be afraid to die, too.”

    “How did you escape your fear?”

    Freydis shrugged, tossing a small stick she had been toying with into the fire. “I didn’t. I will always be afraid to die; everyone is, whether or not they’ll admit that. When I learned to fight, I realized that all I need to be worried about is how I will die. I want to die in battle, fighting for what I know is right, so that I will be welcomed in Valhalla and granted a seat at Odin’s table. I don’t want to die hiding from fate—I don’t want to hide from anything, or anyone, ever.”

    Tove stayed silent for a while, and Freydis didn’t press the issue. When they were lying back to back, huddled under the blankets, the last heat of the embers warming their feet, Tove finally spoke again. “Will you teach me to fight?”

    Freydis smiled and wrapped an arm around Tove’s shoulders. “Of course.”

.*.*.*.*.*.

From that point on, they stopped earlier at night, and would spend an hour training in a combination of hand-to-hand combat, knife work, and swordplay. For lack of training weapons, they used sticks and branches in place of knives and swords, with Freydis cautioning Tove that these were lighter than actual weapons, although they served well enough for training purposes. In the mornings, they would rise and do the same for an hour before breakfast, then set out for the day. It shortened the time they had to travel, but Freydis knew that the lessons were drastically improving Tove’s confidence, and didn’t mind the idea of someone who at least had a general idea of how to act in a fight at her side. It would at least boost their chances of survival if they were attacked.

    Nearly a week after leaving Kattegat, the snow began to fall. It was nearly midday, and they had been riding for a few hours when the flurries started to float through the air around them. Freydis looked up, squinting in the bright light emanating from the soft grey clouds that filled the sky in every direction, the soft white flakes melting as they hit her face and stuck to her eyelashes.

    The nights grew ever colder and longer. They started riding until it was almost too dark to see the road in front of them, and only at that point would they lead the horses off of the path to set up their little camp. They trained in the light of the fire, stumbling over roots and their own feet from time to time. Freydis promised Tove that this would make her first fight in proper light that much easier, only half-joking when she said it.

    Once the snow started, it never fully stopped. Freydis wasn’t sure if this was due to their proximity to the mountains, or if it was just going to be a hard winter, but drifts began to rise on the sides of the road, where snow was kicked out of the way by the handful of travelers making their way along it, and they began stopping a little earlier at night to try and find the driest spot possible, and to clear snow from the campsite. In the mornings, the snow became useful to hide the campsites from anyone who might have been tracking them.

    They passed few villages as they traveled, and even fewer of these villages had been spared from Kåre’s army. In the empty towns, they scavenged whatever they could, gathering the dead into pyres to send them on their way in thanks for the clothes and food they took. In one town, they found a handful of weapons, and Freydis began incorporating them into their training sessions, even dulling some of them so that they wouldn’t accidentally harm each other.

    By the time the snow stopped, they were in Sweden. Freydis knew this when they stopped to camp on the bank of a river and she recognized it as the place where Toki had been killed and she had strangled Kåre’s berserker, beginning this whole mess. She searched as well as she could in the morning, but couldn’t find Toki’s body—although she did manage to find her leather bracelet. She wound it around her wrist, offering up a prayer for Toki.

    When they reached Uppsala, it was almost unrecognizable. The snow had hidden the burned ruins of the temples, and the trees were bare and dead—except for one. Freydis remembered Jarl Haakon telling her that the sacred tree outside of Odin’s temple was green year-round. She and Tove knelt under its boughs and prayed before setting up camp that night, and Freydis felt a peace wash over her that she hadn’t felt since the first time she had come to Uppsala. Something told her that things would work out in their favor, and she couldn’t help but smile. Now, they just had to wait for Harald and Leif.

Chapter Text

The morning after Harald woke up, Leif was once again woken by Svein stirring between himself and Harald. In an attempt to make sure Harald wouldn’t fall ill again, they had slept in the same arrangement as the previous nights—Brigid on Harald’s right, Leif on his left, with Sveinn between the two men. Leif picked Sveinn up, careful not to wake the others, and slipped out of the cave, taking the horses with them. They were running out of grass and shrubs to graze on; they’d have to start taking them further from the cave soon. He was walking back with an armful of firewood when the snow began to fall. He stopped and frowned up at the dark grey sky, then looked down at the baby. “Looks like we don’t have much time left, little one,” he sighed, adjusting Sveinn on his hip. The baby whined in response, waving tiny arms and chubby fists and grabbing for Leif’s beard. “I know. You don’t care about snow. Let’s get you breakfast.”

    By the time Brigid woke up and joined Leif and Sveinn in the mouth of the cave, there was a dusting of snow on the ground. By the time Harald woke, the earth itself was no longer visible. Leif took two of the blankets to cover the horses with when he went to check his traps. When he returned to the cave, Harald and Sveinn were both asleep again, and Brigid was placing fresh wood on the fire. While he had been gone, she had made a small pile of firewood at the back of the cave. “I don’t want to run out of dry wood,” she shrugged. “We need the warmth from the fire.”

    Leif nodded and sat down to skin the rabbits he had snared. He was still working when Harald woke and joined them at the front of the cave, still wrapped in an extra blanket. The prince scowled at the snow, falling heavier now than it had that morning. “We need to leave. This will block the passes, and we don’t have time to go around the mountains.”

    Leif shook his head. “No. Not today. You’re still not strong enough.”

    “We can at least get started,” Harald argued. “We can’t just sit here waiting around. We need to get to Uppsala, and meet Freydis.”

    “I want to find her, too, but if we leave now, it will only be worse for you in the long run,” Leif insisted. “It would be far worse to leave early and have you get sick again, without somewhere safe and sheltered to hole up against bad weather and the cold.”

    Harald’s scowl deepened, but he stopped arguing. As Leif skinned and gutted the rabbits he had caught, he passed pieces of meat to Brigid, who stuck them on skewers around the fire to cook. The last of the vegetables she had found were roasting in the coals at the edge of the flame, and she used a stick to keep them rolling and turning so they wouldn’t burn.

    “We’ll spend another two days collecting food and preparing for the journey,” said Leif. “The hunting is good enough here, and it’s cold enough now to keep the meat from spoiling. Harald, you keep an eye on Sveinn; I’ll go hunting and fishing, and, Brigid, you can keep foraging.”

    “I’ll have to go out further into the forest,” said Brigid. “Out of earshot. I’ve dug up everything edible around here.”

    “I’ll stay as close as I can, in case anything happens,” said Leif. “Being so close to the stream helps; what few animals are around frequent it.”

    Harald seemed decidedly unhappy about being left behind with the baby, but didn’t argue. He knew he would be no help anywhere else, and that, as Leif kept reminding him, pushing himself would only be worse in the long run. So, for the next two days, they settled into a routine. After breaking fast in the morning, Leif and Brigid would melt away into the forest, leaving Harald and Sveinn alone with the horses. By midday, they would be back with whatever they had managed to catch and gather, and after lunch they’d be gone again. Harald would skin and gut Leif’s findings, roasting meat and roots in and over the fire, and making broth with bones and vegetable skins for Sveinn. He cleaned the pelts thoroughly and laid them out to dry on the floor of the cave, stretched and pinned in place with rocks that they gathered; they didn’t have the time or materials to properly tan the hides, but the cold would help preserve them so they could make use of the pelts, even if only temporarily. Leif used the guts and inedible meat to bait his traps, hoping for larger animals like foxes, and spread the rest as far from the cave as he dared go to keep bears and wolves away.

    At night, they continued to sleep in their little huddle. Leif came up with the idea to place rocks heated in the fire under the blankets by their feet and along his and Brigid’s backs for a little extra warmth, as they had to give up two of the blankets for the horses as the temperature dropped even further during the long nights. They wrapped Sveinn in the shawl to sleep in order to keep him warm enough through the night. Harald fashioned some crude needles from small bones, and the three of them used scraps from their old bloodied clothes, the bandages Brigid had managed to scrub at least mostly clean of blood in the stream, and threads unravelled from the edges of these fabrics to fashion a rough shirt for Leif to wear as an extra layer. It didn’t provide much warmth, with seams that gaped between the patchwork pieces, and made of thin cloth as it was, but at least it was something.

    The third morning dawned grim and grey, but Sveinn woke them all with his crying. Harald built a final fire in the mouth of the cave to heat up the skin of broth for the baby while Leif and Brigid saddled the horses. They fastened the bags of provisions to Leif’s saddle and rolled up the dry firewood into two of the blankets to strap behind the saddles. The skins Harald had cleaned were laid over the bundles, fur-side up, to help keep them dry. Once they had eaten—a poor breakfast of cold meat and mashed vegetables, chased down with the last of the lukewarm broth so that they could wash and fill the waterskin—they mounted the horses. Brigid sat behind Harald now, letting him guide the horse, but with her arms firmly around his waist just above his wound in order to keep him from losing his balance, a blanket around each of their shoulders, while Leif took the smaller horse, Sveinn fastened to his chest with a harness made from the last scraps of stained cloth, and the final pair of blankets wrapped around them both.

    They set off, leaving the cave behind, as the sun began to climb the sky above the clouds. The snow had died off slightly, now only flurrying, but had left enough of a coating to dampen the sounds of the world around them. All that was left to hear was the sound of the horses’ hooves crunching the crisp snow, and their own breath as it left their lungs in clouds of frost. They followed the river for a while, even its soft whispering as it flowed over rocks and other detritus dampened by the snow. It wound up the side of the mountain, but they soon had to abandon its path, not wanting to climb too high.They crossed at a naturally wide and shallow section of water, and then set off due east, planning to use the pass that Kelda had recommended, praying that the snow hadn’t blocked it just yet.

    For the first few days, they stopped frequently—every two hours or so—to allow Harald to rest. During these stops, they would forage for more roots. At night, they sheltered at the base of cliffs or under trees, where the snow hadn’t covered the ground as deeply so that it was easier to clear. They used the dry firewood from the cave first, but that went quickly. After that, they gathered what wood they could at night and let it dry near the fire, then bundled it up in the morning for use the next night. Harald tended to fall asleep first, Sveinn nestled in his arm, while Brigid and Leif stayed up later to roast whatever roots they’d been able to gather during the day and mash them to eat later. Leif set snares overnight, often waking to find a rabbit or squirrel caught in them, but they weren’t able to replenish their provisions as quickly as they were eating them.

    Harald was strong enough to ride through most of the day by the time they crossed the mountains, and no longer needed Brigid’s help to stay on the horse, so he and Leif switched mounts. Leif found himself grateful for the warmth of another body against his as the days grew nearly as cold as the nights, the snow falling more heavily now. Still, he spent most of the time shivering, and developed a cough that he couldn’t shake. Brigid made tea with the last of Kelda’s herbs, and forced him to sip it throughout the day, even when it had cooled. It helped a little, but Harald made him take the place in the center of their sleeping huddle to make sure he stayed warm at night. Now, they slept with Brigid pressed against Leif’s side, his arm around her back and hers across his stomach, and she would spread her heavy skirts over as much of him as she could. Sveinn would be nestled between Harald and Leif, tucked in the crook of Harald’s arm. The only time they unwrapped the baby from Brigid’s shawl was when he needed to be changed, and they did their best to do that next to a fire whenever possible.

    It was over a week before the snow finally stopped, and the weather warmed up ever so slightly. The sun came out again, warming them during their long rides and melting at least some of the snow. This, unfortunately, came to be a problem, as it created dangerous slews of mud under the remaining snow that caused the horses to slip and slide. The only solution they could find was for Harald to ride the destrier, as it was stronger than the gelding, with Sveinn, and for Leif and Brigid to lead the horses, moving slowly to try and find the safest path through the slippery mud. They did their fair share of falling, and wound up covered in mud, soaked from the melted snow, and thoroughly bruised from the falls—not to mention horribly cranky. Overnight, the melted snow would refreeze, turning into even more deadly patches of ice, often invisible under the snow. Brigid slipped on one of these and nearly took the horse down with her when she fell, cracking her head on the frozen ground and slicing her cheek open on a rock.

    That night, after Harald and Sveinn were asleep, Leif and Brigid sat by the fire, arms around each other and wrapped in a blanket. Brigid’s cheek stung where it had been cut; Leif had done his best to clean it with a scrap of wet cloth wrapped around snow, but that had mostly just hurt and left the wound raw and aching in the cold. She felt a single tear escape and swiped it away before Leif could see it. Almost as if he knew anyways, he tightened his grip on her, squeezing her even closer to him, and kissed the top of her head before resting his chin on it.

    “Are you warm enough?” he asked abruptly.

    Brigid snorted. “Hardly.” She remembered the last time Leif had asked that question, and a small smile played across her lips, a flash of warmth blooming in her stomach and chest at the memory. She pulled the blanket more tightly around them, even as Leif shuffled around, wrapping his legs around her hips and resting his chin on her shoulder. He kissed her jaw and wrapped his arms around her shoulders.

    “Better?”

    “A little.” Brigid could feel the heat of the fire on her face, and Leif’s body heat against her back, but she could also feel him shivering against her. She pressed herself back into him, trying to share as much of her own warmth as she could, and he seemed to still slightly.

    Brigid rubbed her hands slowly over Leif’s legs, draping her skirts over them where they peeked out from under the blanket. He turned his head away and coughed, then turned back to bury his face against her back, his forehead resting in the crook of her neck. A few moments later, he began to hum. Brigid smiled to herself. It had been so long since she had heard his voice like this, and she listened for a while before finally pulling away. Leif released her reluctantly, and she stood, grabbing his hands and pulling him up to stand with her, before reaching up to wrap her arms around his shoulders and pull him down into a kiss. He rested his hands on her waist and stepped backwards, pulling her with him, until they had faded back in the trees, just far enough for a little privacy and tucked under a huge evergreen tree with boughs so dense that the ground beneath it was dry. Leif had to crouch to keep his hair from getting tangled in the tree’s branches and dropped to his knees, pulling Brigid with him. She wrapped her arms around his chest and leaned in to kiss him.

    When they broke apart, Brigid rested her forehead against his, their breath mingling in the cold air to float away in puffs of steam. She hiked her skirts up, fumbling to unlace her trousers. Leif helped her, and helped her push them down off her hips. She pulled away, squirming around as she struggled to get her pants off under her skirts and over her boots. Leif had to stifle a chuckle as she grew frustrated, finally falling back on her rear as she lost her balance. She finally got them off and tossed the offending garment aside, then rolled back onto her knees in front of him.

Slowly and carefully, Leif laid back, guiding Brigid on top of him so that she was straddling his hips. Fingers trembling between the cold and her nerves, she hiked her skirts up around her hips, shoving the bulk of the material behind her, then set to work on the lacing at the front of her bodice. While she did so, Leif unlaced his trousers, lifting his hips up to push them down. When he was done, he pushed her hands away from her bodice and finished unlacing it himself, then grabbed onto it and pulled her down until their lips met, hard enough to bruise, as he kissed her hungrily. Brigid felt something sharp against her lower lip and tasted blood as it split.

    Leif slipped a hand under Brigid’s bodice and her layers of clothing to take hold of her breast. He massaged it, rubbing his thumb gently over the nipple, and she moaned softly against his mouth. He responded by swiping his thumb over it again, earning another tiny sound.

    Brigid’s hands found their way under Leif’s shirt, roaming his torso. She rocked her hips gently, feeling him growing hard between her legs. She pulled away from the kiss, resting her forehead against his to catch her breath for a moment, then kissed him on his cheek before moving lower, tracing a path down his jawline and neck. She paused to pull his shirt aside so that she could continue moving lower, nipping at his collarbone before moving to press kisses along the scars over his heart.

    Leif reached down and grabbed Brigid’s legs, pulling them in to squeeze around his hips, then wrapped his arms around her back, pulling her body firmly against his. A moment later, he had rolled them both over, so that Brigid found herself suddenly on her back on the hard ground, staring up at the bright stars peeping through the tree canopy above them. Leif’s hands explored her body, working their way down from her open bodice to under her skirts, where they roamed her bare thighs. He found the heat and wetness between her open legs, and she bit back a moan as his calloused fingers probed her there. She grabbed the front of his shirt in her fists and pulled him down into another rough kiss. His teeth scraped over the fresh split in her lip, and she responded by biting his lower lip and tugging on it as they pulled apart. His eyes sparkled with some combination of laughter and something more mischievous as he kissed her forehead, the tip of her nose, her cheek, and the corner of her mouth, then down her jaw and neck. She gasped as he bit down where her neck met her shoulder, sucking on the skin hard enough to bruise. One of her hands found its way to the back of his neck, and she tugged out the tie that kept his hair back, tangling her fingers through his curls once they were freed.

    She was so preoccupied with everything else going on that she almost didn’t notice Leif slide his finger into her—almost. When he added a second, it was like everything else was gone, and all she could feel was his hand between her legs, fingers curling inside her, hitting all the right places to make her moan and arch her back and grab a fistful of his hair, tugging harder than she exactly meant to.

    Leif spared a glance back towards the campsite. The bundle of blankets that was Harald and Sveinn was just barely visible as a silhouette in the firelight. He saw no sign of movement, and didn’t hear anything to indicate that either Harald or Sveinn had woken up, so he turned back to Brigid and kissed her again. He wrapped an arm behind her shoulders, cradling the back of her head and pulling her up to bury her face in his shoulder. “Quiet,” he whispered, using his other hand to line himself up with her entrance. “Ready?”

    Brigid nodded. She squeezed her eyes shut and tightened her grip on Leif’s hair and shirt as he entered her. He was bigger than she had expected, and moved almost agonizingly slowly as he worked his way into her. While she knew this was to allow her to adjust to him, she almost wished that he would just hurry up and get it over with. She whimpered slightly into his shoulder, and he stroked her hair gently. “Tell me to stop.”

    Brigid shook her head, biting her lip to keep further sounds from escaping. Leif pulled away and looked down at her. “If it hurts, I will stop.”

    “No,” Brigid managed. “Just… slowly.”

    Leif nodded, pulling her close again. Once he was fully inside of her, he stopped, holding them both in place while her body relaxed around him. His other arm settled around her hips, hand splayed across her lower back to give him more support. “Are you alright?”

    Brigid nodded. “Yes,” she managed a moment later, her voice shaky. Her grip on his hair and shirt relaxed slightly as the burning stretch she had felt as he entered her faded into something far more pleasurable.

    Leif began to move, slowly at first, keeping his movements small and gentle. As she grew more and more wet, he increased the speed and length of his thrusts, now sliding in and out of her easily. Brigid moaned into his shoulder, eyes watering as something built in her, below her stomach. He shifted his grip on her hips, letting them rest on the ground again, his hand settling on her thigh and gripping it firmly. Brigid released her grip on his shirt and ran her hand down his side, tugging the shirt up so she could rest her hand against his bare, warm skin.

    The knot below her stomach grew taut as Leif began to lose his rhythm, panting in the frigid air. She began to whimper and gasp as the tension inside her built, before it finally burst and she cried into Leif’s shoulder, the muffled sound impossibly loud in the still night air. As she pulsed around him, Leif came, letting out a groan as he finished with a final few thrusts before he finally stilled, still clutching Brigid to him, both of them clinging to each other for dear life and warmth, bodies trembling as their breath rose in clouds of steam, both of them gasping to catch their breath.

    Leif loosened his grip on Brigid and pulled out of her before rolling over, letting her lay on top of him. The heat they had created between them was beginning to abate already, and he could feel Brigid shivering on top of him, but he didn’t want to move. Eventually, the fire began to die, taking its light with it, and they reluctantly separated and climbed to their feet. Leif stopped to relace his trousers, and Brigid did the same with her bodice. Once they were collected, and with cold and exhaustion rapidly setting in, they snuck over to Harald and Sveinn, slipping under the blankets with them—and feeling oddly guilty for doing so—to settle in for the night. Leif stared up at the stars as Brigid pressed herself against him, wrapping her body around his. On his other side, Harald was snoring lightly, and Sveinn cooed in his sleep. Overhead, the stars wheeled in the dark sky. Despite the cold and discomfort he felt, he was oddly at peace. If this was their lot in life, at least for the time being, he was glad that they were together for it. Being alone would have been far worse.

Chapter Text

The next morning, Harald was the first to wake, even before Sveinn. After tucking the baby securely in Leif’s arm, he abandoned the little nest to start a fire. He noticed the pair of discarded breeches and arched an eyebrow, smiling to himself. He checked the waterskins. They were almost out of broth for Sveinn, and Leif hadn’t managed to catch any game for a few days, so there was nothing to make a fresh batch. He hung the waterskin, and the one with the last of the tea, over the fire to warm up, and filled the third with snow, setting it near the fire so the snow would melt.

    Brigid woke next, and brought Sveinn with her to join Harald by the fire.

    “You lost something,” he said, nodding towards the breeches.

    Immediately, her face flushed red, and she shoved Sveinn into his arms. She snatched the trousers from the ground and stomped off into the trees, returning a few minutes later. “Not another word,” she growled.

    “I wasn’t going to say anything.”

    “Right.”

    Harald grinned and shifted the baby in his arms to start feeding him.

    Leif woke coughing—a deep, racking, wheezing sound loud enough to startle the others and set the horses stamping. Brigid and Harald traded concerned glances, and she stood up to go and check on Leif. She returned, looking grim, to fetch the skin of tea from over the fire. “Fever.”

    Harald frowned and watched as she returned to kneel at Leif’s side, helping him sit up to drink the tea. He only got a few sips down before he was coughing again, hard enough to shake his whole body. Brigid hugged him close, murmuring softly, and kissed him on the forehead. When the coughing fit subsided, she laid him down and returned to the fireside.

    “We can’t stay here,” said Harald. “That would be even worse for him.”

    “I know,” said Brigid, poking at the embers with a stick.

    Harald squinted up at the sky. It was cloudy and grey, and he hoped it wasn’t about to start snowing again. “Leif will ride the destrier today. I’ll lead the horses, and you carry Sveinn until we get to solid ground.”

    Brigid didn’t argue. They broke camp in silence, and saddled the horses together. All of the food and gear was lashed to the gelding, and they helped Leif onto the destrier’s back, bundling him up in the blankets. His face was pale and his eyes glassy and unfocused, but he seemed lucid enough, and was able to stay on the horse once they started moving. Brigid walked beside him, hand resting on his leg, with Sveinn strapped to her chest. Harald headed up the small party, leading the horses behind him. He had to walk slowly, and take frequent rests, but at least they were making some headway.

    When the snow started to fall again, they stopped to adjust themselves. They moved the baggage on the gelding, and Harald helped Brigid climb up in front of Leif on the destrier. He took Sveinn and tied the baby to himself, then heaved himself up onto the gelding—between his wound and the baby, it was far more difficult than he would have liked to admit. They made better time this way, and the new chill in the air kept the ground frozen so the horses had sure footing. 

Sometime in the afternoon, they spotted a small village a few hundred yards down the mountainside. It was far, and the way down was steep, but they decided to make for it anyways. Brigid and Harald dismounted again to lead the horses down the steep, treacherous cliffside. The descent was harrowing, and there were times that they wondered if it would be better to go back and find a different path down, but, with the light failing quickly, they decided to keep going. They reached the foot of the cliff as the sun vanished behind the mountain, and hurried along a narrow hunter’s track to the village in the last light of dusk.

    The village was completely empty and silent when they finally reached it, the dim light of a crescent moon rising in the sky flashing silver over the ice.

    “Wait here,” said Harald. He dismounted and handed Sveinn up to Brigid, then drew his sword and ducked into the village. When he returned, his face was grim. “Kåre,” was all he said, and she understood. He led them to a hut on the edge of the village, and they got Leif off the horse and inside. While Brigid got Leif settled onto a bed, Harald built a fire, then went in search of food. It didn’t take long for the fire to warm the room, and soon enough Brigid even felt warm enough to shed her layers, down to her tunic and breeches, for the first time in days. She and Harald even took their shoes and socks off, trying to rub the impressions of the knit fabric of the socks out of the skin of their feet after wearing them for nearly two weeks straight, to no avail.

    Once there was some hot food ready, Brigid woke Leif up and made him eat a little, but he didn’t get much down. She helped him take off his boots and overshirt, and then let him settle back down on the bed to sleep.

    “How is he?” Harald asked, trying to get Sveinn to eat the last of the reheated mashed roots off of his finger—he’d tried a wooden spoon first, and the baby had staunchly refused to eat from it.

    Brigid sighed and pushed loose strands of hair that had escaped from her braid back and out of her face. “He is still warm to the touch. Hopefully we got here in time to keep the sickness from getting too bad.”

    Harald nodded. “We’ll stay here a few days and let him recover.” Brigid arched an eyebrow in surprise at the statement, and Harald shrugged. “He was right; if we push too hard, it will only be worse for us all in the long run. Anyways, we’ve made it across the mountains. Now, even if the snow continues to fall, we won’t be trapped on the other side of them.”

    “How do you know that Kåre was here?” Brigid asked a while later, once Sveinn was fed, and he and Leif were sound asleep on the other side of the hut.

    Harald was honing the edge of his sword in the light of the fire, but stopped at the question. He sat in silence for a moment, then looked over at her, seated on the edge of the bed beside Leif. “In the morning, stay inside. I’ll let you know when you can come out.”

.*.*.*.*.*.

When Leif woke the next morning, he was surprised to find himself actually warm, through and through, and tucked comfortably into a bed, under what felt like an entire pile of blankets. He pushed the covers aside and sat up, looking around the small hut in confusion. Sveinn was on the floor, playing with some wooden spoons, while Brigid crouched next to a fireplace. She was stirring a pot of something that smelled amazing, especially after over a week and a half of stringy, barely cooked meat and burned root vegetables. He didn’t see Harald, but could hear some sort of activity outside.

    He opened his mouth to speak, but wound up coughing instead, and once that started, he felt like it would never start. Brigid hurried to his side, and offered him a drink when the fit finally abated. “Where are we?” Leif asked after sipping the cool water she handed him.

    “A village on the far side of the mountains,” said Brigid. “We got here after dark last night. It’s abandoned; Harald says that Kåre and his army must have attacked it.” She glanced over her shoulder at the door, biting her lip. “He said not to go outside.”

    Leif remembered the atrocities he had seen in the wake of Kåre’s army and nodded. “How late is it?”

    “Not even midday,” Brigid reassured him. She rested a hand on his forehead and frowned. “You still have a fever. It’s not getting better. I’ll have to check some of the other huts and see if I can find some herbs to treat it. There’s nothing here.”

    Leif nodded, his head spinning with the motion. His chest hurt, his throat was sore, and his head was pounding. His whole body felt achy and heavy, and even the thought of moving made him tired. He suddenly wanted to do nothing but go back to sleep. Brigid seemed to notice that something was wrong. She smiled at him, and pushed his hair out of his face. “Lay back down and try to get some sleep. I’ll wake you when it’s time to eat.”

    Leif nodded again and let her help him back down. Despite how tired he was, though, he couldn’t fall back asleep. Instead, he listened to Sveinn banging the spoons against the floor, the crackling of the fire, and Brigid humming as she worked. Eventually, he dozed off, waking when the door opened and Harald came in, knocking snow off his boots on the doorframe and breathing heavily. He came with a gust of cold wind that smelled like wood smoke and something… else. Harald shed his boots and coat and grinned over at Leif when he saw him watching. “Good morning.”

    “Here,” said Brigid, handing a bowl and spoon to Harald. “Take that to Leif. Help him eat.”

    Leif wanted to argue that he didn’t need help, but he couldn’t get the words out. Instead, he let Harald pull him up and lean him against the wall so he could sit. The bowl was full of a thick, hearty stew—much more edible and filling than the thin broths they’d been making while they traveled—which Leif did his best to feed himself, but his hands and arms wouldn’t cooperate, and he ultimately gave up and let Harald help him sip straight from the bowl.

    After they ate, Brigid pulled on her heavy overdress and wrapped a blanket around her like a cloak, then slipped outside to search the other huts for herbs. Harald helped Leif lie back down, and he dozed off again. He woke hours later to Brigid holding a cup of something steaming and fragrant to his lips for him to sip from. As the hot tea trickled down his throat, he felt an immediate sense of ease; it soothed his raw throat immediately, and the heat that pooled in his stomach seemed to radiate out and began to wipe away the ache settled in his bones. Brigid smiled down at him and murmured something undoubtedly soothing as she brushed his hair away from his face and kissed his temple.

.*.*.*.*.*.

By the next day, Leif had improved drastically, and was able to sit and eat on his own, although he still slept most of the day. Harald and Brigid took turns searching the village for supplies they could use. They found some warmer clothes for Leif and Sveinn, a good stock of herbs in what must have been a healer’s hut, plenty of dried meats and vegetables, more waterskins, and proper coats and cloaks for all of them. They also found clean clothes, and replaced the mud, blood, and sweat-soaked garments they’d been wearing for the past two weeks.

    On the third day, they woke to a snowstorm, effectively trapping them inside. Harald braved the wind and driving snow to check on the horses in the barn they had stabled them in, but otherwise, they stayed inside. Brigid had found a tub at the back of the hut the day before, so she and Harald shoved it in front of the fire, Leif watching from the bed with Sveinn on his lap, and set to rigging a screen of blankets around it and melting buckets of snow over the flames so they could bathe. Brigid washed Sveinn first, the baby screaming as loud as the wind whistling outside at the indignity, but, once he was clean and bundled back up to sleep in the box they’d set up for him, he fell asleep quickly and slept soundly.

    Leif was next, much to his annoyance. Brigid walked with him over to the tub, although he insisted he didn’t need any help, and turned her back as he undressed behind the screen. He did, however, hold onto her shoulder for balance as he climbed into the tub, letting out a sigh of relief as the heat from the water immediately seeped into his body, washing away the last of the ache from his sickness. The warmth immediately made him sleepy, and he yawned. Brigid smiled and kissed him on the cheek, then moved behind him and untied his hair. She tilted his head back and used a cup to pour water over his head, washing out the dirt caked in his hair. She started humming while she washed his hair, combing her fingers through it to get out tangles and clumps of dried mud. He recognized the song as the one he usually sang to her while she slept and smiled to himself, finally letting himself relax, surrounded by warmth and love and kindness. He dozed off again briefly in the tub, but Brigid woke him and helped him climb out and dry off, handing him clean clothes to change into while she changed out some of the water in the tub.

    Harald went next while Brigid sat Leif on the bed and knelt behind him to rub his hair dry with a piece of cloth. She combed through it thoroughly with her fingers, then braided it securely against his scalp in a pair of snug braids, before twisting and tying the ends into a low bun at the nape of his neck. By the time she was done, Harald was done in the bath, and had swapped out some of the water with clean, freshly melted snow. She kissed Leif on the cheek and left him to get comfortable while she slipped behind the screen to bathe. Leif settled himself on his side, back to the wall, so he could see the room. Harald checked on Sveinn before sitting down on his nest of blankets to towel his hair dry and braid the sides back in his usual style. The room was silent but for the whistling wind, crackling fire, and the soft splashing of water in the tub.

    When Brigid finished, Harald took down the blankets while she sat on the edge of the bed to dry, comb, and braid her hair. By the time she was done, Harald was asleep, and Leif was struggling to keep his eyes open. He pulled the blankets aside, inviting her to curl up against him, and wrapped his arms around her to pull her in as close as possible to him. Her heavy braid leeched dampness into his shirt over his chest and hers across her back, but they ignored it. Leif tucked her head under his chin and closed his eyes, running his palm over her arm and side before settling it on her stomach. She placed her hand over his and laced their fingers together, squeezing his hand gently. Before much longer, they had both fallen fast asleep to the sound of each other breathing and the wind howling outside.

.*.*.*.*.*.

By the next morning, the snow had stopped falling, although it was drifted deep against the walls of the huts and barns, and the air was colder than anything Brigid had ever felt. She wanted to wait another day to leave, to allow Leif more time to recover, but was overruled by both Leif and Harald, who were impatient to get to Uppsala. So, they bundled up in as many layers as they could wear, wrapped up in cloaks and blankets, and saddled the horses, loading them with provisions. Leif and Brigid rode the destrier—Leif in front, and Brigid nestled against his back—while Harald rode the smaller gelding, Sveinn once more slung across his chest.

    “How close do you think we are to Uppsala?” Leif asked, as they left the little village behind.

    “We’re not even out of Norway yet,” Harald sighed. “We still have quite a ways to go.”

    Leif nodded, resting one of his hands over Brigid’s where they were crossed over his stomach. By the time they reached the road, the snow was falling again, in sparse flurries that floated and danced through the air as they fell. They didn’t spare a glance behind as they set off, following the road east to Sweden, Uppsala, and Freydis.

Chapter Text

Their first day in Uppsala, after their hour of training in the morning, Freydis went out into the woods and set traps. After that, she and Tove set to building a shelter. She fully expected to be waiting at least another few days for Leif, Harald, and Brigid, and wanted somewhere they could keep warm while they waited. They found a small hut towards the back of the clearing the temple city had occupied that must have been for the priests, but had largely survived the fires that Kåre and his men had set to burn the temples. Over the next few days, Freydis and Tove did their best to repair the burned sides of the hut and replace the roof. They had no way to make fresh thatch for it, so they scavenged through the burned tents of the pilgrims Kåre’s men had massacred and made a frame out of branches to stretch the hide and canvas tents over as a makeshift roof, to keep out the snow and keep in the heat from their fire. They cleared out the snow that had fallen through the damaged roof, and scavenged half-burned planks from the other buildings to repair the floor, covering them with more hide and tent scraps.

    Over the next several days, Freydis’s traps were surprisingly effective, and they had no worries about food. Any extra meat was wrapped securely in cloth and secured in trees on the other side of the clearing, to keep from attracting larger animals. They collected what they could from what had been left behind by other scavengers, animals, and Kåre’s army, but there wasn’t much they could use besides the tents they had scavenged. They built a lean-to half shelter for the horses, and even took the time to make a—very rickety—fence to help protect them from wild animals. They used bells, scraps of metal, shards of pottery, and other defritus to rig up a warning system that would alert them to anything approaching their little camp.

    When a week had passed, and there was still no sign of the others, Freydis began to worry. With each day that passed, her concern grew, and she turned her anxiety to training Tove, who was rapidly progressing in her skills, much to Freydis’s pride. Any time they weren’t training, they were exploring the surrounding forest, searching for roots and any late plants that hadn’t rotted before the snowfall that they could eat, but they didn’t have much luck in that category. The long nights made Freydis restless, and she often found herself unable to sleep, so she would wander the clearing by the light of the moon and stars, and the fire flickering through the windows of the cottage. The moon was waxing nearly full, and was high in the sky one night, over a month after they had left Kattegat, when Freydis heard one of her sound-traps go off. She raced back to the hut and woke Tove, finger to her lips as she reached for her sword. At the sound of a baby crying, she dropped the weapon, and both women ran out into the clearing just in time to see two horses enter from the road.

    “Leif!” Freydis cried, sprinting for the far side of the clearing. A figure dismounted from the larger horse and met her a few steps from it, the two of them colliding in a bear hug. Harald dismounted from the other horse, and helped Brigid down from the destrier, passing Sveinn to her as the baby continued to cry. When Freydis released Leif, she immediately grabbed Harald as he tried to lead his horse past her, sweeping him into a hug before kissing him deeply.

    Tove pushed past Leif to embrace Brigid and Sveinn, wiping away tears. “Tove!” Brigid gasped, clinging to her with her free arm. “How did you get here?”

    “Freydis saved me,” Tove sniffled, wiping her nose with her sleeve. “Two of Kåre’s warriors found me and were trying to have their way with me, but she killed them before they could. She got me out of the city, and all the way here. She’s been teaching me how to fight, too, so that next time I can defend myself.”

    Brigid hugged her again, and kissed her on the cheek. “I am so glad to see you again, my friend.”

    Tove grinned down at Sveinn, who had stopped crying, and was staring at her with wide eyes. “I am glad to see you as well—and the little one.”

    “Come; let’s get inside,” said Freydis, tugging Harald towards their makeshift cottage. The others fell in behind her, Leif and Harald leading the horses towards the shelter where Freydis and Tove’s mounts were standing. Inside the cottage, Tove took Sveinn while Brigid, Leif, and Harald divested themselves of their extra layers of clothing. They had brought in the blankets from their horses, and what food they had left, including a skin full of broth for Sveinn.

    “We were starting to worry that you weren’t coming,” said Freydis. She sat on the floor next to Brigid and took the sleepy baby from her, smiling down at the child. “We weren’t sure you made it out of Kattegat.”

    “I wouldn’t have, without these two,” said Harald. He pulled up his shirt to show Brigid and Tove the still-healing scar on his side, where the axe had struck him. “I was wounded. Brigid pulled me off the street, and Leif found us horses and got us out of the city. The two of them took care of me in the mountains until I was well enough to travel, too.”

    “We all worked together to survive,” said Brigid. “I think it’s fair to say that without any one of us, the others would not have made it this far, and certainly none of us would have made it on our own.”

    Leif nodded in agreement, wrapping his arm around Brigid’s shoulders. Freydis smiled, looking around the group. “I am so glad to see you all here.”

    “But now that we are together again, the question becomes ‘what do we do next’?” said Leif.

    “We can’t stay here forever,” said Tove. “We won’t have enough food to get through the winter, and this hut won’t stand once the heavy snows start.”

    “But where can we go?” said Freydis. “With Olaf in control of Kattegat, he has a great deal of power in Norway. He hates all of us; it won’t be safe for us there.”

    “We have a few options,” said Harald. “Leif and Brigid told me that Danish ships were arriving in Kattegat harbor as we were leaving the city.” He took some time to fill Freydis and Tove in on what he had previously told Leif and Brigid about Sweyn Forkbeard, throwing in a few extra details as well. “The rule of Norway has been split between Forkbeard—and his sons—and the vassal kings, like my father, for many years now. But the other foreign power that holds partial authority in Norway is the king of Svealand, Olof Skötkonung. He is Forkbeard’s stepson, and the older half-brother to both Canute and his older brother Harold. After his father’s death, Forkbeard married Olof’s mother Świętosława, and they had Harold and Canute. Olof refused to give control of Sweden—and Svealand in particular—over to Forkbeard, so they made an alliance with one another. Later, they worked together to defeat Olaf Tryggvason, another descendent of Harald Finehair, who was trying to consolidate rule of Norway. That’s when Forkbeard and Olof split Norway between them and set vassal kings—like my father—in charge of different kingdoms. Since then, Olof has maintained control over most of Sweden, as well as a few Norwegian provinces, while Forkbeard and his sons rule Denmark, as well as the rest of Norway and Sweden.”

    A glance around the group showed that he had lost everyone else during this explanation, and Harald sighed. “Svealand is the central section of Sweden. Olof rules from Agnafit, a port city on the eastern coast. I think that we should go there.”

    “You said we had a few options?” Freydis asked. “What are the others?”

    “Well, first, we could go back to Norway. If Forkbeard took Kattegat from Olaf, it could be safe there. Of course, I don’t trust Forkbeard much further than I could throw him—if we knew that Canute was there, I would feel better about going back there, but I don’t know what Forkbeard will do to us if we go there.”

    “You mean what Forkbeard would do to you ,” said Freydis.

    Harald shrugged. “Partly, yes. I am worried that he might think I’m on Olaf’s side, or just be tired of vassal kings and the liabilities that come with them in general, and kill me on sight. But we can’t be sure that he wouldn’t just kill all of us on sight. He has no reason to keep any of us alive, and if he assumes I am a traitor, he would likely think the same of you for being my companions.”

    “What are the other options you see?” Brigid asked.

    “We could go to a different part of Norway, to one of the other vassal kings, and appeal to them for help or haven,” said Harald. “The problem with that being that Olaf and Kåre—mostly Kåre—have been attacking them as well, and seem to have been very successful at wiping out at least some of their enemies, based on what Jarl Haakon and Altora said. My concern is that we would arrive in one of these cities to find it under Olaf’s control, even if he has been driven from Kattegat.

    “Next, we could go to Denmark and appeal to Forkbeard’s older son Harold. He is quite different from his father and brother; he is not ambitious like them, or bold and warlike, but is diplomatically minded and would almost certainly hear us out. The problem with this is the actual getting to Denmark part. We’d have to travel south, through the great forests of Svealand, as well as Götland, to get to a port, and securing passage could be difficult. Another option would be to go to England, to appeal to Canute, who we know would be willing to hear us out and support us, but that leads to the same issue of finding a way to get there.

    “Agnafit is not far; even with the snows, and the child, we should be able to reach it in a week or so, maybe even less if the weather stays fair. Even if we want to go to Denmark or England, we should go there to find a ship, rather than south. I am acquainted with Olof, as my father occasionally had reason to visit him there, and entertained Olof in Ringerike a few times also. I was sent to stay in Agnafit a few times, and am even more familiar with Olof’s son Jakob, as we are very close in age. I know that I can convince Olof and Jakob to listen to us, and even if we don’t actually make an appeal to Olof for help in dealing with my brother, I’m sure I could convince him to grant us passage to England or Denmark to appeal to Canute or Harold.”

    Everyone else was silent, and Harald began to worry that he had lost them again.

    “We don’t have to make up our minds tonight,” said Leif finally. “We should sleep on it, and discuss it more tomorrow.”

    “Agreed,” Brigid said, stifling a yawn.

    There were two beds in the cottage, one smaller than the other. They finally settled on Freydis and Harald sharing the smaller bed, Tove and Brigid the larger, with Sveinn between them, and Leif sleeping on the floor near the fireplace—where the floorboards were more intact, having survived the worst of the fire that Kåre’s men had set to the hut, and would provide more protection from the frozen ground beneath them—on top of the extra blankets. Harald wanted to argue about this arrangement, nobly insisting that he would sleep on the floor, but everyone else was far too tired to listen to him, and he eventually gave up and joined Freydis in the small bed, secretly happy at how things had ended up.

.*.*.*.*.*.

In the morning, Freydis was the first one awake. She carefully extricated herself from Harald and slipped out of bed, picking her way over Leif to pull on her outer layers before waking Tove up to train. Brigid woke next, to Sveinn fussing in the bed next to her, and managed to wake both Leif and Harald by tripping over the former as she tried to walk across the cottage. Harald joined Freydis and Tove outside, leaving Leif and Brigid with the crying baby. His fourth tooth had come in between the village they had camped in and Uppsala, but it seemed like more were just behind it. By the time the others came back in—Freydis carrying a freshly-caught hare from her traps—Sveinn had calmed down slightly, after having eaten and being given one of the wooden spoons to chew on.

    They didn’t talk much over breakfast, but once they were done, and Sveinn was playing happily with his spoons on the floor between Brigid and Tove, they settled down to discuss their next move. It didn’t take long for them to agree that heading to Agnafit seemed like their best option. Whether to appeal directly to King Olof or to try and find passage to England or Denmark had yet to be decided, but they resolved to spend the next two days gathering as much food as possible before heading out again, to allow everyone a chance to rest.

    When the time finally came to strike out for Agnafit, they split their provisions, blankets, and extra dry firewood across the four horses. Freydis, Harald, and Leif took the three smaller geldings—Harald thrilled to be reunited with his own horse—leaving Tove and Brigid to share the destrier. Sveinn was passed between them all as they travelled, but spent most of his time between Brigid and Harald, who he was most likely to settle down for. They travelled strictly during the daylight at first, but the days had become so short that this seemed impractical, so, as the full moon approached, they began to travel at night as well, when the sky was clear enough for the moonlight to illuminate the path. In the mornings, and when they made their initial camp at dusk to eat supper and nap before the moon rose, Freydis and Tove continued their training, now joined by Harald, and often Leif as well. Even Brigid was roped into the fighting lessons, when Sveinn was asleep or someone else was available to watch him, so that she would be able to defend herself if necessary.

    They made good time, and within five days passed through the forests into a more settled area, although they continued to avoid civilization as much as possible, not wanting to attract any attention to themselves. In another day and a half, they could see Agnafit in the distance, and the sea beyond it. By that evening, they were passing through the gates of the city, and heading for the great hall of Olof Skötkonung.

Chapter Text

When they reached the great hall, they were stopped by Olof’s guards. Harald managed to convince them to let him into the hall, although they refused to allow the others to enter, as it was so late in the evening, so they remained outside while Harald went to speak to King Olof. One of the guards took pity on them and let them stand next to a sentry fire for warmth when Sveinn began crying, and another offered them some leftover soup for the child as well.

    Inside the hall, Harald breathed out a sigh of relief when he stepped into the familiar greatroom. It was well after dinner, but there were still people in the hall, as a skald was telling stories near a large fireplace. On a dais at the front of the hall, on a carved wooden throne, sat Olof himself, his wife on one side and consort on the other, and Harald noticed Prince Jakob among a group of men gathered nearby, along with a teenage boy who looked oddly familiar. Jakob grinned when he saw Harald, and called out, interrupting the skald: “Prince Harald of Norway! It has been a long while since you graced our court with your presence.”

    Harald ignored the barb and paused to nod at Jakob, then turned and bowed to Olof, Edla, and Estrid. “King Olof,” he said. “Queen Estrid. Prince Jakob is not wrong; it has been quite a while since I have had the honor of entering your court.”

    “Welcome, Prince Harald” Olof waved his hand. “We heard of the attack on Kattegat, and feared the worst. My step-father said that he had word of you being mortally wounded in the battle, but there was no sign of your body.”

    “Clearly the reports of my wound were exaggerated,” Harald grinned. “Although I admit that it was close for a while after the battle.”

    “How did you get all the way here wounded so severely?” asked Jakob, leaving the cluster of warriors to join Harald at the foot of the dais.

    “Fortunately, I was not alone,” said Harald. “I was with friends, who saved me in the city, and cared for me while I recovered. They’re outside now.”

    “Go and fetch them,” Jakob turned to the guard who had escorted Harald into the hall, who bowed, turned, and hurried back out the door.

    “Thank you,” said Harald. “We have had a long journey, and are glad to finally be here.”

    “Before we continue, there are other reports from the battle of Kattegat that I would like to confirm,” said Olof, standing up and stepping down from the dais to stand eye-to-eye with Harald. Even though the Swedish king was not particularly warlike—or, really, a warrior at all—he was still a huge man, and stood a few inches taller than Harald. “According to King Forkbeard’s prisoners, and the few survivors from Jarl Haakon’s army, you were fighting on the side of your brother, Jarl Olaf, and Jarl Kåre.”

    Harald narrowed his gaze and drew himself up, staring Olof in the eye. “If there were survivors from Haakon’s army, they should have told King Forkbeard that I was not fighting on Olaf and Kåre’s side, but went to them as a false traitor, to gather information on their plans to pass to Haakon and her army. Unfortunately, Kåre figured that out, and turned on me. I would have been killed after the battle had Olaf not turned on Kåre and saved me from him. After that, I left Olaf and went into the city to fight Kåre’s men, and that is when I was wounded.”

    Olof nodded slowly, and returned to his throne. Harald held his breath as he heard the door open again. The sound of a baby crying indicated that his friends had entered the hall, and he took a step forward towards the dais to stand directly in front of Olof. “You know me,” he said, after a brief pause. “My allegiance has always been to Canute—never to my brother. I would not turn on Canute—and Forkbeard, and yourself—in favor of Olaf. Even if I would consider turning for our family relationship, I could not get behind Olaf’s mission; he and Kåre have killed hundreds , if not thousands of innocents in their attempt to convert the people of Norway. That is something I could never agree with.”

    Something shifted in Olof’s expression, and, after a long moment, he smiled. “That is what I thought.” He waved to the guard, and soon Harald was surrounded by his friends. “Who are your companions?”

    Harald let out a sigh of relief. “This is Freydis Eriksdottir, one of Jarl Haakon’s shieldmaidens. She killed Jarl Kåre single-handedly, and saved Tove”—he pointed to the other woman, who bowed politely—“and trained her as a warrior while we travelled. And this is her brother, Leif Eriksson. We fought together in England, with your brother Canute, and Leif was the one who came up with the plan that pulled down London Bridge and won England for Canute. Finally, we have Brigid Syggisdottir, one of the few to survive the St. Brice’s Day massacre. She returned to Norway with us after Canute became king of England, and has been a strong friend ever since.” He rested a hand on Brigid’s shoulder and grinned at her. “She was the one who found me, dying, on the streets of Kattegat, and bandaged my wound until we were out of the city and it could be treated properly. Without her—and Leif—I would be dead.”

    “Deep praise indeed,” Jakob chuckled.

    “And all of it true,” Harald grinned as he looked between Jakob and Olof.

    “We welcome you to Agnafit,” said Olof.

    “You must be tired,” the younger of the two women seated with Olof—who Harald knew to be his wife and Jakob’s mother, Estrid—stood and stepped forward. “We will find rooms for you, and food will be sent there for you. Further talks can wait until the morning.”

    Harald nodded politely to her in thanks, and she waved a thrall forward, indicating that they should follow the man. He took them back, deep into the winding corridors of the hall’s many additions, to three rooms that overlooked the port. He offered to start fires for them, but they politely declined, and he left.

    Harald and Freydis took the room in the center, and Freydis went immediately to collapse on the bed, groaning with relief as she sank into it. Harald grinned as he kicked off his boots and began peeling off his layers, crossing the room towards her. He laid down beside her, propped up on one elbow, and grinned down at her. “Better?”

    “Than the forest floor? Definitely.” Freydis laughed and rolled onto her side to face him. “I’m also not going to complain about a night off from the crying baby.”

    Harald laughed. “No, me neither.” He rolled onto his back and rested his head on his arm. Freydis sat up to pull off her armor and toss it aside, sending her boots and a few of her layers of clothing after it, then crawled on top of Harald, straddling his hips and leaning down with her hands planted by his shoulders. Her hair slipped off of her shoulders and hung down like a curtain around their faces. Her smile softened, and she leaned down to press a kiss to Harald’s lips.

    “I won’t complain about a night alone with you, either.”

.*.*.*.*.*.

The next morning, Harald woke up alone. He looked around, confused about his surroundings at first, then to where Freydis had gotten to. He got dressed and wandered out of the room, and went in search of the others. Freydis and Tove were already in the hall, eating breakfast and laughing with Jakob and his men. 

“Harald!” Jakob called when he entered the greatroom. “Come! Join us!”

    Harald obliged, taking a seat next to Freydis on the bench and wrapping his arm possessively around her waist. She responded, to his surprise, by slinging an arm around his shoulders and pulling him in for a kiss before returning to her breakfast. Harald was unable to keep a smile off his face as he turned to the food set in front of him. Leif joined them next, barely murmuring a response to Freydis and Harald’s greetings. His eyes swept the hall, watching everything going on around them with an air of suspicion that he did a poor job of hiding.

    “Where are Brigid and Sveinn?” Tove asked.

    “Sleeping,” said Leif. “The baby was up most of the night. He has a fever. Brigid isn’t feeling well either, but she said she was just tired.”

    “I should take her some breakfast,” said Tove.

    “My father wanted to speak to you all this morning,” said Jakob. “He said to send you straight to him once you’d eaten. I’ll send food for your friend and the child—and a healer to take a look at the little one as well.”

    Harald glanced at Leif. The Greenlander didn’t seem thrilled with the offer, but he didn’t protest, so Harald turned to Jakob and bowed his head in thanks.

    Once they had all eaten, Jakob took them outside, to where Olof, the teenage boy from the night before, and several other important-looking people, including both Estrid and Edla, were gathered. “Father!” Jakob called as they approached. “Harald and his friends.”

    Olof nodded and waved away his retinue, leaving only Jakob, the boy, Edla, and a lovely woman who looked to be a bit older than Harald standing with them. It took a moment, while they were waiting for the others to leave, but a grin spread across Harald’s face when he recognized the woman. “Princess Astrid!” he said. “It is lovely to see you again.”

    Astrid smiled hugely and laughed. “Harald of Norway. I didn’t think you’d remember me; it has been quite a while since we last met.”

    Harald nodded. “I heard that you were living in Västergötland. It is good to see you in Agnafit again.”

    Astrid beamed and turned her attention to the others. “My apologies; I did not mean to ignore you all. I am Astrid—not a princess, no matter what Harald says, just Astrid.” She rested a hand on the boy’s shoulder. “And this is my son, Magnus.”

    “A son!” Harald’s eyebrows shot up. “I don’t believe it.”

    “Is that so?” said Olof, finally turning his attention back to them. “I’m sure you must have heard a great deal about him from your brother.”

    Everything clicked into place for Harald very suddenly, especially why the boy looked so familiar—despite sharing his mother’s soft blonde hair, his face was nearly identical to Harald’s memory of Olaf’s at that age. “Then this is…”

    “Your nephew,” said Olof. “Magnus Olafsson.”

    Harald took a knee in front of the boy. “Magnus. It is an honor to meet you.”

    The boy only nodded shyly, looking very much like he wanted to shrink away behind his mother.

    “I am surprised you have not come to meet your nephew before now,” said Olof.

    “I would have come before, if I had known he existed,” said Harald as he rose, doing his best to keep bitterness out of his voice. “Olaf never told me he had a child.”

    “Oh?” Jakob arched an eyebrow.

    “It’s a long story,” Harald laughed. “It seems that my brother and I are not as close as I had thought.”

    Olof nodded. “Magnus and Astrid depart for Sigtuna today, along with Edla. I thought you should meet the boy before he left, though.”

    Harald smiled, and reached out to ruffle the boy’s hair. “I am glad to have met you, Magnus Olafsson.”

    The boy smiled up at him, but remained silent. Olof looked like he was going to scold the child, but Harald spoke before he could: “Jakob said that you wanted to see us.”

    Olof nodded. Astrid and Edla headed for a small caravan of horses on the other side of the yard, Astrid keeping her hand on Magnus to lead him along with them, even as he turned around to stare at Harald and the others with wide brown eyes.

    “I am in a difficult place, Harald Sigurdsson,” said Olof. “Your brother has rebelled against me, and against my step-father and half-brothers, by trying to take control of Norway. To complicate the situation, he is the father of my grandson. I do not take his betrayal lightly.”

    “Nor do I,” said Harald. “What Olaf has done is unforgivable. It will take a long, long time for Norway to recover from his and Kåre’s assault. And the longer Olaf remains in any sort of power, the worse it will be for the people of Norway—and the rest of the Viking world, if Olaf has his way.”

    “How do you mean?” Olof asked.

    “I know that you yourself, and your family are Christians, as am I, and as is my brother. The difference between us and Olaf is that he will stop at nothing to convert every Viking to Christianity. Anyone who will not convert willingly will be forced to do so, or killed. I’m sure that you can see how this will devastate Norway alone, and could spread into Sweden, and Denmark, Iceland, and other kingdoms, like a disease if Olaf remains unchecked.”

    Olof frowned. “So what would you have me do about it?”

    “Help us get word to Canute,” said Harald. “You said that Forkbeard has taken Kattegat from Olaf, but has not been able to capture my brother. Canute could bring forces from England, and help us track down Olaf, before he can completely destroy Norway. Let us take a boat and go to London, to set our petition before Canute.”

    Olof nodded, apparently deep in thought. “I certainly do not want to see your brother successful in his campaign, nor do I want his scourge to spread into Sweden. I will consider your proposition.” He waved them away. “You will have my answer by tomorrow.”

    Harald bowed, and he and the others headed back for the hall. “Why exactly did we all have to be there for that?” Freydis grumbled. “He didn’t even look at the rest of us.”

    “He’s the king,” Harald grinned. “He wanted to remind you of that. To remind you that he’s in charge here, and that we all have to do what he wants while we’re in Sweden.”

    Freydis scowled. “Stupid.”

    Harald laughed and slung his arm around her shoulders, nearly knocking her off-balance as he tugged her close. “I won’t argue with you there.”

    “Now what do we do?” asked Tove.

    “I want to explore this city,” said Freydis. “It is very different from Kattegat, and I want to learn more about these Swedes if we are to be allies with them.”

    “I can show you around,” said Harald. “It’s been a while since I was here, but I still remember most of the city.”

    “May I join you?” asked Tove. “I don’t like it here in the hall. I’m afraid they’ll realize what I am and take me as a slave again.”

    “We won’t let that happen,” Freydis said fiercely. “I’ll kill anyone who tries.”

    Harald nodded in agreement. “These people have no claim on you, and we won’t let them try to make one.”

    “Do you think that Olof would free her if he knew?” asked Leif.

    “No,” Harald shook his head. “I don’t know for sure what he’d do, but I doubt he’d be kind about it. Better to wait and appeal to Canute for your freedom. He knows me and Leif, and will listen more readily than Olof—and he’s more fair than Olof, too.”

    Tove nodded, but didn’t relax, almost seeming to draw into herself. Harald squeezed her shoulder. “Your secret is safe with us. As far as anyone here is concerned, you are a free woman. Don’t give them reason to think otherwise.”

    Tove took a deep breath and rolled her shoulders, lifting her head and straightening her back. “I’ll do my best.”

    “Your best will be more than enough,” said Harald. “And you will have all of us at your back no matter what.”

    Tove smiled in thanks, looking like a weight had been lifted from her shoulders.

    “Leif, will you join us?” asked Freydis.

    “Not right now. I want to go check on Brigid and Sveinn.”

    “Give the baby a kiss for me,” said Freydis, waving over her shoulder as they separated. Leif nodded and smiled, watching them head for the town for a moment before he turned back towards the hall.

.*.*.*.*.*.

Back in their room, Leif found both Brigid and Sveinn asleep. Sveinn had kept them up most of the night, but Leif knew that he had gotten more sleep than Brigid—and if he was tired, he was sure she must be exhausted. He checked on the baby first; Sveinn’s cheeks were flushed, but his skin wasn’t as warm as it had been earlier, and he seemed to be sleeping more soundly than before. Leif noticed a pot on the fire, near the cradle, bubbling as it boiled and released clouds of fragrant steam. He guessed that the healer had brought the herbs to help ease Sveinn’s sickness. Once he was sure that the baby was alright for the moment, he moved to the bed and sat down next to Brigid. She was laying on her side, curled into herself under the blankets, and her face looked paler than usual. He leaned down and kissed her on the cheek first, then on the forehead. She didn’t feel warm—at least not enough to indicate a fever—and he relaxed slightly.

    A moment later, Brigid stirred. She opened her eyes slowly and blinked up at Leif. “Good morning,” he murmured, tracing the curve of her cheek with a finger. “Are you feeling any better?”

    She yawned and nodded, then pushed the blankets away and sat up, drawing her legs to her chest and wrapping her arms around them. She rested her cheek on her knees and looked at Leif. “How are you feeling?”

    He smiled. “I am fine. I got more sleep than you last night.”

    She snorted. “I’m not sure how.” She turned her gaze to Sveinn. “There was a healer who came.”

    “Prince Jakob said that he would send one.”

    “She said that Sveinn should be fine. She left herbs in the pot, and said she would send more to make tea for him.”

    Leif reached out and rested a hand on her arm. “Did she take a look at you?”

    “Yes,” Brigid smiled. “She insisted. She said that I am well, and to get some sleep, which I did. And she told me that if I do start to feel sick, that I could come to her for herbs.”

    Leif nodded and leaned forward to kiss her forehead. When he pulled away, he brushed her hair behind her ear. “Go back to sleep. I didn’t mean to wake you.”

    “No, it’s alright. I don’t want to spend the whole day sleeping.” Brigid stifled a yawn as she spoke, and Leif arched an eyebrow, a smile playing across his lips. “Where are the others?”

    “Exploring the city. We spoke with King Olof, and Harald asked him to lend us a ship to go and appeal to Canute in England. He said he would answer us tomorrow.”

    Brigid nodded. “So we have today, at least.”

    Sveinn stirred in his cradle, and they both looked over at him, but he didn’t wake. Leif turned back to Brigid. “You should sleep while you can. I’ll keep an eye on Sveinn.”

    Brigid seemed about to protest, but another yawn interrupted her, and she looked sheepish. Leif smiled and leaned forward to kiss first her forehead, then her cheek, the tip of her nose, and finally her lips. He moved to sit with his back to the headboard, where he could keep an eye on the baby, and Brigid, instead of crawling back under the covers, turned and curled up with her head on Leif’s lap. He pulled the blankets over her as well as he could, and soon she was asleep again. Leif stroked her rust-colored hair, smoothing it back and away from her face, and hummed softly to himself.

.*.*.*.*.*.

When the others returned from their venture out into the city, they went first to Leif and Brigid’s room. Freydis opened the door, and couldn’t help but smile when she saw her brother slumped over against the headboard, snoring softly as he slept, one arm wrapped around Brigid. She was asleep also, her head still in Leif’s lap, chest rising and falling evenly under his arm. Freydis couldn’t help but think that they both looked far too young for all of this war and uncertainty as they slept, even though, realistically,  she knew that they were only a few years younger than herself and Harald, and that there were many even younger than them that had been drawn into this conflict.

Freydis turned to Harald and Tove and held a finger to her lips before sneaking into the room. They waited in the doorway while she tiptoed to the cradle. Sveinn was awake and smiling, and cooed happily up at Freydis when he saw her. She picked him up and kissed him on the forehead, noting that the fever Leif had mentioned earlier seemed to have broken, as he didn’t feel warm now. She took the blanket from the cradle and snuck back to the door, slipping out past Harald. “Let them sleep,” she whispered.

    Harald nodded in agreement, and closed the door carefully behind her, wincing as the latch clicked loudly shut. “How’s the baby?”

    “I think the fever has gone,” said Freydis, heading back towards their room. “I’ll keep an eye on him for a while.”

    Harald nodded again and followed her, Tove behind him. “And the other two?”

    “We’re all exhausted,” said Freydis, sitting down on the floor and setting Sveinn in front of her. “We got to rest last night. Let them rest now.”

    Tove sat on a chair in front of the fire and drew one of her legs up, resting her chin on her knee as she watched Freydis play with Sveinn on the floor. “What will we do if King Olof rejects us?”

    Harald crossed his arms and sighed. “Then we will head south, to another port, and try to find passage there. Or we will go back to Norway and find somewhere that hasn’t fallen to Olaf, and take shelter there until we can get word to Canute.”

    “We cannot let Olaf take Norway,” said Freydis firmly. “He will destroy our gods and our way of life, not to mention the people there. We cannot let that happen.”

    “We will stop him. I don’t know how, yet, but we will.” Harald was just as firm. “We’ll find a way. Together.”

    “Together,” Freydis agreed.

    “Together.”

Chapter Text

Later that day, Harald left the others and went off in search of Jakob. He found the Swedish prince in a training yard outside the hall, with a handful of other warriors. “Harald!” Jakob grinned at him as he approached. “Come to train with us?”

    “Maybe,” Harald grinned, “but you’ll have to take it easy on me.”

    “Finally admitting that I’m the better warrior, are we?” Jakob laughed.

    Harald chose not to answer the question, and just laughed and shook his head instead. He leaned against the low wall that Jakob was seated on, watching the warriors training in the yard in front of them. “Jakob, I need you to speak with your father.”

    “Oh? And why is that?”

    “You heard our discussion earlier,” said Harald. “And you know that what I said about my brother is true. If Olaf has his way, Norway will be destroyed, and once he has accomplished that, Sweden will be his next target. You are the next king of Sweden; I’m sure you’d like something left to rule over. And even as a Christian, I’m sure you cannot agree with Olaf’s methods of conversion.”

    Jakob shrugged. “The Bible tells us to spread the word of Christ to the world.”

    “Yes, but it also teaches mercy, compassion, and love,” Harald argued. “I’m not sure that forcing people to either convert or be killed is exactly what He would want.”

    Jakob chuckled. “That’s fair.”

    “Just… think about it, is all I’m asking. And once you realize I’m right, talk to your father.”

    Jakob laughed again and shook his head. He clapped Harald on the shoulder and stood up. “Come on. Let’s spar. Let me think about your… proposition.”

    Reluctantly, Harald stood, noting the lingering twinge in his right side when he moved certain ways. He was not going to enjoy this.

.*.*.*.*.*.

After dinner, Harald was lying in bed, already sore from his sparring session with Jakob that afternoon. Even with the training sessions Freydis had put the rest of them through during their journey from Uppsala to Agnafit, he realized that he was weak from his recovery and lack of consistent physical activity on the journey. Jakob had truly put him through his paces, to the extent that there were a few points where Harald had actually forgotten that the fight wasn’t one in which he actually had to worry about losing his life. Now, as he tried to relax before bed, he could feel an aching burn in his arms and core that he knew would be worse in the morning. He lifted his head half-heartedly when he heard the door open, expecting to see Freydis, only to be greeted by the sight of a tub being carried into the room. Freydis followed behind, and shrugged in response to his quizzical gaze. The servants bowed before leaving the room, and Harald propped himself up on his elbows as Freydis crossed towards the bed, unbuckling her armor as she went.

    “Queen Estrid says you stink,” she grinned, leaning down to kiss him before pulling her armor over her head.

    “Oh, really?”

    “Well, I think she means we all stink, but Tove and I passed her in the greatroom, and she offered to have hot baths drawn for us,” Freydis shrugged. “I’m not complaining.”

    Harald laughed. “You and your hot baths,” he grinned, leaning over to kiss her cheek.

    “Like you’re complaining either,” Freydis teased, slipping an arm around his waist.

    “Definitely not,” said Harald, nosing at her neck. “You stink.”

    Freydis elbowed him in the ribs and he groaned and fell back on the bed, clutching his side. She moved to straddle his hips and leaned down to kiss him, slipping one hand under his shirt and running it up his side. She bit his lower lip as she pulled away, tugging on it with her teeth. “You’ll pay for that one,” she smirked.

    “Oh?” Harald grinned up at her. “I’d like to see”—

    Before he could finish, Freydis grabbed his wrists and pinned his arms to the bed on either side of his head, and dropped down to kiss him again. She was fierce, her teeth nipping at his bottom lip before she settled into the kiss. She rolled her hips, pressing against him, and Harald felt his face grow hot as he let out a sound he couldn’t identify, much less prevent. He felt Freydis smile against his mouth as she pulled away, letting them both catch their breath. She sat up for a moment and peeled off her tunic, then helped Harald yank off his shirt, tossing both garments aside. He pulled her back down into another kiss, their bare chests pressed together. Freydis’s hands roamed his body, carefully avoiding the fresh scar on his right side. She continued rolling her hips over his, and they both tried—and failed—to hold in the little noises of pleasure that came as a result of the movement.

    Harald moved to take hold of her breasts, rubbing his thumbs in circles over her pert nipples, smiling to herself as she moaned louder. She dug her fingernails into his sides and dragged them down a little. He grunted at the stinging pain, and moved his hands to grab her ass, pulling her hips down into his. Before Freydis could do anything about this, he rolled them both over so that he was on top, her legs wrapped over his hips and both of them panting for breath.

    Freydis reached down, scrabbling for the lacing of her breeches, and Harald did the same. Soon enough, both of them had their pants undone, and, after some squirming, off of their bodies. Freydis reached down and took his hardening cock in one hand, slowly stroking the length of it. Her other hand came to rest on the back of his neck to pull him down into a long, passionate kiss. When they broke apart, Harald pressed another kiss to her cheek, then began tracing a path of kisses down her jaw to her neck, then down further between her breasts. Freydis’s fingers wove into his tangled curls, and she clenched them into a fist, pulling on his hair, as he kissed his way to the tip of one of her breasts. He swirled his tongue around the nipple before taking it in his mouth, kissing and sucking on it. Freydis’s moans grew louder, and her grip on his cock tightened, her hips rolling under him.

    He took his time exploring both breasts with his mouth, enjoying the way she squirmed under him, but could feel himself growing impatient. He reached down and pulled Freydis’s hand away from his cock, placing it against his side instead. He lifted his head to watch her face as he reached between her legs, grinning as her eyes rolled shut and she clenched her jaw. Harald didn’t waste time; he slipped first one, then two fingers inside her, exploring her thoroughly as he made sure she was wet enough to take him. Once he was sure she was, he lined himself up carefully with her entrance and slowly slid inside.

    The moan that Freydis let out almost sent him over the edge, and he had to freeze, half-buried in her. Freydis didn’t like this; she wrapped her legs around his hips and pulled herself up until their bodies met. Harald gasped and dropped his head to rest in the crook of her neck, body trembling. Freydis’s chest heaved under him for a moment, and then he found himself on his back again, Freydis perched on his hips and smirking down at him.

    Now that she was on top, Freydis set the pace—and it was a fast, hard pace. The sound of their bodies meeting over and over again filled the room, along with their gasps and moans. Freydis tossed her hair over her shoulder, clinging to Harald’s shoulders for dear life; again, her fingernails dug into his skin, hard enough to leave marks long after she let go. Harald’s hands roamed her body, exploring from her breasts to her hips and down along her thighs before they finally settled to grip her hips, helping her ride him. As Freydis’s climax built, she tightened around him. Harald’s vision grew hazy the closer he came to finishing, until his eyes rolled back and he cried out as he came, pushing her off of him as he burst, his cock twitching as it shot his finish over both of their stomachs. She wasn’t far behind, and fell forward into his chest when she came, her face buried in his shoulder and her breath hot on his skin as she gasped for breath.

    Before Harald could move, Freydis rolled off of him to lie on the bed, chest heaving. He wrapped his arms around her and drew her in close, hiding his face against the back of her shoulder as they both caught their breath. Freydis smelled of sweat and earth and musk—and quite a bit like she hadn’t had a proper bath in over a month—but he didn’t care. He never wanted to let her go, and, with the way she laced her fingers through his and gripped his hands, she felt the same way.

.*.*.*.*.*.

Brigid wrapped her arms around her legs and let her head drop to the side to rest against the edge of the tub. Her long hair floated around her in the water, sticking to her damp shoulders and neck. Although she could feel the warmth of the fire on her face, the water was rapidly cooling, and she knew she should probably get out of it soon, but she loathed the prospect of climbing out of the tub to dry off.

    Sveinn was already asleep in his cradle; they had washed him first, and Brigid had gotten him to bed while Leif bathed. Now, Leif sat on the end of the bed, half-dressed in nothing but his trousers, and stared towards the window that faced out over the port of Agnafit, eyes unfocused. Brigid swirled her hand through the water, watching the little waves and ripples she created. An image flashed through her mind of the storm on the way from London to Kattegat, and she remembered the last sight of Hjalte she had ever seen, before the sea claimed him. She swallowed the lump that formed in her throat and the water splashed as she moved to rest her arms on the edge of the tub, setting her chin on her crossed forearms. She watched Leif idly until he turned towards her. He smiled slightly when their eyes met, and she couldn’t help but smile back. Leif moved from the bed to kneel beside the tub, hooking a finger under her chin to look into her face, then leaned down to kiss her.

    “I love you.”

    The statement took Brigid by surprise, and her smile broadened. She leaned forward to kiss Leif back, reaching out to tuck his hair behind his ear. “I love you too.”

    Leif rested his forehead against hers and closed his eyes. He listened to the sound of the fire crackling in the hearth, the sound of Brigid’s breathing, the sound of the water lapping against the sides of the tub. He felt her breath on his cheek, and a single drop of water that dripped from his hair to roll all the way down the length of his spine, leaving a cold trail of moisture behind it. He reached up to cup her cheek, running his thumb over her cheekbone and the still-healing cut across it. They sat like that for a while, until the water was cold enough that Brigid started to shiver. Leif picked up a blanket and helped her stand, wrapping it around her once she was out of the water. Before she could protest, he scooped her up into his arms and carried her to the bed. She laughed and let him set her down on the edge of it, then dried off quickly and pulled on her tunic before squeezing as much water as she could out of her hair with the blanket. When she was done, Leif sat beside her and pulled her into his lap. She wrapped her arms around his chest, resting her cheek against his warm skin as he rested his chin on top of her head.

    They sat in silence for a long time, until the fire began to die down in the hearth. Brigid shivered and pulled herself in even closer to Leif, curling her toes in the blanket. He grabbed a pelt from the foot of the bed and pulled it around her, then kissed the top of her head, turning to rest his cheek against it and gazing out the window again.

    “What is it?” Brigid asked.

    “Hm?”

    “What are you thinking about?”

    “Nothing.”

    “Liar,” Brigid teased, pinching him lightly.

    Leif jumped slightly and responded by nudging her head with his nose, until she had shifted enough for him to kiss her temple. “I was thinking about us.”

    “‘Us’?” Brigid repeated, settling herself back against him.

    “You and me, and Sveinn. And Harald and Freydis and Tove too, I suppose. About the family we’ve made here.”

    Brigid smiled and squeezed him gently. “It’s nice to have a family again.”

    Leif nodded in agreement and ran a hand over her damp hair, smoothing it away from her face. “I don’t want to leave you. Ever.”

    “I’m okay with that.”

    “If Harald gets permission from Olof to go to England, I want to stay here. With you and the baby.”

    “You would really let Harald and Freydis go without you?”

    “They can look after themselves. I need to make sure the two of you are safe. I thought I wanted glory, to make a name for myself outside of my father. I think that what I really wanted was to distance myself from him. To find a life away from him. To find out who I am, outside of his shadow. At first, I thought that the best way to do that was through battle, but… while I do like the glory that comes from war, the rest of it… the death, the killing… I don’t like that. It reminds me too much of him. I’m tired of fighting. I just want peace.”

    Brigid cupped his face with a hand and kissed his cheek. “I like the sound of peace.”

    “There’s more to it, though,” said Leif. Brigid remained silent, waiting for him to elaborate. “My father… I’m sure even you have heard the stories by now. He’s a powerful man, who only cares about what he wants. He was good at killing; that’s why he was banished from Norway and Iceland. He killed many men, even when he wasn’t in battle. There’s a darkness in him—an anger. Pure rage, like a fire that won’t be quenched by anything.”

    “How do you know?”

    “Because I’ve felt it too. Back in England, after Ulf was killed. Under the London bridge when Njall and Skarde fell. When Liv died. In Kattegat, fighting Kåre’s men. I thought it would consume me that last time, and there was nothing I could do to stop it. I only woke from it when I heard you scream, but when I saw that man trying to drag you away… it was even worse than before.”

    Brigid’s grip on him tightened, but she remained silent, letting him finish his thought.

    “I… don’t like that feeling. I don’t want to be like my father. I want to do great things—I want to be great. Men like my father, who are fueled by nothing more than rage, are not great. I’m afraid that if I keep following his path, I won’t be able to escape his fate. I will become him.”

    Brigid pulled away and moved so that she was facing him. She took his face in her hands and kissed him. When she pulled away, she rested her forehead against his, her hands still cupping his face. “You are not your father, Leif Eriksson. You are great. You won’t let his rage consume you like it has him. You’re better than that. Stronger.”

    Leif shook his head. “I don’t think I am.”

    Brigid leaned back. “Look at me.” She waited until their eyes met to continue. “You are not your father. And you never will be. I believe in you.”

    Leif smiled up at her. He raised a hand and traced the shape of her face—from the peak of her forehead, down to her jaw, and up over her lips—with the tips of his fingers. “If there is anything that will keep me from turning into him, I think you are it.” Over in the cradle, Sveinn sneezed, and they both chuckled. “Him too. My little family. You are my… anchor. Like a rock in a storm. I will always come back to you.”

    Brigid leaned in again and kissed him on the forehead, the tip of his nose, his cheek, and his lips. “I’ll hold you to that.”

    Leif smiled. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

.*.*.*.*.*.

“And what do you think of the Prince of Norway’s proposal?”

    Jakob sighed, leaning back in his chair. It was far too late for this conversation, but he hadn’t found time to be alone with his father all day, so now was apparently the time to have it. “I think…” he stared off into the distant fire roaring in his father’s hearth. “I think that Harald makes a good point. Olaf Haraldsson is not to be trusted. And the things he has done in Norway… We cannot allow him to reach Sweden and continue this pattern of destruction.”

    Olof nodded slowly, sipping ale out of a horn cup. “And what of the prince himself?”

    Jakob chuckled. “I’ve always liked Harald; you know that. We were friends as children, and as young men. It is only recently that we’ve fallen apart. He’s brave and bold and strong. He’d make a good king—a better one than Olaf, for sure.”

    “I do not trust him,” said Olof plainly. “I cannot. We have no way of knowing that he is not secretly working for his brother.”

    “What of the others?” Jakob asked. “Do you think he is deceiving them, or they are deceiving us?”

    “I am not sure. But I do not feel comfortable sending Harald to Canute. I am worried that it is a trap, to lure Canute from London and Denmark so that Olaf can attack them.”

    “Then keep him here,” Jakob shrugged. “Let the others carry their message to England.”

    “But can we trust them?” Olof mused.

    “Sooner or later, father, you will have to trust someone,” Jakob sighed, standing and crossing to the pitcher of ale. He filled his cup and turned to lean against the table, sipping from it as he stared into the fire. “Send me.”

    “What?”

    “To London, with the Greenlanders. Keep Harald here, and send me in his place. That way, you can keep an eye on him, and we can control the message that is given to Canute.”

    Olof turned thoughtful. He nodded slowly, turning his own gaze towards the fire. “It is a good idea. I will consider it.”

    Jakob drained his cup and stood up, setting the empty vessel on the table. “Let me know what you decide,” he said wryly, patting his father’s shoulder as he passed.

    “I told Harald I would give him my answer tomorrow,” said Olof. “You will hear my decision then as well.”

    Jakob nodded. “In that case, father, I bid you goodnight. I look forward to hearing your verdict.”

Chapter Text

It wasn’t until the next afternoon that Olof called them all before him in the greatroom of the hall. Once again, the king sat on his throne in the center of the dais, although this time Jakob sat at his right, and Estrid to his left; Olof’s warriors filled the hall, all eyes trained on the visitors. Harald stood in the center of his small party, Freydis and Tove to one side, and Leif and Brigid on the other, Sveinn asleep in Brigid’s arms. They waited patiently as Olof spoke to Jakob. Harald knew that this was just another tactic to remind them all of who was in charge here, but he knew just as well that it would quickly get under Freydis’s skin. Sure enough, after a few moments, she cleared her throat impatiently. Harald bit back a smile as annoyance lit up Olof’s face, but Jakob laughed.

    “It seems that we are taxing the shieldmaiden’s patience, father.”

    Olof frowned, but turned his full attention towards them. “Prince Harald. Yesterday, you brought to me a proposition. You asked me to allow you and your friends to sail out from my city, to seek out my half-brother Canute in England and ask for his help in retaking Norway from your own half-brother. I admit, it is certainly in my own interest to keep Jarl Olaf from claiming Norway; as co-king of that country alongside my stepfather, and someday one or both of my brothers—most likely Canute, if we’re being reasonable—it is certainly desirable to nip Olaf’s rebellion in the bud, before he can stake a true claim to Norway. Olaf will not accept us as kings over him, and will try to take full control of your country. This would result in a war that, realistically, no-one wants to deal with. As Canute has not responded to Olaf already, it is likely that word of the attack on Kattegat has not reached him, or that King Forkbeard does not believe the situation is dire enough to call for help.

    “Essentially,” said the king, rising from his throne to begin pacing the dais, “the only problem I see with your plan, Harald Sigurdsson… is you .”

    Immediately, Harald tensed, and felt Freydis and Leif do the same at his sides. “What do you mean by that, King Olof?” he asked, trying to keep his tone even.

    “I cannot trust you,” the king shrugged. “I have no way of being certain that you are not secretly working with your brother, or lying to me about your intentions. From what I can see, you could be trying to get Canute’s fleet out of England and Denmark to allow Olaf to attack there next, or you could be making a play to gain power for yourself. I cannot allow either of these. But I believe you are right—we must send for Canute and his armies if we are to be victorious over Olaf. Therefore, we have a dilemma.”

    “What can I do in order to gain your trust?” Harald asked, stepping forward and holding his hands out, palms upturned, in a gesture of peace. “I would gladly swear my fealty to you, as I have to Canute in the past, if it would assuage your doubts.”

    “It might,” Olof shrugged. “But Jakob has come up with an additional solution.” He resumed his seat on his throne, gesturing to the prince on his right. “I will send your friends to England, but not you, Harald Sigurdsson. You will stay here, so that any plans you have to assist your brother cannot be put into play. Instead, my son Jakob will accompany your friends, to lend weight to their plea to Canute, and make sure they—and you—are not somehow working for Olaf. And, if anything happens to my son, or your friends prove to be traitors themselves… You will be killed.”

    The hall was silent for a moment. Harald heard Freydis take a breath like she was about to say something, and spoke quickly. “We accept your terms, King Olof. Thank you for your assistance.” He could feel the heat of Freydis’s anger, and hoped she would someday forgive him for this.

    Jakob stood. “We set sail for England in three days. Don’t be late.”

.*.*.*.*.*.

Harald winced as Freydis grabbed his arm and literally dragged him back to their room, the others not far behind. Once they were in the safety of their quarters, she yanked him around to face him, grabbing him by the shoulders and shaking him as she trembled with anger. “How could you agree to that?” she demanded. “We cannot leave you here alone. What if Olof decides that he can’t trust you after all and kills you? It’s not safe!”

    Leif rested a hand on Freydis’s shoulder and gently pried her hands off of Harald. “Freydis. Calm down.”

    Behind them, Brigid shut the door, bouncing Sveinn on her hip as he woke and began to fuss. She and Tove hung back slightly, giving the others space but still part of the conversation.

    Leif successfully separated Freydis from Harald and kept himself between them, forcing them to have space to clear their heads—more for Freydis’s benefit than Harald’s. “King Olof has placed us in a situation that puts him in control. With Harald here in Agnafit, we will have to do whatever Jakob says, and Jakob will, most likely, act in his father’s interests. Fortunately, it seems like Olof’s interests are currently the same as ours.”

    “Exactly,” said Harald, stepping away to take a seat by the fireplace. He ran his hands over his face and through his hair with a sigh. “I admit, I was not expecting Skötkonung to make me stay here, but it’s not an unreasonable request. As far as he’s concerned, I really can’t be trusted. I would do the same in his position. Leverage is important, and Olof knows that. He’s sending Jakob with you to watch over his interests there, as Leif said, and keeping me here to make sure Jakob is safe.”

    “Well, he should know that if anything happens to you, I’ll take it out on Jakob,” Freydis snarled.

    Leif rested his hand on his sister’s shoulder again. “We’ll deal with that if it comes down to it. Hopefully it never does.”

    “What do we do now?” said Tove. “Are we really going to split up again?”

    Leif sighed and looked around the group. Brigid moved to stand beside him, slipping her hand into his, and Tove stood on Freydis’s other side. “Yes. We don’t have any other choice.” Brigid gave his hand a squeeze, the pressure reassuring as he continued speaking, despite the feeling of his heart tearing at the words. “Freydis, Tove, and I will go with Jakob to England. Harald and Brigid will stay here.”

    Harald nodded in agreement. “Jakob may be Canute’s nephew, but they hardly know each other. Olof isn’t particularly close with his stepfather and half-brothers. Canute may listen to Jakob to honor their familial connection, but he will listen to Leif out of respect. And Freydis and Tove, you’ll need to watch Leif’s back. We have no way of knowing what sort of agenda Jakob—or Olof—might be pushing.”

    “And I will be here to watch your back,” Brigid teased.

    “Exactly,” Harald grinned. He stood up and kissed Brigid on the top of the head, then took Sveinn from her. “The most important thing is that none of us will be alone.”

    “You’re right,” said Freydis with a sigh. “This is bigger than all of us. It’s not about any of us, it’s about stopping Olaf.”

    Harald nodded. “We cannot allow him to start winning ground in Norway. He must be stopped, and we need Canute for that. If that means we have to split up again, then so be it.” A fierce look crossed his face. “Whatever it takes, Olaf cannot be allowed to win this war.”

.*.*.*.*.*.

Back in their own room, with Sveinn playing with his wooden spoons on the floor, Brigid sat down on the end of the bed, staring into the fire. Leif knelt down in front of her and took her hands in his, looking up into her face. “I’m sorry. I should have talked to you before telling the others that I would go to England.”

    Brigid smiled softly and reached up to brush her fingers over his cheek, tucking his hair behind his ear. “I am not angry. I knew you would have to go as soon as King Olof said that he would be keeping Harald here.” Her hand came to rest on the back of his neck and she leaned down to rest her forehead against his, eyes closed. “But I will be holding you to your promise to always come back to me. You’re not getting out of that one.”

    Leif chuckled and slipped his arms around her waist. “I have no intention of ever breaking that promise. As sure as the sun rising in the sky, I will always come back to you, for as long as I live.”

    Brigid nodded and kissed him on the cheek, but didn’t pull away. “And I will always wait for you,” she whispered. “No matter how long it takes, I will be here when you return.”

    Leif smiled and kissed her before pulling away. “Come; we have three days. We should make the best of them.”

.*.*.*.*.*.

The next three days passed in a blur of preparation. Jakob made sure that Leif and Tove were fitted with proper armor, and that Freydis’s was repaired. Leif and Harald oversaw the supplying of the boat—a small vessel that would only carry about a dozen, but that they were promised was extremely fast—and Freydis set them all to an intense training regimen to whip them into shape. Brigid spent the evenings mending rips and tears in their clothes from the faux combat, grumbling that they all needed to be more careful.

    On the third evening, before they were to set sail, King Olof hosted a small banquet to bid farewell to his son. Harald went, out of politeness, and dragged Freydis with him, but the others opted to stay behind in their rooms. Tove joined Leif and Brigid for a small dinner of stew and bread in their room, the three of them seated in a little circle on the floor as they ate quietly.

    Tove yawned hugely and stretched, wincing as sore muscles twinged. “Well, that’s it for me, I think. I want to get a good night’s sleep before we set out tomorrow.” She stood, reaching for the bowls and spoons from dinner. “I’ll take these back to the kitchen.”

    “I can do that,” said Brigid, waving her away. “Go get some sleep.”

    “If you say so,” Tove shrugged. She glanced towards the cradle, where Sveinn had been tucked in for the night but had yet to fall asleep. “Why don’t I take him for the night? I’m going to miss the little one while we’re gone. Anyways, I’m sure you two wouldn’t mind the privacy.” She winked at Brigid as she said this, and laughed at the bright red flush that spread over her friend’s face. Without waiting for a response, she lifted Sveinn up carefully. She closed the door softly behind her, and, with that, Leif and Brigid found themselves completely alone for the first time in almost two months.

    Still blushing from Tove’s comment, Brigid stood and busied herself with collecting the dishes from dinner and setting them on the small table by the door. When she finished, she stood facing the wall for a moment before turning back towards Leif, wiping her palms on her skirt; they were suddenly sweaty, although not from the heat of the fire, and her face was still warm, her heart fluttering in her chest. Leif stood and crossed to her, and she noticed a faint flush over his cheeks as well.

    Leif wrapped an arm around Brigid’s waist and pulled her in close, his other hand coming to rest on the side of her neck as their lips met. Brigid wrapped one of her arms around Leif’s shoulders and grabbed hold of his shirt with her other hand, clinging on for dear life as tears welled in her eyes. Leif pulled away when he felt her cheeks grow damp, wiping a stray tear away with his thumb. He leaned down to kiss another away as it tumbled down her cheek, then settled with his forehead resting against hers, thumb continuing to stroke her cheek. “I will be back. I promise.”

    “I know,” Brigid murmured. “I just don’t want to let you go in the first place.”

    Leif smiled and kissed her on the forehead, the tip of her nose, her cheek, and her lips. When he pulled away again, Brigid smiled up at him. She brushed her fingertips over his cheek and tucked his hair behind his ear, then leaned up to press a kiss to his jaw. “Just for a little while…” she whispered, “I want to forget that you’re leaving.”

    Leif’s smile broadened and he leaned down to kiss her again. He helped her unlace her overdress enough for it to drop to the floor, then picked her up and sat her down on the table, kicking her dress out of the way. They separated long enough for Brigid to pull his shirt up and over his head, and their lips met again as she tossed it aside. Her hands explored his torso, feeling out the planes of his muscles and the hard ridges of old scars. When they broke apart to catch their breath, she slipped a hand up to cup his cheek, turning his face slightly so that she could pepper kisses down his jaw and neck, then along the three long scars across his chest. His breath hitched when she swirled her tongue around his nipple, jumping slightly at the unexpected sensation, but seconds later a soft moan escaped him as he found that he quite enjoyed that particular form of attention. Brigid grew bolder, bringing her hand up to the other side of his chest to run her thumb over his other nipple, earning her another breathy moan.

    Leif hiked up her skirt, running his hands over her bare thighs, around her hips until he had a good enough hold to grip her and pull her forward, so that her legs were wrapped firmly around his hips and they were flush together. She rolled her hips, grinding against him over his trousers, letting out a tiny moan. She pulled away from his chest and leaned back to look up at him. Leif drank in the sight of her, all plump lips and flushed cheeks, eyes sparkling in the firelight, although no longer with tears. He reached around her to tug the tie out of the end of her braid and set to unraveling it, until her face was framed by soft, rust-colored waves. Brigid reached up and freed his hair from its bun as well, running her fingers through his tangled brown curls.

    Leif took her hands and brought them up behind his head, crossing her wrists at the nape of his neck. Brigid took this as a cue to wrap her legs fully around him as well, so that her ankles were crossed behind him and her thighs gripped his hips. Leif rolled his hips up into her, relishing the moan that escaped her in response. She pulled him down and pressed her lips to his with a new ferocity, which he reciprocated.

    After a little while, Leif pulled away to catch his breath, taking the opportunity to lean back enough to unlace his trousers. Brigid helped him, and then they set to work on the lacing of her bodice. They didn’t quite get to the point of removing their remaining clothes before they were both pulling each other in again. As their mouths came together, Brigid wrapped an arm back around Leif’s shoulders, pulling him in close, while her other hand slipped under the waistband of his trousers, exploring lower. He grunted softly when she gripped him firmly, her hand sliding slowly down his length, then back up.

    Brigid pushed Leif’s pants down and off of his hips, the pace of her hand quickening once there was no longer anything in her way. His breathing sped up, becoming irregular as she settled her grip just under his tip, her thumb swiping over the head, exploring different motions to stimulate him. Leif leaned forward, keeping her body close to his with one arm, and resting his palm against the wall for support as his knees grew weak. Once he grew more accustomed to what she was doing, he felt steady enough to let go of her and reach down between her legs, to the warmth and wetness there. He ran two fingers up between her folds, sliding them up to the nub between them. Her body responded immediately, jerking under him, and she gasped, fingernails digging into the back of his shoulder where she still clung to him.

    After a few more moments of this, Leif pulled away. Brigid released him when he did, and he took a tiny step back—not far enough that her legs fell away from his hips, just enough to put a little distance between them and let cooler air fill the new void between their bodies. Brigid leaned back on her hands, pushing the bowls from dinner away and sending one clattering to the floor. Her head fell back, and her eyes closed. Leif’s eyes traced a path down from her chin, along the curve of her neck, to the loose fabric of her open bodice. Brigid seemed to feel his gaze, and lifted her head again, opening one eye to look at him. Leif blushed slightly and smiled at her. She grinned and sat up, reaching up to cup his face with both hands and pull him into another long kiss. Before they had even pulled apart, Leif once again wrapped his arms around her, this time lifting her up and off the table.

    He carried her over to the bed and set her down. Brigid unhooked her legs from around his hips so that he could step back and untangle himself from his trousers, and stood up to rip off her underdress and chemise. When she was done, Leif was in front of her again, one arm around her waist to keep her from falling as he pushed her back onto the bed. Her skin was soft and warm under his hands, and she opened her legs to him. He moved his hand down her body, his calloused palm and fingertips rasping across her smooth skin, to settle on the back of her thigh, lifting her leg to rest against his hip.

    Brigid moaned as he brought his hips down towards hers, sliding between her slick folds. She clung to his arm with one hand, and the other came up to pull his head down towards hers, fingers woven through his hair. Leif met her with a gentle ferocity, nipping at her lower lip before they collided, and then pressing his way into her mouth with his tongue, exploring her thoroughly. His hand found its way between her legs again, guiding himself into place and sliding easily inside of her. Once he had entered her, he let his fingers glide up to rub her clit again. Brigid cried out at this, her body jerking up into his and her hand clenching into a fist around his hair. Leif stilled for a moment, letting her get used to the new sensations, and then began to move again, setting a slow, steady rhythm with both his hand and his hips.

    There wasn’t much for Brigid to do but hang on for the ride, gasping for breath between moans as pleasure rolled through her body in waves. Her fist clenched and unclenched in Leif’s hair, while she clung to his arm with the other. Her toes curled against the blankets under her, heels digging into the bed as her body tensed. The now-familiar knot below her stomach was growing so tight that it threatened to snap—and when it did, she cried out, calling Leif’s name as she clung to him.

    Leif paused, both wanting to let Brigid ride out her orgasm without overstimulating her and needing to catch his breath. He leaned down, resting his forearms on the bed on either side of her head, and rested his forehead against her shoulder. Her hand stroked his hair—gently, almost like an apology for pulling on it—and she kissed his temple. She pushed gently on his shoulder, and, reluctantly, Leif rolled off of her, landing on his back beside her. Brigid moved fluidly to straddle his hips and carefully lowered herself onto him. Once she was settled, she rolled her hips experimentally, and Leif moaned, grabbing onto her thighs and guiding her as she found her rhythm.

    Once she got the hang of things, Brigid reached down and gently pried his hand from her legs, lacing her fingers through his, and pinning his hands to the bed above his head. She leaned forward to do this, her hair falling around both of their flushed faces, eyelids fluttering as her new position hit new nerves in her body. She kept a slow, steady rhythm that very quickly drove Leif nearly out of his mind with pleasure, but that was definitely not going to get him over the edge he so desperately wanted to crest.

    Brigid kissed him on the forehead, the tip of his nose, his cheek, and his lips, then sat back up, moving his hands to rest on top of her thighs before tossing her hair behind her back. She rested her hands on his sides for balance as she alternated between circling and rolling her hips. Leif’s eyes rolled shut and he moaned again, louder this time—loud enough to startle himself. When he opened his eyes, a fresh wave of warmth rushing to his cheeks, Brigid was grinning cheekily down at him. She leaned down and kissed his cheek, then nipped at his earlobe. “Don’t be shy,” she whispered, and he could hear the smile behind her words. “I like that sound.”

    Leif flushed deep red as Brigid kissed her way down his neck to bite down just over his collarbone, sucking hard on his skin to leave a mark. He couldn’t help but moan again, and felt her smile. Her hands slid up his sides and over his shoulders as she pulled away, hands planted on the bed to either side of his head and still smiling down at him. She opened her mouth to say something else, but Leif took that opportunity to sit up, wrapping his arms and legs around her to bring her in as close as possible. He took his turn to mark the smooth skin of her neck and shoulder, taking his time with it to leave a trail of red blooms. He felt a sudden urge to leave something of himself behind, and the little noises that escaped Brigid were certainly not something to complain about. She buried her face in the crook of his neck when he finished, his chin resting on her shoulder as both of their movements began to stutter; Leif’s thrusts became irregular, while Brigid stopped so much rolling her hips as bucking them into him, her breath coming in little gasps. 

    Leif groaned as he came, burying himself deep inside her, and she followed seconds after with a gasp, moaning out his name as her body shook in his arms. As they both wound down, Brigid sagged against him, her breathing slowly becoming more even. Leif turned and laid her down on the bed, then crossed the room—on surprisingly shaky legs—to wet a rag in a basin of cool water and clean himself up. When he was done, he wet another rag and wrang it out, then returned to the bed and helped Brigid clean up as well.

    By the time they crawled under the blankets, they were both half asleep and starting to shiver as the fire died out and their sweat cooled on their skin. Leif wrapped his arms around her and pulled her as close to him as possible. He buried his face in her hair and took a deep breath. He wanted to remember everything about this in the days to come: the smell of her hair, the feel of her skin against his, the sound of her breath as she drifted off to sleep. He wrapped his hands over hers, running his thumbs over her knuckles, and hooked a leg around hers so that they were thoroughly tangled together. Brigid mumbled something incoherent and he smiled to himself. He leaned around to kiss her cheek, pausing to whisper in her ear before lying back down: “I love you too.”

Chapter Text

In the morning, Leif was rudely reminded why Brigid always slept in braids as he woke with a mouthful of rust-colored hair. He released one of her hands to gently pry her hair out of his mouth and twist it out of the way. He stayed there, tangled with her, for a while, appreciating the peace of the morning. Finally, he propped himself up on one elbow to peer down at Brigid’s face; he kissed her on the cheek, at the end of the still-healing cut across her cheekbone. Her hands still rested in his, so he released them carefully, laying them down on the bed beside her. He ran his thumb over the scar on her left wrist—a rough, twisting bracelet of raised pink skin where it had been torn by rope during the storm on the crossing from England. He brought the hand to his mouth and pressed a kiss to the scar on the inside of her wrist before placing her hand back on the bed. He kissed her once more, this time on the shoulder, before pulling away and slipping out of bed, as gently and quietly as possible to avoid waking her.

    Leif dressed quickly and grabbed his pack and armor, sneaking a glance over his shoulder. He knew he should probably wake Brigid, but didn’t have the heart to disturb her. She’d be awake soon enough, and would come down to the docks for their farewell. He had a feeling that if they said their goodbyes in private, he wouldn’t be able to make himself leave her.

.*.*.*.*.*.

Harald nearly leapt out of his skin, and both he and Freydis were halfway out of bed before they realized that the reason their door had slammed open was because of Leif, who now stood in the doorway, pointedly not looking at either of them. Harald suddenly remembered that he was naked, and grabbed at the blanket to cover himself. Freydis crossed her arms over her chest and glared daggers at her brother, who continued to avoid looking at her.

    “We have to get the boat ready. The tide will be in soon. I’ll meet you at the docks.” Leif shut the door behind him, slamming it shut almost as hard as he had opened it.

    “He’s not in a good mood,” Harald grumbled, beginning the search for his pants in the mess of discarded clothing that their floor had become after dinner the night before.

    Freydis’s face was dark, and she looked furious at the intrusion. “I told him what I’d do if he ever did that again.”

    Harald remembered their first time together, back in Kattegat, so many months ago, and bit back a smile. He wondered what words Freydis had thrown at her brother after he burst into Harald’s room, and decided he was probably better off not knowing. “It’s only fair,” he said. “I’ve done exactly that to him and Brigid… more than once.”

    Freydis arched an eyebrow, but her glower turned into a half-smile, and Harald basked in it. When they were finished dressing, they headed for the docks. They met a sleepy-looking Tove in the hall, carrying a wide-awake and bright-eyed Sveinn. “I’ll meet you there,” she called over her shoulder as she headed down the hall. “I want to give Sveinn to Brigid first.”

    On their way through the greatroom of the hall, which was absolutely bustling with activity as King Olof’s court prepared to farewell their crown prince, Harald and Freydis snagged some bread and roasted meat—the latter so hot that it burned their fingers to hold and their tongues when they tried to eat it—and ate while they walked to the harbor. Harald carried Freydis’s pack, leaving her armor and weapons to her, and they walked in silence, both afraid that if they started to talk, they wouldn’t want to stop.

    They met Leif and Jakob at the boat, which was already being loaded with the last of the provisions for the voyage. The plan was to sail directly to London, which was at least a two week voyage, especially with the storms that tended to plague the sea during winter, without stopping in Denmark or Norway to restock, so the boat needed to be fully prepared for the long voyage. Realistically, it was a bit overstocked—not so much that it would weigh the ship down, but enough that, if they made good time and didn’t hit any storms, they could probably make it both to and from London without restocking. Leif took Freydis’s pack and armor and stashed them in the low hold in the center of the boat, then joined her, Harald, and Jakob on the dock.

    Harald grinned and twitched the edge of Leif’s collar aside, revealing a red and purple stain just over his collarbone, angry and dark against the rest of his skin. Harald’s grin broadened and he arched an eyebrow. “Wonder where that came from.”

    Leif turned bright red from his neck to his ears and swatted Harald’s hand aside, tugging his collar back over the mark. Freydis shook with silent laughter at her brother’s embarrassment, and slung an arm around Harald’s shoulders before kissing him on the cheek. They all recognized that this was payback for Leif bursting into their room that morning, and he turned around and half-tripped into the boat to busy himself with doing nothing important while they waited for the others.

    Half of the rowers were already there and getting settled on the boat when Tove arrived. Her hair was tangled, falling out of its braids from the night before, and she was peeling the skin off her bottom lip with her upper teeth. Leif took her bag, while Freydis turned her around and stood her still, quickly winding her hair into a single, long braid. “You don’t want it in your face to row,” Freydis smiled, squeezing Tove’s shoulder once she was finished.

    “Thank you,” Tove sighed. “I was trying to do too many things before I came here.”

    “There’s nothing to be worried about,” said Leif. “You’ll be fine.”

    “I’ve never been on a boat before,” said Tove. “I’m just a little nervous.”

    Freydis wrapped her arm around Tove’s shoulders and pulled her close. “It will be alright. You have me and Leif, not to mention Prince Jakob and his men, and we are all familiar with the sea. We’ll keep you safe.”

    Tove nodded and smiled, slipping her arm around Freydis’s waist. The shore behind the docks began to fill with Olof and Jakob’s men as the court made their way down from the hall. Brigid reached the docks just before them, Sveinn screaming in her arms and her russet hair blowing loose in the wind. Leif took the baby to try and calm him down as they watched Olof and his queen approach. Jakob stepped off of the dock to bow to his parents.

    “May God bless you and keep you,” Olof intoned, crossing himself. Jakob and Estrid followed suit, then the queen stepped forward to embrace her son.

    Olof made a speech, something grand about taking Norway back from Olaf, and a noble bond between himself and Canute, and following the will of God. Even Harald, used to speeches like this, tuned him out. He noticed Freydis rolling her eyes in his peripheral vision and elbowed her in the ribs, earning him a pinch to the back of his bicep that was hard enough to make him jump. When the speech was finally over, a great cheer went up through Olof’s men and the others gathered at the docks. There was a surge of people on the shore, hurrying forward to bid farewell to Jakob and his men, and the small party still on the dock found themselves largely ignored.

    Leif took Brigid’s hand and pulled her away from the others. Harald snagged Sveinn from his arms, giving the two of them a moment alone. They stood at the end of the dock and Leif pulled Brigid into his arms; she stood on her tiptoes and wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling them as close together as possible. The wind whipped at their hair and clothes, drowning out the bustle on the shore and whatever Harald, Freydis, and Tove were talking about just a few feet away.

    When they separated, Brigid wiped away a tear. “You were already gone when I woke.”

    Leif rested a hand on her cheek. “I knew that if you were awake when I left, I would never be able to go. I’m sorry.”

    Brigid turned her face into his hand, closing her eyes as a small smile played across her lips. “I had a feeling you would say that. It’s alright; I was just hoping to be able to wake up next to you one last time.”

    Leif turned her face up towards his and leaned down to kiss her on the forehead, the tip of her nose, her cheek, and finally her lips. He rested his forehead against hers when their lips parted, eyes closed. “I’ll be back before you know it. And then we’ll have a lifetime of waking up next to each other.”

    Brigid giggled and kissed his cheek, reaching up to take his face in both of her hands. She leaned back and looked up, her brown eyes meeting the stormy green-grey of his. “I don’t mind the sound of that,” she whispered, so quiet that the wind almost stole her voice away. She wrapped her arms around his shoulders again as he pulled her into another kiss.

    “Hey, let’s go!” Harald’s voice broke them apart, and they turned back to the others. Jakob and the rowers were making their way down the dock to board the boat, so, reluctantly, Leif and Brigid rejoined their friends. His arm stayed around her shoulders, and hers around his waist; when they reached the others, Harald wrapped his free arm around Brigid’s shoulders and rested his hand on Leif’s arm, while Tove slipped her arm around Leif’s waist and she and Brigid grabbed hold of each other’s arms. 

Freydis’s arms came to rest around Tove and Harald’s shoulders, drawing them in close enough that her fingertips brushed against Brigid and Leif’s arms, Sveinn nestled firmly between her and Harald. She leaned down to kiss the baby on the head, then looked around at the others. “We will be back.”

    “Of course you will,” Harald grinned. “And we’ll be waiting.”

    “Don’t go defeating Olaf without us,” Tove teased.

    “The same to you,” said Brigid.

    They stood together for another moment before pulling apart. Tove pulled Brigid and Freydis into a tight hug, while Harald grabbed Leif with his free arm and pulled him in, cupping the back of his head to draw him close. Leif sighed and wrapped his arms around Harald and Sveinn, squeezing Harald but being careful not to squish the baby, then pulled away to kiss Sveinn on the head—earning him a whack on the cheek from the fussy baby’s tiny fist.

    Harald laughed and mussed Leif’s hair, knocking some of it loose from his bun. “He’s going to miss you.” Leif glared at him and tucked his hair behind his ears. “I’ll miss you too,” said Harald, using his grip on Leif to pull him against his side and kissing the side of his head.

    Leif nodded, and Harald felt him grip the back of his shirt in his fist, like he was trying not to crush Harald in an embrace but wanted to convey the strength of his emotions anyways.

    “Keep an eye on her,” said Harald, nodding towards Freydis. “Though I doubt she’ll need it.”

    Leif nodded, eyes trained on Brigid.

    “Don’t worry; I’ll keep them both safe,” Harald promised, bouncing Sveinn slightly.

    Leif nodded again, and they separated as the others broke apart. Freydis took Sveinn from Harald and kissed him on the cheek before passing him to Brigid. She nearly knocked Harald over when she hugged him, squeezing him like she was trying to break his ribs. Harald hugged her back just as tight. When they pulled apart, she grabbed him by the collar and yanked him into a long kiss before finally taking a step back. Leif had his arm around Brigid’s shoulders, and Freydis pulled them both into a hug, pressing a kiss to the crown of Brigid’s head before mussing her brother’s hair. Harald hugged Tove and kissed her on the cheek, then put his hands on her shoulders and took a step back, looking her over. “By the time you return, you’ll be a true Viking,” he grinned. Tove blushed and bowed her head in thanks, and then she and Freydis and Leif were climbing into the boat. Harald took Leif’s place at Brigid’s side, shielding her and Sveinn from the wind and wrapping his arm around her shoulders.

    As the boat pulled away from the dock, a great cheer went up from the warriors on the shore. Brigid and Harald followed it to the end of the dock, arms still around each other, and watched it head for the open sea beyond the harbor. Harald gave Brigid a squeeze and rubbed his hand over her shoulder, leaning down to kiss the top of her head. “They’ll be back before you know it,” he murmured.

    “Are you trying to make me feel better, or yourself?” Brigid asked, eyes trained on the receding shape of the boat.

    Harald sighed. “Both.”

Chapter Text

Almost a week after the others left Agnafit, Olof’s consort Edla, her daughter Astrid, Harald’s nephew Magnus, and Olof’s youngest child, his and Estrid’s daughter Ingegerd, arrived there from Sigtuna. This arrival brought with it a flurry of activity in the great hall that both Harald and Brigid did their best to avoid, but, as Olof’s “honored guests”, they weren’t quite lucky enough to be able to do so, and found themselves dragged down to the formal dinner held to welcome the new arrivals that night.

    Brigid felt entirely out of place here. While there wasn’t a great deal of difference between Kattegat and Agnafit, the environment in Kattegat had felt more like home to her, even through the tenseness of battle preparation. In Agnafit, everything was more strict and formal, and far less homely and welcoming than Kattegat had ever been. Brigid did her best to fade into the shadows at dinner, feeling entirely out of place in her ill-fitting clothes and with the baby on her knee. Harald, for all that he was dressed in borrowed peasant’s clothes that were threadbare, patched, and mended, and hardly fit him any better than Brigid’s did her, managed to look every bit the prince of Norway she knew him to be, which made her feel even more out of place at his side.

    For this dinner, Olof had insisted that they join him and his family at the head table on the dais of the hall, making it impossible for Brigid to hide. She wore Kelda’s heavy overdress—both for warmth, and because it was the nicest garment she had in her possession, even with the skirt still slightly mud-stained despite her spending half a day trying to scrub it clean. She had braided her hair neatly to keep it out of her face, but the style was nowhere near as elaborate as those worn by Astrid, Edla, and Estrid. She and Harald spent dinner passing Sveinn back and forth, as the baby was once again in a fussy mood and wouldn’t let anyone hold him for long. Harald chatted with Astrid, who was seated beside him—Magnus was supposed to be between her and her mother, but kept bouncing up and wandering off into the hall to plague the warriors around them with questions—and Brigid found herself drawn into conversation with a fair-haired young woman seated beside her.

    “Your child is lovely,” said the woman, leaning down to smile at Sveinn.

    “Thank you,” said Brigid. “I mean he is not really mine, so I can’t take credit for it, but…”

    The woman laughed. “If he’s not yours, then whose is he?”

    “He is an orphan,” Brigid said simply. “I’ve just been taking care of him since we found him.”

    “Oh,” said the woman. “What is his name?”

    “Sveinn.”

    “Hello, Sveinn,” she smiled at the baby, offering her hand to him. Sveinn grabbed hold of her fingers and bit her. The woman winced, but laughed and tickled his cheek until he let her go. “I am Ingegerd,” she said, turning to Brigid. “What is your name?”

    “Brigid. It is an honor to meet you, Princess Ingegerd.”

    “Oh, don’t bother with all that,” Ingegerd waved her hand dismissively. “Just Ingegerd, please. I’m not as formal as my parents.”

    Brigid couldn’t help but smile, grateful to have finally found a friendly face in this strange new place. “Well, it’s lovely to meet you, then, Ingegerd.”

    “You too, Brigid—and Sveinn,” Ingegerd giggled. “Let’s be friends.”

.*.*.*.*.*.

It really didn’t take long for Brigid and Ingegerd to become inseparable. While Brigid found the young princess flighty and a bit spoiled, Ingegerd was very much a truly kind, generous, and graceful person. The two spent most of their time together, either in Ingegerd’s chambers or Brigid’s cozy room. Ingegerd was fascinated by Brigid’s knitting, and Brigid by the princess’s nålebinding. They both tried to teach each other their crafts, but were unsuccessful. Ingegerd was also interested by Brigid’s past in England, as well as her experiences in Norway, and constantly plagued her with questions about these foreign places. Brigid quickly discovered that, unlike her siblings, Ingegerd had been fairly sheltered for most of her life, and had rarely left Agnafit and Sigtuna, much less Sweden.

    When the weather was good enough, they would venture out from the hall to explore the town, bundled warmly against the biting cold and snow flurries. Their preferred area to explore was the market, which was well-populated even in the winter’s chill by merchants not only from Sweden, but from far beyond its borders as well, and the occupants of the market stalls changed nearly daily as ships entered and left the port. Sometimes Harald would join them, but he usually remained in the hall, either training with Olof’s men or minding Sveinn to give Brigid a break.

    One day, a particularly bad snowstorm found Ingegerd and Brigid holed up together in Brigid’s room. Sveinn was napping in his cradle near the fire, and Brigid was doing her best to unravel a giant knot that had formed in her yarn, while Ingegerd sat by the window, staring wistfully into the storm over the harbor, her nålebinding abandoned.

    “I envy you, you know.”

    Brigid looked up, blinking as she processed the words. “‘Envy’? How so?”

    Ingegerd turned and offered her a sad smile. “You’re free. You can come and go as you wish, and make your own choices about your life. You’re not bound to what others want and expect from you. If you want to leave, you can. You left England already, and started a whole new life here. I wish I could do that.”

    “I guess I never thought of it that way. I always thought that people like you could do whatever you wanted, go where you wanted, be who you wanted. But, after getting to know you, and Harald too, I do see that I was wrong about that. You have these… expectations. Completely different than anything that would ever be expected of me, or someone like me. And you have different responsibilities; the only life I am responsible for is my own—well, my own and Sveinn’s—but Harald… he has a whole country to look out for. And you as well; your people love you, but they also rely on you. And when you become a queen someday, whether here in Sweden or somewhere else, your people will depend on you even more then.” Brigid shook her head. “I could never handle that.”

    Ingegerd sighed, resting her head against the windowpane. “I don’t think that I can either.”

    “I’m sure you can,” Brigid smiled. “You have everything you need already. You’re kind and gentle, and you love others. I can’t think of more necessary qualities for a queen to have.”

    Ingegerd turned and offered her a truly genuine smile. “Thank you, Brigid.”

    Brigid nodded and returned to struggling with her yarn. They were quiet for a few moments, until Ingegerd spoke again. “I’m to be queen of Novgorod, apparently. Or, ‘princess’; they don’t use ‘queen’ there. And, someday, God willing, I will be the Grand Princess of Kievan Rus’. My father has promised that I will marry Yaroslav Vladimirovich. He’s the son of Grand Prince Vladimir, of Kievan Rus’.”

    Brigid nodded along, pretending she knew what all of these names and places and titles were. “Do you not want to marry him?”

    Ingegerd sighed again. “It’s not quite that simple.”

    Brigid arched an eyebrow, but managed to keep the rest of her face composed, and waited quietly for Ingegerd to continue.

    “It’s not that I don’t want to marry him. He’s a fine man—if a bit older than I’d care for—and not unkind. But he’s… I don’t know, stern, and hard. He’s not the sort of man I’ve ever dreamed about marrying, and I certainly don’t love him. My mother says that if I give him a chance, I may love him someday, but… I’d rather love someone before I marry them than wait around and hope it comes later.”

    Brigid nodded slowly. She couldn’t argue with that—she certainly wouldn’t want to marry someone she didn’t love. “When are you to marry him?”

    Ingegerd shrugged. “I don’t know yet. He’s supposed to be visiting, to court me and negotiate with my father sometime soon, likely in the next few months, but it could be sooner.”

    Brigid stood up and crossed to sit next to Ingegerd, wrapping her arm around the younger woman’s shoulders. She didn’t know what to say, or even if there was anything to say to help Ingegerd feel better about her situation, but she hoped that the gesture offered some small comfort. Ingegerd slipped her arm around Brigid’s waist and rested her head on her shoulder.

    “There’s nothing I can do about it, and that’s alright,” Ingegerd said finally. “I’ve accepted that—or, at least, I’m trying to. I’m very good about making the best of situations. It may be hard to make the best of Novgorod, but it can’t hurt to try.”

    Brigid smiled and kissed Ingegerd on the temple, squeezing her tightly. “You are brave and good, Princess Ingegerd Olofsdottir, and I think that you are strong as well. I think that you will manage anything you put your mind to, including making the best of Novgorod and Prince Yaroslav.”

    Ingegerd sighed. “Promise that you’ll visit me there someday? Or that you’ll have a home somewhere that I can sneak off and visit you—and Sveinn—at when I need a break from court?”

    Brigid laughed. “As long as I have a home, you will always be welcome in it; that I promise you.”

    “Thank you, my friend. And I promise that you will always be welcome wherever I am.”

    Brigid gave Ingegerd another squeeze before returning to her tangle of yarn. The room was still quiet, but now at least Ingegerd seemed at peace, which made the environment a little less tense. After a while, Brigid had finally gotten back to knitting, when Ingegerd spoke again. “Do you love Leif?”

    “Yes,” Brigid said, setting her knitting aside again. “I do.”

    “How do you know?”

    Brigid had to think about her answer for a moment. “I’m not entirely sure, but… I think it’s because I want to be with him. He makes me happy, and I would do anything for him, and I know he would do anything for me. I keep forgetting that we’ve only known each other for a few months, because it feels like it’s been so much longer than that. I feel like I’ve known him my whole life, and could spend the rest of my life with him and not get tired of being around him.”

A soft smile had spread over Ingegerd’s face as Brigid spoke, and she let out a soft, wistful sigh when her friend finished. “That sounds nice. I hope that someday I feel the same about Prince Yaroslav.”

    “Have you ever met him?” asked Brigid.

    “No; he only visited once before, with his father, to make the initial arrangements, but I was in the south with my mother and brother. When we came back, my mother was furious with my father for agreeing to the marriage.”

    “I can only imagine,” Brigid laughed.

    “Did your parents ever try to arrange a marriage for you?”

    Brigid’s smile grew distant. “No. My father didn’t want to interfere like that, and my mother died when I was born.”

    “I’m sorry to hear that. What was she like?”

    “I don’t know. My father didn’t like to talk about her. He told me that her name was Asa, and that I look very much like her, but that was about it.” Brigid looked down at her knitting and her smile grew slightly. “I’d like to think that she’d be proud of the person I became. And that she’d love Leif as much as I do.”

    “I’m sure she would.”

Chapter Text

Tove groaned as she stood up from her rowing bench and stretched, twisting from side to side to work out some of the tension in her lower back. She was completely exhausted, and had been since a few hours after leaving Agnafit—and fully expected to continue to be worn out until they returned there. For now, Leif had called a rest for the rowers, and Tove was glad to oblige the order. She rubbed her sore biceps as she joined Leif, Freydis, and Jakob at the back of the boat.

    “Tired of rowing yet?” Jakob asked with a grin, passing her a piece of hard cheese, which she ate gratefully.

    “It’s hard, but I don’t mind it,” said Tove. “Although I’m starting to forget what it’s like to have arms that don’t hurt.”

    The others chuckled at this, and Tove took up a position leaning against the keel beside Freydis, looking out over the vast ocean surrounding their small boat. It had been a few days since they’d seen land; Leif had hugged the Swedish coast as long as possible before angling them further southwest, towards the distant British Isles, and, as far as Tove could tell, they were now well lost at sea. She didn’t actually think they were lost—Freydis and Harald’s faith in Leif’s navigational abilities was contagious—but it certainly felt like they were truly adrift. For all they knew, she pondered, they were the only people left in the world.

    Freydis nudged Tove with her elbow. “What are you thinking about?”

    “Freedom,” Tove said, a wistful smile creeping onto her face. “Out here, I can forget who I am. Out here, we are all equal. There are no jarls and kings and masters to say who belongs to who, or who rules over who. It is just us and the sea. I like it this way.”

    Freydis smiled and turned to rest her arm around Tove’s shoulders. “Soon we will be in England,” she whispered, “and we will petition King Canute for your freedom. I am sure he will grant the request. There is no reason not to.”

    Tove’s smile faltered, but she reached up to squeeze Freydis’s hand. “I hope you are right.”

.*.*.*.*.*.

According to Jakob, they made good time to England, and entered the channel between England and France ten days after leaving Agnafit. In another day and a half, the walls of London were visible, and soon enough they were making port at London’s docks. As they tied off on the pier, a burly man with a huge, reddish beard met them; another man, with short brown hair and a cropped beard, dressed all in black, trailed along behind.

    “Leif Eriksson,” said the bearded man. “We didn’t expect to see you in London again so soon.”

    Leif stepped up onto the dock, Jakob a step behind, while Freydis and Tove remained in the boat. “Agnarr. We need to see King Canute.”

    The brown-haired man pushed past Agnarr before the Viking could speak. “King Canute is not here.”

    “King Edmund, then,” said Leif.

    “King Edmund is dead.”

    Leif arched an eyebrow, but otherwise showed no sign of surprise.

    “If one king is dead, and the other is absent, who is in charge?” asked Jakob.

    “And you are?”

    “Prince Anund Jakob Olofsson of Sweden,” Jakob retorted. “And you ?”

    “Earl Godwin of Wessex. Welcome to London, Prince Jakob.” Godwin offered a small bow to Jakob. “In the King’s absence, his wife has the authority to rule in his stead.”

    “Then Queen Ælfgifu is here?”

    “She is, but she is not of whom I spoke. Queen Emma is the king’s wife, and Queen of England.”

    Jakob looked surprised, but nodded as though he had expected this answer. “Then we would request an audience with Queen Emma.”

    Godwin nodded and gestured for them to follow him, then swept off towards the city proper. Jakob and Leif followed, Freydis and Tove behind them, and Agnarr bringing up the rear. Freydis and Tove stared at the city as they passed through it with wide eyes and open mouths. Jakob looked no less astonished by the foreign structures, although he managed to keep his jaw from dropping. Leif’s astonishment at the engineering and architecture of London had worn off shortly after the siege of the city ended months earlier, and he focused on keeping Godwin in sight and the others in tow.

    Godwin set a brisk pace, and they reached the villa before too long, slightly winded. Inside, Godwin and Agnarr whisked them past guards, courtiers, and nobles—a handful of whom Leif recognized from his last visit to England—to the throne room, where Emma was holding court. A tall, imposing woman with a stern face, elaborate gown, and intricately-braided blonde hair sat to Emma’s left, and she stared dourly at them as they approached.

    “Queen Emma,” Godwin bowed deeply to the Norman queen, before turning to the blonde woman at her side. “Queen Ælfgifu. May I present Prince Anund Jakob Olofsson and Leif Eriksson. They have come with a petition for King Canute.”

    “King Canute is not here, but I would be glad to hear your petition and make a ruling in his stead,” said Emma. “Welcome back to London, Leif Eriksson. We hope that you don’t intend to tear down any more of our bridges this time around.”

    Leif smiled slightly and nodded to the queen. “I assure you, I have no plans to do so. We’ve come to petition Canute for aid. I’m sure you remember Jarl Olaf Haraldsson from your previous… encounters. In Canute’s absence from Scandanavia, he has attacked Kattegat in an attempt to seize the throne of Norway.”

    “So we had heard,” said Emma. “He tried to enlist Denmark’s fleet through Queen Ælfgifu, but King Forkbeard took the fleet to win back Kattegat. Do you mean to tell me that King Forkbeard was unsuccessful?”

    “From what we know, King Forkbeard was able to retake Kattegat from Jarl Olaf, but has made no further moves to hunt down the traitor or stop the destruction he is spreading across the rest of Norway,” Jakob stepped forward, offering the queen a small bow. “My father, King Olof of Sweden, has sent spies into Norway, but all of them have reported that King Forkbeard has taken Kattegat and remained there, leaving Jarl Olaf to continue gathering support from the other Christian vassal kings and jarls of Norway in order to take the country for himself. His forces grow by the day, and Sweden doesn’t have the army to fight him off. However, if King Canute can bring his army, we could mount an attack from Sweden to stop Olaf’s rebellion once and for all—and as long as King Forkbeard is in residence in Kattegat, there will be nowhere for Olaf to run to. But we have to act now, before Olaf can get any stronger, or move into Sweden to begin spreading his wave of destruction there.”

    Emma nodded thoughtfully. Leif could practically see the wheels turning in her head as she ran through scenarios and battle plans. He was reminded of the queen’s sharp mind and hoped that she could see the wisdom behind their request.

    “I understand why you have come to make this appeal to my husband,” said Emma, and Leif saw Ælfgifu’s scowl deepen at the word. “Unfortunately, King Canute is not here, as you have been informed. Not only is Canute gone, but his army is as well—he has taken his men to fight a rebellion in Denmark.”

    Freydis stepped forward, pushing her way between Leif and Jakob to glare up at Emma. “This may not mean much to you, but Olaf wants to destroy our entire way of life in Norway. He and his men and their God— your God—want to see everything our people have ever known vanish overnight. We cannot allow that to happen, and, from what I’ve heard of your husband, King Canute doesn’t want to see that happen either. We need help in order to keep Olaf from taking over Norway and destroying our people.”

    “I wasn’t finished,” said Emma. Freydis went silent after a strangled noise that very much sounded like she wasn’t done talking either. “King Canute and his army aren’t here. I don’t know what exactly is happening in Denmark, but for all I know he and his army are still indisposed there. However, we cannot afford to lose Norway, or our alliance with Sweden.” Emma stood and stepped off the dais, looking between each of them in turn. “England will send half of her army to support the efforts to defeat Olaf Haraldsson.”

    A murmur went through the English nobles gathered in the room, but Emma silenced them with a glare over her shoulder as she returned to her throne. “It will take several days to prepare the men and ships to carry them to England. You are welcome to wait here until the ships are ready.”

    “Actually,” said Jakob slowly. “We should go to Denmark and take word to King Canute. Who knows; maybe he’ll be done fighting his war there and able to lend a hand. At the very least, we should get this news to him.”

    Emma nodded. “In that case, at least allow us to offer you warm beds for the night and provisions for your journey to Jelling.”

.*.*.*.*.*.

Early the next morning, they were loaded back on their ship and sailing out of the port on the first tide. Emma had seen them off at the docks, promising that her fleet would set out within the week to meet them at Copenhagen once they got word to Canute. Tove groaned as she pulled her oar, feeling the strain in her back at the motion. The overnight in Emma’s villa had given her muscles just enough time to get properly sore, rather than just achy, and now rowing was agony. She ignored the ribbing from the other rowers at her obvious discomfort, knowing that soon it would fade back into the dull stretch she had become accustomed to during the earlier part of their journey.

Jakob promised that Jelling was only three or four days sail from London, with good wind, which they were fortunate enough to have for most of the voyage. Unfortunately, this wind began to herald a winter storm—something they had been fortunate enough to avoid over the first leg of their journey—that they had to row to outpace, hoping to reach Denmark before it could strike. They arrived at Jelling four days later, in the middle of the night, exhausted and with the first flurries of snow beginning to fall into the waves around them, and were escorted to the great hall once Jakob flaunted his name and position to the men guarding the docks.

    “Nephew!”

    They all turned at the sound of the voice that came from the front of the hall. They had been left to wait after being escorted by the dock guards, a few servants appearing at one point to bring them food and warm mulled mead. Accompanied by a pair of men carrying torches, they saw the speaker, a small, slight man with greying black hair, an impressive beard, and dressed in heavy, fine robes trimmed in fur and decorated with gold. A slim gold circlet glimmered where it rested on his brow, and he smiled and opened his arms in welcome as he strode towards them.

    Jakob bowed, the others following suit a beat behind him. “King Harold.”

    “Welcome to Jelling,” Harold smiled, embracing Jakob warmly. Up close, he wasn’t so small as he had appeared from across the hall, but was still shorter and thinner than Jakob. “What brings you here, in the middle of winter—and the middle of the night?”

    “Normally we wouldn’t travel at this time of year, it’s true,” said Jakob, “but it was necessary. We need to speak with Canute. We went to London to find him, but Queen Emma told us that he had returned here to fight the Wends.”

    Something dark flashed across Harold’s face, but was suppressed so quickly that they weren’t even sure it had been there in the first place. “Canute is far inland. I will have to send a messenger to reach him. For tonight, you can rest in the barracks; Canute has most of the army with him, so the barracks are empty. We’ll talk in the morning.”

    Freydis stepped forward, a protest on her lips, but Jakob held out an arm to stop her. “Thank you, uncle. We appreciate your hospitality.”

    Harold nodded and left them standing there. One of his men beckoned for the small crew to follow him, and led them to a nearby longhouse, dark and cold in the pale moonlight.

    “Why did you stop me?” Freydis snarled once they were alone in the barracks.

    “It is only a few more hours,” said Jakob, “and it’s not safe to send a messenger with a storm coming. He could get lost and freeze and never reach Canute. Harold wouldn’t have sent him out tonight no matter what we said, and he would have been right to hold off.”

    Freydis scowled, but settled down on one of the bunks, glaring at the bottom of the bed above her.

    “We should go to Canute ourselves,” said Leif.

    “Do you not trust Harold?”

    “No,” the Greenlander said frankly. “I saw something, when you said you were here for Canute. He looked angry at that. Anyways, it would be better to present the situation to Canute directly. We know more about what is happening in Norway. Nothing will be lost in the transfer of message from one person to another.”

    Jakob shrugged. “If you want to ride to Canute personally, so be it. I won’t stop you. But we’ll have more information on where he is and what is going on here in the morning. Let’s save decisions until then, once we have a better picture of the situation.”

Chapter Text

In the morning, they rose groggy and bleary-eyed when the morning church bells began to chime. It was still dark, as it would be for much of the day at this time of year, so close to midwinter, so they pulled back on armor and half-damp clothes that hadn’t had time to dry by the weak fire and headed back towards the great hall in snow falling heavily enough that they could no longer see the sea at the foot of the hill.

    When they entered the hall, they were hit with a wave of muggy warmth. Huge fires roared in every fireplace, filling the hall with heat and light, even though only a few dozen people were seated at the tables around the hall. Harold stood when they entered, dressed in well-made, richly-colored clothing, a heavy cloak made of thick wool and fur pelts flung over the back of his throne. He wore a larger crown than the circlet he had greeted them in the night before, and a single gem in the front and center of the crown sparkled with a thousand tiny flames as it reflected the fires around him. He smiled and spread his arms in greeting. “Prince Jakob, we welcome you and your companions to Jelling. Your arrival brings a light to the bleak midwinter. Come, eat, and tell us what has brought you to Denmark.”

    Jakob and the others took seats at the table on Harold’s dais, the prince directly across from the throne, Leif on his left and Freydis and Tove on his right. “King Harold—uncle—we have come with bleak news. Jarl Olaf Haraldsson of Norway has moved to take control of that country away from your father, Sweyn Forkbeard, and my own father, Olof Skötkonung. He, with the help of Jarl Kåre, has attacked Kattegat and killed Jarl Haakon.”

    “Yes, this we know,” Harold waved his hand dismissively. “We also know that King Forkbeard was successful in driving Olaf out of Kattegat the same day that he took it from Jarl Haakon, and that Jarl Kåre was found dead there.”

    “Word of this has reached Agnafit as well,” said Jakob. “However, our spies in Norway also tell us that Jarl Olaf is still alive, and that he is continuing to gather support in Norway from the Christian rulers who remain there that haven’t already come under his banner, and slaughtering and forcibly converting those who aren’t already Christians. If he isn’t stopped, when the winter is over, he will move again to take over the whole country, and there will be nothing we can do to stop him.”

    “And what does this have to do with my brother?” Harold said idly, hiding a sneer behind his horn cup as he took a sip of spiced mead.

    “Canute has military command of both England and Denmark’s armies. We plan to petition him to bring his men to Sweden, to supplement my father’s men, to mount an attack on Olaf and stop him from gaining any more traction among the Norwegian lords and taking any more land. Especially with King Forkbeard holding Kattegat, if we act quickly, Olaf will have nowhere to run.”

    Harold nodded. “I can see the wisdom in such a plan.” He set his cup aside and eyed them each in turn. “I will send word to Canute of your arrival. As you said, he commands the bulk of Denmark’s army, so it will be up to him to decide what will be done here.”

    “We would like to accompany your messenger,” said Freydis.

    Harold’s face darkened at this. “And why is that? Do you not trust me?”

    “It isn’t about trust, uncle, I assure you,” Jakob said quickly. “We would just prefer to be able to present our case to Canute directly, rather than relying on a messenger to get the details right. Anyways—we’ve come this far. We’d all like to see this out to the end, and not simply wait around to hear Canute’s decision.”

    Harold shrugged. It seemed to take some difficulty, but he forced the half-hidden scowl off of his face and a fake-looking smile took its place. “As you will, nephew. I will have horses and provisions readied for you, and a guide. Once the storm is over—so long as the snows do not block the roads south—you may leave.”

    “Thank you, uncle,” Jakob bowed his head. “We appreciate your magnanimity.”

.*.*.*.*.*.

Much to their frustration, the snowstorm was a long one, if not a heavy one, and kept them trapped in Jelling for a full day. It wasn’t until after breakfast the next morning that the snow finally stopped falling. Harold sent scouts out as soon as the snow began to lighten, to make sure the southern road wasn’t blocked by snow, and they came back to report that it was still clear. Halfway through that second morning, a small party left the gates of Jelling to head south—Harold’s guide, an older raider named Bjarke, at the head of the group, followed by Freydis and Jakob, with Leif and Tove bringing up the rear. Harold had fitted them out with heavy winter gear: wool cloaks with fur pelts over the shoulders, leather and wool coats, heavy wool trousers, and thick knit socks that barely fit into their boots, as well as extra blankets and bedrolls, and a pair of canvas tents just big enough for the five of them to squeeze into at night. Leif, Freydis, and Tove couldn’t help but reflect on how much more comfortable this trek was in comparison to their journey just a few weeks previous, even with the colder weather and darker days.

    It took them nearly a week to reach Canute’s army, camped far to the south of Jelling, between the snow that continued to fall sporadically, and long nights that grew ever darker as the moon waned. When they reached the camp, the grey dimness of winter twilight surrounded them, even though it was barely midafternoon, and the bright orange glows of campfires and torches were a welcome sight after the long journey. Once they stated their business, and Bjarke showed King Harold’s seal to the camp guards, they were ushered directly to Canute, who received them in his tent.

    “Leif Eriksson,” the dark-haired king grinned. “An unexpected, yet not unwelcome, surprise! Welcome to Denmark. And my nephew Jakob as well—it has been too long since I’ve seen you.”

    “Over a decade, I think,” Jakob smiled wryly as he embraced Canute.

    “Come, sit,” said Canute, beckoning them towards a low table, covered with maps and figures. Jarl Nori and a few other well-dressed and important-looking men that Leif didn’t recognize sat around the table. Nori in particular eyed the new arrivals with suspicion and concern, but the others seemed more interested in them than anything else. “What brings you to Denmark, and so far inland?” Canute asked. “It must be important.”

    “It is,” said Leif. “By now, I’m sure you have heard of Jarl Olaf and Jarl Kåre’s attack on Kattegat.”

    “Even out here, we have had word of that,” Canute chuckled. “My father sent word that Kåre was dead and that Olaf had been thoroughly beaten and routed from the city. That he turned tail and ran into the interior, rather than face King Forkbeard in battle.”

    “That is true,” said Leif. “Unfortunately, that leaves Olaf to continue gathering power to himself, by convincing the other Christains of Norway to side with him.”

    “Not to mention,” Freydis leaned forward, interrupting her brother and drawing all eyes to her, “that Olaf, like Kåre, is notorious for his forced conversions, using violence and the threat of death to pressure followers of the Old Ways into converting to Christianity. The idea that he will decimate the population of Norway—as he and Kåre had already begun to do before attacking Kattegat—is a strong possibility. We cannot— will not—let that happen.”

    “Freydis Eriksdottir,” Canute smiled. “I almost did not recognize you. You have changed a great deal since we met last, in Kattegat, but you have the same spirit. I am glad to see that you, like your brother, survived Olaf’s attack. But what of Prince Harald? I would have expected to see him with the two of you. We had heard reports from Forkbeard’s army that Harald was killed in the battle, but I never believed them. Are they true after all?”

    “No,” Freydis said firmly. “Harald lives. He is in Agnafit.”

    “My father asked Harald to stay in Sweden,” said Jakob. “He was concerned that Harald may have some lingering allegiance to his brother—although none of us believe that. I came in Harald’s place.”

    Canute nodded. “I am glad to hear that Harald lives. He is an… investment of mine. I would be disappointed to have lost out on that. As for the rest of you—what exactly are you asking of me?”

    “We are asking for your help,” said Leif plainly. “Or, rather, Harald is asking for your help to take his country back. If it were just Olaf to deal with, we could handle that, especially with King Olof and Jakob’s help, but with others coming to stand under his banners, and with the threat of his forced conversions looming over the people of Norway, Olaf cannot be allowed to continue taking power for himself.”

    “If Olaf remains in power, he will decimate the people of Norway and our way of life,” said Freydis. “He will destroy the old gods by destroying their worshippers. You may be a Christian, but you are still able to recognize that our history and culture are important—not to mention the loss of life as he wipes out everyone who won’t fall under his influence.”

    Canute nodded along as they spoke. The jarls around him seemed largely uninterested, with the exception of Nori, whose frown deepened the longer Freydis spoke.

    “What is it to us,” said Nori finally, “if these pagans refuse to convert to the way of the one true God and are killed for it?”

    He had scarcely gotten the words out before Freydis’s knife was at his throat, her eyes wild with fury and a snarl twisting her lips back. “Just because they don’t believe in your God doesn’t condemn them to death,” she spat.

    Leif and Tove jumped up to grab Freydis and pull her back from Nori. Canute smiled slightly. “Nori, you have seen the fierceness of Freydis Eriksdottir before; I would advise against antagonizing her, lest you join Gunnar Magnusson in his fate.”

    Nori cleared his throat and straightened up, pointedly avoiding Freydis’s glare as Leif and Tove released her. They resumed their seats, the others around them seeming more on edge now. Canute pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. “This is a lot to process,” he said finally. “There is a great deal going on across my father’s empire, and Olaf’s betrayal has only added to that. It cannot be allowed to stand. Unfortunately, while we have been successful in beginning to drive the Wends out of Denmark, there is still much work to do here. I cannot afford to send my entire army to deal with Olaf, much as I may want to.”

    “We have already been promised reinforcements for my father’s men by Queen Emma,” said Jakob quickly. “She is sending a portion of England’s army and navy to meet us at Copenhagen; they’ll be setting sail in the next few days. If you could spare but a portion of your men, to supplement the English and Swedish soldiers we already have, it would go a long way towards guaranteeing our victory against Olaf.”

    Canute arched an eyebrow. “Queen Emma is sending some of the English army?”

    “Yes,” Jakob nodded. “We went to London first; news of your battle here in Denmark hadn’t made it to Sweden, or we would have come here directly. Nevertheless, Queen Emma heard our petition, and, in order to protect your interests in the north, promised a portion of England’s army to us.”

    Canute nodded slowly. “I see.” He stood and paced across the tent, hands clasped at the small of his back. “We will be facing the Wends in battle tomorrow; I expect this fight will be a decisive one. If we are victorious, they will be driven back, and will hopefully give up on their conquest of Denmark, especially with winter setting in.” He turned to face them again. “Leif Eriksson, Anund Jakob, I would ask you both to join us in this battle. I know how fiercely you both fight; we need every sword and axe in order to vanquish our enemies. Join my warriors in this fight, and I will give you my answer after the battle.”

    Jakob grinned. “I would be honored to fight with you, Uncle.”

    “I seem to keep finding myself in situations where I am promising to fight for you in exchange for something,” Leif said wryly. “Nevertheless, I will join your warriors in battle tomorrow.”

    Before Canute could respond, Freydis shot to her feet. “King Canute, you have said already that you know of my ‘fierceness’, just like my brother’s. After you left Kattegat, I was trained as a warrior and joined Jarl Haakon’s shieldmaidens. I killed Jarl Kåre in single combat. Allow me to join your warriors as well, and fight beside my brother.”

    “We would be honored to have your sword, Freydis Eriksdottir,” Canute chuckled. “I look forward to seeing your might as a warrior.”

    Tove looked between the others and rose to her feet. “Well, if you think you’re leaving me out of this, you’re crazy,” she grumbled. “King Canute, Freydis has spent the past few months training me. I have not fought in battle yet, but I would be honored to fight for the first time under your banners.”

    Canute hesitated a moment. “What say you, Freydis, Leif? Is she ready?”

    “She is,” Freydis said firmly. “I would trust my life to Tove above almost anyone else.”

    “Then you will be welcome in my warband,” said Canute. “For tonight, get some rest. We will speak again after the battle.”

Chapter Text

That night, they all slept fitfully in the little canvas tents. Bjarke had vanished, off to join his own people among Canute’s warriors, leaving their little party to their own devices. Before going to sleep, they all made sure that their blades were honed and armor was in good repair, along with any other preparations they felt necessary.

    After retiring, Tove lay awake in the frosty air, the only sounds in the tent her and Freydis’s breathing, occasionally interrupted by the sound of footsteps crunching across snow as sentinels passed on their rounds. The tent was pitch black, and if they hadn’t been laid back to back, she wouldn’t have been able to find the other woman. Long after she thought Freydis had fallen asleep, she felt a hand fumble across her hip, searching until Freydis managed to grab her hand and give it a squeeze. “Don’t be afraid. You are strong and brave, and a skilled fighter. Tomorrow, you will do well. And no matter what happens, we will be in the hands of the gods.”

    “Aren’t you afraid?” Tove whispered.

    “Of course I am,” Freydis said simply. “But I have faith in the gods to protect me, and if it is their will that I die tomorrow, I know that I will be taken to Valhalla, where I will meet with my friends who have already fallen in battle, and drink and eat at Odin’s table with them. I told you before: I refuse to let my fear rule me. I refuse to be weak.”

    Tove nodded, squeezing Freydis’s hand in return. “I will do my best to not let my fear rule me, but I think it will be hard.”

    Freydis was quiet for a moment. “Do you remember how you felt in Kattegat? When Kåre came into the hall, and when you and Brigid were trying to escape, and when those two men found you and were trying to rape you?”

    “Yes. I never want to feel like that again. That is the last time I will let my fear rule me.”

    “Good!” Freydis said firmly. “Remember that, and use it, and you will be able to stand your ground against whatever you must face in the future.”

.*.*.*.*.*.

It was still dark when they rose; there was only a dim line of light to the east just hinting at dawn—and it would likely not get much brighter for several hours. They donned armor and weapons in this greyness, the camp shrouded in somber silence, before joining the bulk of Canute’s army.

    Walking through the camp proper, Leif saw many familiar faces of warriors he recognized from the attack on England so many months before. Many of them noticed him as well, and nodded in respect. They had nearly reached Canute’s tent when a voice rang out through the silence, calling his name. Leif turned, searching for a speaker, only to have a body collide with his, nearly knocking him over. A moment later, the other man pulled away, holding Leif by the shoulders. “Leif Eriksson!” he repeated. “It is good to find you alive.”

    Leif blinked, taking in the man in front of him. A head of deep brown curls, just visible under the wolf’s pelt of a berserker, a round face with high cheekbones and a short dark beard, and a tall, strong warrior who was undeniably familiar, yet whose name Leif could not remember.

    “Gunne! Let’s go!” another voice called, and suddenly memories came crashing down on Leif.

    “Gunne Fenrirsson?” his jaw dropped and his hands rose up to grab Gunne’s shoulders. “We thought you were dead—they told us your boat went down on the crossing to Kattegat.”

    “It did,” Gunne chuckled. “I’ll tell you all about it later. Brigid and Hjalte?”

    “Brigid is in Sweden,” said Leif. “As for Hjalte… there is much for both of us to share, I think.”

    Gunne’s face went grim. “After the battle.”

    Leif nodded and clapped him on the shoulder before pulling away to hurry after Jakob, Freydis, and Tove, who had continued towards Canute’s tent. The tent was ablaze with torches and candles, glowing like a beacon in the grey morning. The jarls were gathered around Canute, looking over the table that displayed the map and pieces representing both armies.

    “Ah, Jakob, Leif. Welcome. I have an idea, and I’d like to hear what you both think of it.” Canute beckoned them over to the table, and they looked down at the display. “This is the Wends’ army,” Canute pointed, “and this is our camp. I expect to meet them here, at this meadow—well, what would be a meadow in the summer—where the land is naturally flat. Our spies have already told us that the Wends are sending smaller forces around the sides of the meadow to trap us in a pincer and attack from the rear. I plan to leave a band of warriors behind, hidden in the camp, to attack these forces at the back in order to keep them away from the main part of our army. I want you,” he looked pointedly at Leif, “to lead this rearguard.”

    “Why me?” Leif asked.

    “It would be too noticeable if any of my jarls were to stay behind; we have faced the Wends several times, and their faces are likely familiar to the enemy by this point. I don’t want to raise any suspicion. And besides—I’ve seen what you can do with a small force in battle.”

    Leif glanced at Jakob, who shrugged, then nodded to Canute. “If that’s what you want me to do, so be it.”

    “Good,” Canute clapped him on the shoulder. “We have already selected a handful of berserkers for you, as well as a few other warriors from across the tribes represented in our army. They will meet you at an embankment to the south of the camp.”

.*.*.*.*.*.

Leif and his warriors crouched behind a snowbank midway between the camp and the meadow that Canute had chosen for his battlefield, waiting for the promised Wend troops. Freydis, Tove, and Jakob were seated to one side of him, Gunne to the other side with his berserker company. Other warriors surrounded them, about a score and a half in total.

    “How did you survive the storm?” Leif asked quietly, eyes trained on the forest they expected the Wend forces to come from. “We were told your ship was lost.”

    “It was,” Gunne murmured. “It overturned, and the hull was broken up by the waves. I managed to keep my head above water long enough to grab a piece of the hull. It kept me afloat until the storm was over. One of Jarl Olaf’s boats found me drifting and took me aboard. I woke up a week later in Jelling. I tried to get passage to Kattegat once I recovered, but with winter coming, few ships were setting out. When King Canute came to Jelling to fight the Wends, he told me that if I fought with his army, he would give me passage to Norway once the fighting was over. Then we heard about Jarl Olaf’s attack on Kattegat, and that King Forkbeard had taken the city and was holding it against him, at much loss of life.”

    Leif nodded. “When Olaf attacked, we fought back, but he tricked us—and Kåre, his ally—and was able to overwhelm our forces. He killed most of Jarl Haakon’s warriors, along with Kåre’s, and took the city for himself. We fled after Freydis killed Kåre, because at that point it seemed like Olaf would be the victor of the day. King Forkbeard’s ships came into the harbor after we left the city, but Harald was badly wounded, so we didn’t want to risk going back and getting caught there in another battle, so we headed for Sweden.”

    “And Brigid is alive?”

    “Yes, Brigid is alive, and well, last I saw her, in Jakob’s father’s court, in Agnafit. We left her there with Prince Harald, who was badly injured in Olaf’s attack on Kattegat.”

    “And Hjalte?”

    Leif was quiet for a moment. “Hjalte did not survive the crossing. He fell overboard in the storm, and we could not find him.”

    Gunne sighed and let his head fall back against the snow, eyes closed. “Then I will see him again in heaven someday, although I had hoped to see him sooner than that.” He opened an eye and peered at Leif, grinning slightly. “Although, depending on how this battle goes, I may be seeing him sooner than I think.”

    Leif smiled in return and nodded. No matter what, I’m not dying today. I’m going back to Sweden. I have a promise to keep.

.*.*.*.*.*.

Tove took a deep breath, steeling herself for whatever was coming. Her heart was pounding so loud that it was all she could hear, and her throat and chest were tight. Despite the cold—they had forgone their heavy winter clothes, not wanting to be weighed down by their bulk, or to have to worry about overheating in battle—her hands and the backs of her knees were sweaty. She was beginning to worry that she wouldn’t be able to hold onto her sword with how damp her hands had grown, and set the weapon down to wipe her hand on her pants.

    “Don’t worry,” Jakob whispered beside her. He reached out and squeezed her shoulder in reassurance. “We have your back. None of us will let you die today.”

    On her other side, Freydis wrapped her arm around Tove’s shoulder and pulled her close to kiss her temple. “Stay close, as much as you can. We’ll keep our eyes on you, but you have to watch for us also.”

    “When the fighting starts, it will be loud, and confusing,” said Jakob. “Focus on one thing at a time, but keep your guard up.”

    “Whatever you do, don’t drop your shield,” said Freydis. “Even if you lose your sword, keep your shield in your hand.”

    Tove nodded. She swallowed the lump in her throat, her mouth suddenly dry. Freydis kissed her temple again before releasing her, and Jakob gave her shoulder another pat before turning his attention back to the field in front of them. “Listen,” he said.

    What little noise had been coming from the men around them stopped abruptly. They all held their breath and listened, and soon they all could hear what Jakob had—the sound of metal on metal and wood. The sound of battle.

    After that, they all waited with bated breath and muscles coiled to leap into action. Silence fell over the little group. The sounds of battle waxed and waned in the distance as time seemed to drag on. They were just beginning to wonder if Canute’s spies had been wrong about the enemy’s plans when the sound of footsteps crunching through snow began to reach their ears.

    Leif held up a hand and waved the others up. Soon, they were all crouched in readiness, weapons and shields in hand. They watched as dark figures began to creep out from the treeline nearby. A few turned towards the camp, but the rearguard ignored them; there were guards back at the camp who would handle that. They had a different mission.

    When the trickle of warriors had died off, the rearguard began to move. Leif, Jakob, and Freydis took the lead, Tove on Freydis’s hip. The berserkers fell in just behind them, and the rest of the warriors behind those. They crept through the snow as quietly as possible, stepping on the flattened path of packed snow made by the warriors they were following to mute their footsteps slightly.

    The sun was just coming up over the horizon, and the battle was just entering their view ahead of them, when Leif gave the signal and his band leapt into action. With a roar, they charged forward, and, like a ripple in water, the ranks of warriors turned towards them. They hit the first ranks before they had time to react and get their shields and weapons up, and were soon at the throats of the next rank.

    From the time his axe met the flesh and bone of his first enemy, Leif lost all sense of self. This was like nothing he had ever felt before. When his friends had died, one by one, in England, he had felt rage, bubbling red and warm like fresh blood deep inside of him. In Kattegat, facing Kåre and Olaf’s men, he had felt fury, white-hot and all-consuming, to the point that he had almost lost himself. This time… this time, it was not anger, but a cold, vicious darkness that filled him. It washed over him like an icy tide, and he no longer knew the world around him—only the next foe to fall under his blades. It almost felt like he was outside of his own body, watching himself strike down his enemies with complete nonchalance, like these were not human lives that he was taking, but grass that he was striking down with a sickle. Had he had the presence of mind to realize this, he would have been horrified, but, overcome by this unfamiliar feeling, he simply kept moving, driven by something beyond his own will.

    Freydis lost track of Leif and Jakob almost immediately upon entering the fray, but felt Tove’s presence at her side. She didn’t have time to check on the other woman, though, as a warrior’s axe came down towards her head. She brought her shield up, crying out as she took the impact, but used the wooden disc to shove the man’s arm aside just long enough to bury her sword nearly to the hilt in his torso. When she pulled it out, he fell, and there was another to take his place. The second was easily cut down with a slice of her sword, and from that point on, she moved with a single purpose: to fell anything stupid enough to stumble into her path with cool, calculated precision. She caught glimpses of the others throughout the skirmish: Jakob wrestling a man for his greataxe, Leif covered head to toe in crimson blood and flecks of gore, and Tove, moving cautiously but steadily through the fray as she grew in confidence.

    After Freydis had felled her first enemy, a man who had been behind him lunged at Tove. She brought her sword up just barely in time to deflect his blow, and, without hesitation, threw her full weight behind her shield to bodyslam him. He went down hard, with Tove on top of him, and Jakob buried an axe in his skull before moving on. Tove scrambled to her feet and drove the point of her sword into the side of Jakob’s next foe, allowing him to slash the man’s throat with his battleaxe. He nodded to Tove, and then was lost in the chaos. Tove kept to the edge of the fight—completely ignoring Freydis’s instructions to stay close—and picked off her enemies from there, where she had more space to maneuver and fractions of seconds longer to react. She couldn’t see the others, but could hear Freydis screaming with fury as she cut her enemies down, and heard Jakob jeering at his foes, mocking them as he sliced their throats and disemboweled them under their chest armor. Gunne and the other berserkers roared and howled as they ripped out necks and lopped off heads and limbs, and the other warriors were scarcely any more quiet. The racket seemed to unnerve the Wends, and a few of them tried to escape the pack, only to be brought down by Tove and the others at the edges of the scuffle.

    In his mind, Jakob knew he was taking far too much pleasure in killing these enemies, especially for a good Christian man, but in his heart he didn’t care. He laughed and taunted as he swung his axe with abandon, felling men left and right. His shield went first, splintered by the greataxe of a huge Wend warrior. Jakob lunged at him and wrestled him to the ground, bearing all of his weight down on the handle of the axe until it was digging into the other man’s chest, crushing him just enough to make breathing a struggle. Jakob grinned slowly as he watched the man’s face get red, then his lips tinge blue. Jakob slammed his head into the other man’s face and heard a pop as his nose or cheekbone or eye socket broke, then wrenched the greataxe away from the man and stood. He waited a moment until the daze from his headbutt began to wear off and the man’s eyes cleared, then brought the greataxe down into his skull, splitting it in half and splattering brains on the boots of those around them. Jakob straightened up, threw his head back, and laughed.

    By this time, their skirmish was nearly over. The last handful of Wend warriors were running back towards the sparse treeline—which would provide little cover now that the sun had finally risen and filled the meadow with golden light that sparkled across the blood-soaked snow—pursued by some of the berserkers. In the distance, they could still hear the sounds of the main battle. Freydis looked around their group to take stock. The Wends were scattered across the ground, most of them clearly already dead, but a handful were still on the way there. As for the Danish forces, at a cursory glance, Freydis saw none of them on the ground, although a few were obviously wounded. Jakob was leaning on his greataxe, grinning through the blood spattered over his face, chest heaving as he caught his breath. Tove was decidedly less bloody, kneeling at the edge of the swath of death, her sword across her knees and looking vaguely dazed as she stared at the bodies in front of her. Freydis was mostly concerned about Leif—no matter how hard she looked, she didn’t see him anywhere—either among the bodies on the ground or those still standing.

    Jakob seemed to notice Leif’s absence as well, and shared a concerned glance with Freydis. “Those who are wounded, head back to the camp to see the healers,” he called. “Everyone else, follow me and Freydis. We will join the rest of the army.”

Chapter Text

As the days grew ever shorter and the nights ever longer, the city of Agnafit began to bustle with activity. Preparations began for the great Yule celebration, and Harald and Brigid found themselves sucked into the chaos. While Olof remained with his wife and mistress in Sigtuna, he sent his eldest son Emund—Astrid’s brother and Ingegerd and Jakob’s half-brother—to keep court in Agnafit. Emund was a hard man, unlike his siblings, and didn’t have the kindness that they all seemed to share. He was short-tempered, bitter, and aggressive. Harald got on well enough with Emund, and was respected enough by the prince and the rest of the court that he wouldn’t be mistreated, but Brigid did her best to avoid him. Ingegerd wasn’t fond of her half-brother either, and she and Brigid, along with her handmaidens Tilda and Elli—and Sveinn—generally kept to their rooms.

    On the first night of Yule, much to Emund’s annoyance, as he considered it an unnecessary extravagance, a great feast was held. There was a great deal of drinking, along with singing, dancing, and story-telling, and soon enough even the prince was having a good time despite himself. The last was largely thanks to Harald; Brigid and Ingegerd determined between them that the prince of Norway had some sort of magical talent for getting others to open up, as Ingegerd swore up and down that she had never seen Emund having as much of a good time as he did that night.

    Towards the end of the feast, things began to quiet down slightly, and the rowdy dancers, as well as the musicians that had been playing throughout the feast, finally began to settle. Many of the feast’s attendants were quite thoroughly drunk at this point; several were passed out in their seats or on the floor, and many others were ready to join them there, but a skald stood up, waved for the musicians to quiet themselves enough for her to speak, and began to tell stories. She began with stories of the gods, and legends and traditions surrounding Yule, but soon the tipsy feast-goers were calling for newer tales.

    At the head of the table on the dais, Emund waved dismissively at the skald. “Can’t you hear what they’re saying—don’t you have anything new to tell us about?” he called, lounging back in his father’s throne and swirling mead in his horn cup. “We’ve heard you tell all of these stories a thousand times. Tell us something different!”

    The skald drew herself up, looking indignant, and stared down her nose at Emund. “There is a time and a place for new stories, my prince, but this is a time of tradition! Therefore, I will tell tales of tradition!”

    Emund drained his cup and set it down on the table with a bang . “If you have nothing better to tell us, skald, then what good are you? We come to you for entertainment, not to be bored to sleep by the same stories you tell at every feast.”

    “If that is the way you feel, my prince, I will happily take myself and my stories elsewhere,” the skald bowed languidly, then turned on her heel and stalked out of the hall.

    “Well, so much for that,” Emund snorted. “Good riddance, though. Any skald who never learns new stories is not worth listening to anyways.”

    “I’m sure it’s quite difficult to remember all the stories she already knows, brother,” said Ingegerd gently. “Maybe she simply hasn’t had the time to learn new ones.”

    Emund glared at her, then turned to Harald. “Prince of Norway! You’ve had quite the adventure this past year. Why don’t you tell the rest of us about it? Tell us about going to war in England with my uncle, King Canute. I’m sure you have a good tale or two from that venture, at least.”

    Harald smiled and raised his cup to Emund from his seat down the table, next to Brigid. “I would be happy to tell my tale,” he said, voice loud and ringing in the quiet hall. “In fact, I would be honored to. But I fear it will mean nothing to most of you.” A murmur went up from the crowd in the hall as Harald stood. He leaned down and kissed Brigid on the cheek as he took Sveinn from her, bouncing the baby on his hip. “You see,” he continued, beginning a meandering circuit around the dais, “my story means a great deal to me not because of the deeds that I did, or the things that I accomplished, but because of the people I knew, and what they did, and how those sacrifices affected others. These stories mean more to me than they could to anyone else because I fought and bled with dozens of others—great warriors who fell in battle, or died from wounds sustained there—who touched my life. You may hear these tales and take meaning from them, but they will never matter to you like they do to me.” He walked down the stairs of the dais, then stopped and turned to meet Emund’s piercing gaze. “So, my lord,” he bowed languidly, “would you still like to hear my tale?”

    Emund smirked slightly and brought his cup to his lips. “Of course, Prince of Norway. Tell us about these great deeds that we can never truly understand. Astonish us.”

    Harald bowed again and turned back to the hall. “Let one thing be clear,” he said, and his voice bounced off of the rafters and filled the hall. “I may be the one telling the story, but it is not my story. In the long run, I have done very little. It is because of the actions of the footsoldier, not the commander, that the war is won. And while I have never shied from battle, and always fought at the side of those under my command, it is still their deeds that far outshine my own.

    “When word of the Saint Brice’s Day slaughter reached Norway, everyone who heard the news grieved. We all knew someone, loved someone, who lived in the Danelaw, and now all of those loved ones were gone. But even greater than the grief I held for those I knew there—including my own brother, Sten, and his wife and children—I had a burning need for revenge. So, I went to Canute of Denmark and pleaded my case to him, begging him to go to war to avenge the victims of the massacre. It didn’t take much to convince him, and we spent the next year building our army in Norway. When it finally came time to set sail, we were thousands strong. Nothing could stand in our way. We were determined to have our revenge.

    “In England, the Saxon warriors stood no chance against us. We overtook the great city of Kent in under an hour, and from there, the English countryside fell before us as we swept towards London. Even the news of the weak King Æthelred’s death did not deter us. With him dead, it would be his son who had to pay for the massacre. And the English could not stand against us! We were a mighty force, and could not be stopped by any English army. In those first battles, few of our warriors fell, especially in comparison to the number of Saxons that were cut down by our swords and axes. It was not until we reached London that a true obstacle rose to hinder us.

    “The initial plan had been to storm London’s southern bridge, through the marshes, so that it was cut off as an escape route for the English. However, there was no practical way to do this, and when we reached the city, this became glaringly obvious. In order to determine the city’s weaknesses, a small scouting party was sent out into the marshes, led by a young warrior who had rapidly proven himself both during the crossing to and in the earlier battles of the campaign: Leif Eriksson, a Greenlander who had arrived in Kattegat only days before we set out and was conscripted into the army, along with a handful of his companions. All of them were mighty warriors, and they all accompanied us on this mission, along with several of my own men.

    “We never expected the English to ambush us. We didn’t think that they would expect us to attack from the south—no-one had ever attacked London from the south before, at least not successfully enough to be remembered, and the Norse advisors to the dead king had convinced him that it was impossible. We thought that knowledge would be passed on to the new king, but, unfortunately, the English had a new military advisor, who anticipated our move. We were ambushed in the marshes, and many died. If it had not been for the leader of the Greenlanders, Leif, we may all have been killed in that ambush.”

    Brigid glanced around the hall. Nearly every face was turned towards Harald with rapt attention. Even Emund seemed absorbed by the story, although he remained slumped on the throne, feigning disinterest. Ingegerd, on the other hand, was leaning forward, completely focused on the Norwegian prince. Brigid had to admit: Harald was an excellent speaker. If he wasn’t such a politician, she thought that he would make an excellent skald. He moved through the crowd, stopping as if he was speaking to individuals, drawing them into the story with his irresistible charm, then would pull away to address the group, gesturing with his free hand to emphasize his words, and to spread their magic across the crowd.

    “After the ambush in the marshes, we had to rethink our strategy. Leif and I snuck onto the great bridge to search for weaknesses—and, fortunately, we found one. Leif was the one who came up with the plan to pull the bridge down; it took quite a bit of convincing, but eventually we were able to persuade King Canute and his jarls to follow his plan. We spent a night and a full day creating the tools we needed for this plan to succeed. Leif and the other Greenlanders taught us how to make these… boards that we could use to float and paddle along the streams that ran through the marshes, and we rode on those to a guard outpost just by the river Thames. We killed the guards and stole their boats, and hid under tarps until we were under the bridge, and then, in a flash, we climbed out onto the pylons of the bridge, letting the boats pass on. It was down to just six of us—Leif and his Greenlanders, Liv, Njal, and Skarde, as well as myself and one of my best warriors, Tomas.

    “As the sun came up in the east, it illuminated the first part of our plan: ships, manned with our strongest rowers, and led by my brother, Olaf, the Sea Wolf of Norway, to draw the attention of the English soldiers.” Harald took a seat at this point, on a table in the middle of the hall, his feet on the bench below him, and Magnus took the opportunity to perch on the bench, arm resting on Harald’s knee as he stared wide-eyed up at his uncle. Harald balanced Sveinn on his other knee, keeping the baby securely in place with one arm while he continued to wave the other for emphasis. “We climbed the pylons and got into place, waiting for the next piece of Leif’s plan to fall into place. Soon enough we heard it—the beating of hundreds of axes on hundreds of shields, and the marching of hundreds of feet. Canute leading his army onto the bridge. We waited for the moment that they were marching over us, and all six of us began to chop at the supports with our axes, trying to cut through as much as possible before the army came to a halt.

    “First, Canute taunted the English king, Edmund, until he became angry and rode out onto the bridge with his army to meet with ours. Then, Canute sounded the retreat, and his men began to flee, leading the English towards the marshes. This was our cue—we enacted the next part of our plan, which was to get heavy ropes tied to the weakened supports out to the ships downriver, in time for the tide to turn. Once they had the ropes, they began to row away from the bridge, the turning tide giving them even more force, and for a moment, it seemed that Leif’s plan would work! The bridge shook and rattled, threatening to fall… but it did not. We started to worry. The whole point of this plan was for the bridge to fall with the English king on our side of it. We needed to bring it down, and quickly.

    “Of course, this is precisely when the Queen of England, the king’s step-mother, Emma of Normandy—supposedly descended from none other than Rollo, the brother of our legendary Ragnar Lothbrok—realized our plan and ordered the archers to begin to fire on us below the bridge. You see, we found out shortly after that Queen Emma was the great strategist who had been so successful in planning against our army as we approached London, and she saw through our plan again now as we attacked the bridge. The arrows began to fall around us like rain. Tomas fell first, an arrow through his heart, and Njal moments later—although it took two arrows to fell him, as great a man as he was. Skarde fell next even as Liv and I turned our bows against the archers firing down on us. Finally, Liv took an arrow to the shoulder and fell into the river.

    “But their sacrifices were not in vain—before long, we heard it, the groaning and creaking of the bridge as it began to lean further towards the boats pulling it to the east. Leif and I leapt into the water just in time, and the bridge came crashing down around us.”

    At this conclusion, a cheer went up around the hall, followed by a round of applause. Harald was beaming at the reception, but he wasn’t finished just yet. He stood and waved for silence, which came gradually. “Without Leif and the other Greenlanders, we would not have taken England,” he said. “And that is why I say that this story won’t matter to all of you as it does to me. You all hear this tale and think of heroes, characters that will someday become legends—but all I can think of is my friends, who fought, and bled, and died to take England, and the sacrifices they made. Some of them I know I will see again in Heaven someday, and others I hope are feasting in Valhalla, but for now… I will simply miss them, and settle for singing their praises and spreading their names and word of their deeds so that they can live on in my heart and the hearts of others for as long as possible.”

    Another round of applause went through the hall as Harald stepped down and slowly made his way back to the dais. He kissed Brigid on the cheek again as he handed Sveinn back to her and resumed his seat next to Emund.

    “An interesting tale,” said Emund, setting his cup on the table.

    “It certainly is,” said Harald, a wry smile twisting at his lips. “But, like I said, the greatest parts of it have little to do with me. The victories were due to the deeds of others.”

    “It is rare,” said Ingegerd, pointedly staring down into the main part of the hall, “to find a man of power who is more willing to sing the praises of others than himself, Prince Harald.” She stood, her chair scraping against the wood floor of the dais. “Some of the other rulers of our world might take some lessons from you.” She turned and gave a respectful half-bow to her brother and Harald. “I think it is time to take our leave. Good night.” She turned and swept off, followed by Elli and Tilda.

    As Ingegerd left, Astrid stood and turned to Magnus, who had squeezed himself between his mother and Harald after following his uncle back to the head table. “Come along, Magnus. Your aunt is right; it’s time for bed. Let’s go.”

    Reluctantly, Magnus stood. Both bowed to Emund and Harald, then left in Ingegerd’s wake. Brigid, from her position at the end of the table, next to Ingegerd’s empty seat, noticed that in the span of the evening, something had clearly shifted in how the people in the hall viewed Harald. Faces that had looked upon him with distant respect before now shone with unabashed admiration. Ingegerd was right, Brigid thought. There was something rare about Harald, and now everyone could see it.

Chapter Text

Leif ran through the trees at a dead sprint, unfeeling as twigs and branches struck his face, scratching his cheeks and forehead open. He was vaguely aware of others moving around him, but all of his attention was trained on his quarry. One of the last Wend warriors was ahead of him, and he was closing in quickly. The other man kept glancing over his shoulder, increasing panic visible on his face as Leif gained on him. He didn’t get a chance to meet his pursuer, though; as soon as he had a clear shot through the trees, Leif hurled his axe. It spiralled through the air and landed solidly with a firm crunch directly between the man’s shoulderblades. He fell like a rock, and a few seconds later, Leif was at his side, prying his axe loose from the dead man’s spine.

    Crunching and rustling in the nearby trees had Leif back on his feet and ready in an instant. Blindly, he turned and swung at the new arrival, but a strong hand caught him by the wrist. “Leif!” a voice cried, but the sound wasn’t enough to pierce through the fog wrapped around his mind. Seconds later, before he could fight his way free of his opponent’s grip, a knee came up and drove itself full-force into his stomach, and a fist came around to hit him in the side of the head. Leif dropped to his knees, clutching his stomach as he gasped for breath, head spinning. He blinked rapidly as his mind cleared and he struggled to figure out where he was and what exactly was going on.

    “Leif!” Gunne snapped, grabbing him by the shoulder and giving him a firm shake. “Wake up!”

    Leif stared up at him, thoroughly bewildered. “Where..?”

    “In the forest,” said Gunne. He offered Leif his hand and helped him to his feet. “We chased the last of the Wends into the trees. You were in some sort of… trance. You fight very much like a berserker, you know.”

    Leif frowned at the comment. “Which way back to camp?”

    “Your guess is as good as mine,” Gunne shrugged. “I wasn’t paying attention to where I was going, just what I was chasing.”

    Leif cocked his head to the side, listening. The winter air was still and quiet around them. He heard no sound of anyone else in the trees, or the clamor of battle in the distance. Fortunately, most of the trees in this area were deciduous, and had lost their leaves for the winter. He scanned the sky for the sun, then pointed. “Camp is that way.”

    Gunne nodded and fell into step beside Leif. “Sorry for hitting you.”

    “No; thank you,” said Leif. “I don’t know what I would have done if you hadn’t.”

    Gunne scoffed. “As it was, you nearly killed me.”

    “Sorry.”

    They walked in silence for a while, listening for any sign of their army, but heard nothing. Leif wondered idly how long they had been running for before they had caught their prey, as it seemed like a remarkable distance from where they had begun. He was slowly beginning to realize how exhausted he was—every muscle screamed with strain when he moved, and he could hardly keep his eyes open, even while they were walking. Beside him, Gunne didn’t seem in much better shape; the berserker was stumbling in the snow, and a few times tripped and nearly fell. After catching him several times, Leif took Gunne’s arm and wrapped it around his shoulders, and his own around Gunne’s back. Supporting each other this way, they eventually made it to the edge of the trees.

    Once they emerged, it was clear that the battle had been hard fought, but had ended with Canute and his army victorious. They came out near the main battlefield, strewn with the bodies of the dead and dying. There were several figures moving among the bodies, some checking wounds and doing their best to heal, others administering last rites to the dying, and yet others collecting weapons and shields that had been discarded on the field. Leif searched desperately for Freydis, but saw no sign of her—or of Tove or Jakob. “Let’s get back to camp,” he mumbled, tugging Gunne in the direction that others leaving the battlefield were heading.

    By the time they reached the camp itself, Leif and Gunne could hardly stand from exhaustion. Around them, the camp bustled with activity, the air filled with the cries of the wounded. Leif found himself half-dragging Gunne, growing increasingly lightheaded as he continued to push himself.

    “Leif!”

    He looked around, trying to find the source of his sister’s voice, but Freydis found him first. She grabbed his free arm and pulled it around her shoulders, supporting him. Leif felt Gunne’s arm fall away and saw Jakob pulling the berserker towards him, half-carrying him like Freydis was Leif.

    “Let’s get you two to a healer,” Jakob grunted, hauling Gunne away.

    “I don’t need a healer,” Leif protested weakly as Freydis towed him along behind Jakob and Gunne.

    “Right,” Freydis snorted. “You’re soaked with blood!”

    “I don’t think it’s mine,” Leif mumbled, but Freydis ignored him and continued hauling him along. He didn’t bother to try arguing with her; there was no way that would be successful.

    When they reached the healers’ tent, they were directed to a pair of cots outside of the tent itself, but covered by a canopy and near a blazing fire. Freydis helped Leif out of his armor, and he discovered, much to his surprise, that he was, in fact, injured. There was a long, shallow gash along his left side, towards his back, where a sword must have slipped past his defense, and a deeper wound on his arm just under his left shoulder, along with a handful of small cuts and scrapes all over his arms and face. Gunne had fared worse—there were several deep wounds on his chest and upper arms, although none were so deep or severe as to be life-threatening. The blood loss explained the sheer exhaustion that had overtaken them on their way back to camp, and they were both forced to drink water and herbal tea while their wounds were tended.

    Nearby, Tove was laid out on another cot, asleep. Leif saw a bandage on her head and another on her arm, but Freydis reassured him that her wounds were not severe either. Jakob and Freydis had both managed to make it through the battle with hardly a scratch on them—Jakob had the worst wound between the two of them: an ugly, but shallow, cut on the side of his neck that still wept slightly with dark crimson blood.

    Once their wounds had been tended, Leif and Gunne were instructed to sleep, which they did without much protest. When Leif woke, it was dark, and the camp was far quieter than it had been earlier. He had been covered with several blankets to protect against the cold, but even between them and the nearby fire he could feel the night’s chill. He shifted, trying to sit up, but was still too weak from blood loss to move much, so he laid back again. A dark figure from the other side of the fire moved when he did, coming to take a seat on the edge of his cot.

    “Leif Eriksson,” Canute smiled warmly at him. “I am glad you are not dead.”

    “As am I,” Leif’s voice rasped in his dry throat. Canute turned away, then helped Leif sit up slightly and offered him a cup to drink from. The water inside it was cool and soothed his dry throat immediately. Leif laid back again, his head clearing more and more the longer he was awake. “What are you doing here?”

    “I have already spoken with Prince Jakob and your sister,” said Canute, “but I felt that I owed you the respect of telling you in person. With our victory today, the Wends have been forced to retreat from Denmark. I will need to leave some forces behind to make sure that they get no ideas of trying to take my country again, but most of my army will accompany me to Sweden, and from there to Norway, once the spring arrives and the mountain passes clear, to fight Olaf.”

    Leif nodded. “Thank you.”

    Canute rested a hand on Leif’s shoulder. “I have heard how you fought today. The men in your company spoke of your bravery and ferocity. Many of them say that you inspired them to continue fighting even when wounded, and that without you they would have stood no chance against the Wend rearguard, as they were so greatly outnumbered. Even Jakob said the same.”

    Leif frowned slightly, but remained silent.

    “You have always been a remarkable ally, Leif Eriksson,” said Canute. “Is there any way I can convince you to join my army? I would make you one of my generals. You would garner even greater fame and glory than you have already achieved.”

    Leif stared up at the canopy above him. “I have no desire for fame and glory,” he said finally. “Once, I thought that would solve my problems by distinguishing me from my father, and creating a name for me, but… I worry about becoming my father in an attempt to earn my own glory. I’ve found what makes me happy. When we return to Sweden, and Olaf has been defeated, I will return to that.”

    Canute smiled and patted him on the shoulder. “That is fair,” he said. “Nevertheless, I owe you a great debt—not just for today, but for everything you did for my campaign in England. You have only ever asked me for one thing, your sister’s freedom. Is there anything else I can do to repay your loyalty and bravery?”

    Leif turned to look over at Tove, asleep across the fire from him. “Back in Norway, Tove was a thrall in Jarl Haakon’s court. When Haakon was defeated, Freydis rescued Tove from the city, but if we return there, we fear that she would be forced back into servitude. Tove wants to become a warrior, but as a thrall, would not be able to do so. If I could ask for anything, it would be for her freedom, so that she may follow her dream without fear of repercussion.”

    Canute’s smile broadened. “A small price to pay,” he chuckled. He stood up and took a step away. “When she wakes, tell her that she is free. No-one may ever lay claim to her again. Even more—if she wishes to join my army, there will be a place for her. Your exploits were not the only ones I was told about by my men today; they also sang the praises of both Tove and your sister. I would be thrilled to have either of them among my ranks.”

    The corners of Leif’s mouth twitched up in a smile. “I’ll pass that along as well.”

    “Get some rest, Leif Eriksson. We have much more to do after this. Norway waits for us; let us not disappoint.”

.*.*.*.*.*.

By the next morning, the majority of Canute’s forces broke camp and began to head back towards Jelling. The wounded who could be moved were loaded into carts and wagons, or onto horses, leaving the rest of the army to walk. Freydis gave up her horse to Gunne, who protested, but reluctantly accepted when she pointed out that he was still so weak that he could hardly walk more than a few feet. Jakob rode with Canute and his jarls who had agreed to accompany them to Sweden, leaving the others to mingle with the rest of the army.

    Messengers, including Bjarke, were sent ahead to Jelling, to inform Harold of Canute’s decision to make for Sweden, and to order that the ships of Denmark’s fleet be readied to carry them to Agnafit.

    “Most of the army will be sent directly to Copenhagen,” said Jakob when he joined them to sleep on the first night. “The port of Jelling isn’t equipped to handle a fleet, so most of the ships are already there, and it’s where Emma will have sent the English fleet. They’ll assemble there. We’ll go to Jelling, first; Canute will have certain obligations to meet at court there before he can head for Sweden, and he will take us, a few companies of warriors, and most of the jarls with him.”

    “Would it be alright if I stayed with all of you?” Gunne asked. “I’m not properly part of Canute’s army, I was just… tagging along. I was never meant to stay with them after defeating the Wends. I’d rather join with you.”

    “We would be honored to have a great warrior like you,” Freydis grinned, resting a hand on Gunne’s shoulder. He smiled and nodded in thanks.

    “How long do you think it will take us to return to Jelling?” Tove asked.

    “Over a week, probably closer to two,” said Jakob. “When we rode out to find Canute, we were five riders, and didn’t make proper camp at night. With the whole army, we don’t have the speed of five on horseback, and with the wounded, we’re forced to stop earlier to make camp.”

    “We’ve already been gone close to a month,” said Freydis. “We need to get back.”

    “Harald and Brigid will be fine in my father’s court,” said Jakob. “And Harald will understand that things like this take time. Anyways, we won’t be able to move to enter Norway for several more weeks—as much as two, maybe even three months, depending on how much snow has fallen in the mountains—when the weather warms and the snows melt. Rushing will only tire the army, which is already exhausted from the campaigns in England and here in Denmark, and lead to deaths among the wounded. We will return to Sweden as soon as possible, and I’m sure your friends will be waiting for us when we do.”

.*.*.*.*.*.

The journey back to Jelling was agonizing—in more ways than one. To the extremely impatient Freydis, Leif, and Tove, the army set a snail’s pace, only moving a few hours a day in the limited hours of sunlight. For Leif and Gunne, that wasn’t the only agonizing part of the journey: confined to horseback due to their wounds, they were jostled constantly while travelling, making their healing injuries ache and burn with strain. Gunne tore the stitches in his wounds repeatedly trying to mount and dismount his horse, and the healers threatened to make him ride in a wagon if he wasn’t more careful.

    At night, the five of them would huddle together around a fire, sometimes joined by other warriors, sometimes left to their own devices, before retiring. Gunne squeezed into one of the little tents with Leif and Jakob, and Freydis and Tove took the other. There was barely enough room for three in the tent, but they were grateful for the extra body heat in the freezing cold nights. Leif couldn’t help but be reminded of the journey from Kattegat to Uppsala, sleeping in a pile with Brigid, Sveinn, and Harald. One morning, halfway through the trek to Jelling, Freydis voiced a similar memory.

    “I didn’t think we’d be sharing a tent alone again so soon,” she chuckled, elbowing Tove in the ribs. “With the cold and snow, it feels like our journey through Norway and Sweden all over again.”

    Tove laughed. “It certainly does. But at least this time we are not alone.”

    Freydis poked at a small pot over the fire, bubbling with gruel made from dried grains and water. “No less hungry, though,” she sighed, and Tove and Leif laughed.

    Most days, Gunne and Leif rode side-by-side, just behind Freydis and Tove—Canute had given Freydis a spare horse a few days into the journey—and occasionally Jakob, although Jakob seemed more interested in getting to know his uncle than spending time with the rest of them. While Gunne had initially seemed fairly taciturn, the long, slow ride to Jelling proved him to be more than chatty enough to get on Leif’s nerves.

    “So,” said Gunne after a surprisingly quiet morning.

    Leif groaned inwardly.

    “You and Brigid,” said Gunne. “Tove and Freydis said… you were together?”

    “Yes,” said Leif.

    “For how long?”

    “Since we arrived in Kattegat.” Leif side-eyed Gunne. “She thought you were dead… I’m sure if she’d known, she wouldn’t have. And I certainly wouldn’t have either.”

    “What?” Gunne asked. “Oh! Oh, no. Brigid and I weren’t… No. I was betrothed before the massacre. In fact, that’s how I survived—my betrothed and I had snuck off to spend time together. She lived as well, but… the fever that struck us in the winter took her from me.”

    “Oh.”

    “I miss her still.” Gunne smiled fondly. “She was wonderful. I never thought I’d find someone to love me, but then I met her… and suddenly it was like nothing else mattered, just her. I never wanted to be apart from her—so of course she was one of the first to die. After that, I wanted to join her so badly. When I fell ill, I prayed that I would die and join her in heaven, but instead I recovered. I was quite angry with God over that, for a while, but then I realized that He must have kept me alive for a purpose, and decided to find that purpose.”

    “And have you?”

    “I’m not sure. At first, I made protecting the others my purpose, but after we left England—and after so many died in the voyage to Norway—it seemed like that time had passed. Now, I find myself at the beginning again, just trying to understand why I am still here on this earth.”

    Leif nodded. “I can understand that,” he murmured. They were silent for a while, but Leif asked a final question: “Do you think that you’ll ever love someone else?”

    Gunne sighed and stared up at the cloudy sky above them. “I… I’m not sure. I never thought I’d love anyone like I loved her in the first place. I’m… different. I don’t want the same things that others want. I don’t feel the same things. I didn’t think I’d ever find anyone who understood that, and I didn’t much care if I didn’t. But then I met Mary… my Mary… and all of that changed. I would do anything for her, even things I didn’t want to do—but she never asked me for that. She understood me, through and through, and I doubt I’ll ever find anyone else like that.” He shrugged. “If I did, it would be a blessing. But I won’t count on it, and I don’t want to spend my life searching for something that feels so… once in a lifetime. There are other parts of life to focus on and enjoy. Other relationships to cherish.” He smiled at Leif. “I look forward to someday counting on you as a friend, and cherishing our bond as well.”

    Leif found himself at a loss for words at the statement, and merely offered Gunne an uncertain smile as thanks. After that, they were both quiet for a long time, before Gunne spoke again. “Is that how you feel about Brigid?”

    Leif didn’t answer right away. “If you had asked me that question a few months ago, I would probably have said no. I was in love with Liv—one of my childhood friends from Greenland, who died after Canute took London. She was shot while we were trying to bring down the bridge, and the wound became infected. She died a few days after you all arrived. I didn’t realize how much I loved her until she died, though. I never got a chance to tell her. But after she died, Brigid was there. I think that, even without knowing what she was doing, she helped me pick up the pieces I broke into after Liv died and put myself back together, in a way. At first, I think I only loved her because she was there when I felt so alone, but… that didn’t last long. I soon came to love her for who she was. A little while after we reached Kattegat, we had the first indication that Kåre was coming to attack us, I went with Freydis, Harald, and Jarl Haakon’s shieldmaidens to search for signs of him. While I was gone, I started thinking about it, and that’s when I realized how much I did love her, and how scared I was that something would happen to her while I was gone. I couldn’t face the thought of losing her, especially with the memory of losing Liv so fresh in my mind. And when I got back to Kattegat and saw her safe and well… I swore I’d never leave her again.”

    Leif sighed and tucked his hair behind his ear. “I told her that when all of this mess is over, we’d find somewhere and go there together—just us, and the baby”—

    “ Baby ?” Gunne cried. “It hasn’t been that long!”

    In front of them, Tove and Freydis dissolved into laughter, and Leif couldn’t help but chuckle too. “He’s not ours,” he explained. “His parents were killed by Kåre and his men, and Kåre used him as a message to Kattegat, telling us that he was coming. Tove was taking care of him at first, and then Brigid started helping her and wound up fully taking him in. We were able to escape Kattegat with him, and at this point we have no plans to let anyone else take him away from us. She loves him—and so do I.”

    Gunne laughed and shook his head. “That sounds like Brigid, alright. She’s always been one to take in strays and look after others. It doesn’t sound like she’s changed much at all in the past few months.”

    Leif smiled. “I doubt she has, except maybe to grow even stronger than she was when last you saw her.”

    Gunne laughed again. “I look forward to seeing her again.”

    “So do I,” Leif murmured. “So do I.”

Chapter Text

Harald groaned and flopped dramatically down on the bed. “It’s never going to stop snowing.”

    “Get off my bed,” Brigid said absently, trying to get Sveinn to stay still long enough to get his wraps back in place after changing them.

    Harald dragged himself up just to flop down again, this time in a chair by the fire. “There’s nothing to do.”

    “You sound like a child,” Brigid laughed. “I’m sure you can find some way to entertain yourself.”

    “Clearly not,” Harald grumbled. “We’ve been stuck inside for four days . I just want to go out and… fight something.”

    “I thought Emund said that training could be done in the great hall.”

    “There’s only so many times a warrior can go through forms in a day, and there is not enough space there for proper sparring. And I’ve out-wrestled everyone willing to fight me.”

    Brigid arched an eyebrow. She bundled Sveinn back up in his clothes—which, despite being given to them hardly over a week ago, were already starting to get too small for him—and handed him to Harald. “Why don’t you take Sveinn and let me take a nap?” she grinned.

    Harald turned the baby around and set him on his knee. “What do you say? Should we go make some trouble?”

    Sveinn burbled happily and waved his tiny fists in the air. Harald laughed and stood, settling the baby on his hip. “It’s agreed. We’re going to go find some trouble to get into. Have a good nap.” He stopped to lean down and kiss Brigid on the forehead on his way out, making sure the door was shut firmly behind him.

    As soon as they were gone, Brigid was up. She crawled into the bed, sinking gratefully down into it and pulling all of the blankets up around her shoulders. Sveinn had been sleeping through the night for weeks now, and often for as much as ten hours without interruption, and Brigid generally fell asleep shortly after him and woke when he began to fuss. Additionally, while she often dozed off when he napped throughout the day, she still felt tired most of the time, like she was never getting enough sleep. She yawned and burrowed down further in the bed, closing her eyes and snuggling deeper into the warmth of the heavy blankets.

.*.*.*.*.*.

By the time Brigid woke, it was already dark outside. She sat up, blinking blearily, and yawned. Someone must have come in while she was sleeping, because the fire was still burning in the hearth, and the heavy curtains had been drawn over the windows. Reluctantly, she crawled out from under the blankets, sweat pricking at the small of her back from the warmth that had accumulated there, and almost immediately started shivering at the shift in temperature. She grabbed a shawl from her pile of clothes—which were currently on top of the chest they belonged in, as she hadn’t gotten around to putting them away after washing them last—and wrapped it around her shoulders, then slipped on her shoes and crept out into the corridor.

    Harald and Sveinn weren’t in the room next door, so Brigid headed for the main hall, hoping that it was at least close to supper. She entered to find the evening meal in full swing, and snagged an open seat next to Harald, across from Ingegerd and her handmaidens. There was no table on the dais, as they were accustomed to seeing, and Brigid didn’t see Emund anywhere in the hall. She guessed the sulky prince had decided against the company of his men for the evening—which, on the bright side, allowed the hall to be full of rowdy, joyous life, rather than the more muted activity that generally accompanied his dark presence.

    “Sleep well?” Harald asked, passing her a plate already full of food. “We were going to bring that for you if you didn’t come to dinner.”

    “Thank you,” Brigid smiled. “How was Sveinn for you?”

    “Oh, don’t worry. Sveinn loves me. He’s always on his best behavior for me.”

    “Then why is Tilda holding him?”

    Ingegerd and her handmaidens, Elli and Tilda, laughed at that, and as Harald fumbled slightly for words. “She offered to hold him for a while, to let me eat!”

    Brigid grinned and shook her head. “Thank you for minding him.”

    “Do you feel better?”

    Brigid shrugged. “It seems like I’m always tired these days.”

    “It’s the snow,” said Elli. “It makes everyone tired and cranky. It’s barely past midwinter, and we’re all past ready for summer.”

    Ingegerd nodded in agreement. “Hopefully once the sun comes out again, you’ll feel better.”

    “I hope so,” Brigid yawned.

    Sveinn grumbled and reached out for Brigid, nearly falling out of Tilda’s arms as he lurched forward. “Careful!” Tilda gasped, readjusting her grip on the baby.

    “I can take him,” Brigid said, setting her food aside and reaching for Sveinn. Tilda passed him over the table, and Brigid set him on her knee, bouncing him and keeping a grip on him with her free arm while she continued to pick at her food.

    “We already fed him,” said Ingegerd. “Milk, and some mashed potatoes, chicken, and a few bits of bread soaked in broth to make them soft.”

    Brigid nodded. “Thank you.” She ate a bit more, then pushed her plate aside.

    “Not hungry?” Harald asked, draping his arm around her shoulders.

    “Not really,” Brigid yawned. 

Harald leaned down and kissed the top of her head, giving her braid a gentle tug before resting his arm around her shoulders. “Are you sure you’re feeling alright?” he whispered.

    “I’m fine,” Brigid smiled up at him. “Just tired.”

    Harald kissed the top of her head again and hugged her close. “Let me know if there’s anything you need.”

    “I will,” Brigid sighed, allowing herself to lean into him. She was mostly quiet for the rest of dinner, then walked back to her room tucked under Harald’s arm, Sveinn half-asleep in her own arms.

    “Do you want me to put him to bed?” Harald asked when they reached her door.

    “No, I’ll be fine,” Brigid laughed. “But thank you. Thank you for all of your help with him, and just… for being a friend.”

    Harald leaned down and kissed her on the cheek. “Anything you need, tell me and I’ll do it.”

    “I will. Thank you, Harald.”

    Brigid busied herself getting Sveinn ready for bed and tucked into his cradle, then went through her own nightly routine. Just as she was finishing changing into her nightclothes, a soft knock sounded at her door. She glanced over at Sveinn, who was already asleep, and opened the door a crack. “Ingegerd?”

    “We just wanted to check on you,” Ingegerd whispered. Brigid opened the door further and saw Elli and Tilda standing behind the princess.

    Brigid sighed, but smiled and opened the door. “You can come in if you’d like, but just be quiet—Sveinn is asleep.” She stepped aside to let the other three women tip-toe in, closing it gently behind them. The four of them settled down on the bed in a little circle, Brigid and Ingegerd at the head of the bed, leaning on the headboard, and Tilda seated at the end of the bed, Elli laying with her head on Tilda’s lap.

    Ingegerd reached out and took Brigid’s hand, giving it a squeeze. “Are you alright?”

    “I’m fine,” Brigid smiled. “I’ve just been so tired lately.”

    “Has Sveinn been keeping you up?” Tilda asked.

    “You know we’re always happy to watch him if you need a break,” Ingegerd said.

    “No, he’s actually been sleeping very well the past few weeks. I think he’s finally done teething for a while.”

    Ingegerd glanced over at the sleeping baby and smiled. “He’s adorable.”

    “Someday you’ll probably have one or two of your own,” Brigid teased.

    Ingegerd’s face turned sour. “I’m sure that Prince Yaroslav would love that,” she muttered. “That’s all that women like me are good for, after all—providing heirs.”

    “That’s not true,” said Brigid. “You have many other skills, and I’m sure that your husband will learn that too. Maybe it will take him time, but eventually he will learn your worth—and hopefully it doesn’t take too long.”

    Ingegerd sighed. “A woman’s skill doesn’t matter. Maybe for a regular woman it does, even just a little, but for someone like me… I’m just property. Something for my father to sell off to make allegiances. A tool for men to use to gain more power.”

    Brigid shuffled around to sit next to Ingegerd, wrapping her arm around the younger woman’s shoulders. “You will never simply be someone’s tool,” she said softly. “You may be young, but you are strong. Show Yaroslav that strength, and convince him that you will be a better partner than tool, and he will have no choice but to trust you.”

    Ingegerd snorted. “I doubt it will be that easy.”

    “I’m sure it will not be,” said Brigid. “You’re right—I don’t understand your life. I grew up the daughter of a poor weaver in the Danelaw. I think that’s about as far away from the daughter of a king—in Sweden, even—as one can get. I don’t know what your life has been like up until now, or what it will be like once you marry Yaroslav, but I can promise that I will always be your friend, and I will always do what I can to support you, even if it is from afar.”

    “Where will you go, once all this is done?” Ingegerd asked. “Will you and Leif go to Norway with Harald? Or will he take you back to Greenland?”

    “I’m not sure,” said Brigid. “I know Leif doesn’t want to return to Greenland, but I don’t think he wants to spend his whole life in a Norwegian court either.”

    “I only ask because I want to be able to visit you, when I get tired of life in Novgorod,” Ingegerd laughed.

    Brigid smiled and gave her another squeeze. “I would be honored.”

    “If being in my father’s court is lonely, I’m sure Novgorod will be even worse,” Ingegerd sighed.

    “Well, if nothing else, at least you’ll have us there,” Elli said, reaching out to pat Ingegerd on the knee.

    “And I’ll be beyond glad of your company, I’m sure,” Ingegerd said, a smile finally breaking across her face.

.*.*.*.*.*.

Just a few days later, a new ship arrived in the port of Agnafit—a rare occurrence this late in winter. With it came surprising news: King Vladimir of Kiev was dead, and his son Yaroslav would be coming to Agnafit within weeks to collect his bride, Ingegerd. This news did not land well with the teenaged princess, who proceeded to lock herself in her room and refuse to see anyone but Elli, Tilda, and Brigid.

    Brigid spent much of her time with Ingegerd sitting in silence in the princess’s dark rooms. Ingegerd didn’t seem to want to talk about what was troubling her; it was more like she wanted company than conversation. Brigid was happy to provide it, and Elli, Tilda, and Harald were happy to take care of Sveinn so that she could. As the days lengthened, little by little, Ingegerd slowly came out of her shell and began to return to her normal self—albeit a far more reserved and taciturn version of herself than they were accustomed to. Nevertheless, life in Agnafit continued, creeping slowly on with the lengthening of the days towards spring.

Chapter Text

As days dragged past in Jelling, Leif, Freydis, and Tove all found themselves going stir-crazy. Harold kept coming up with excuses to keep Canute’s army in the city, even past the time it took to prepare the ships for their short trip to join the rest of Canute’s forces, and Emma’s, in Copenhagen. Jakob joined his uncles and the jarls most days—for what, the others didn’t know, just that he disappeared much of the time—but Gunne took his place among the small party. Freydis spent their downtime forcing them through training to rebuild strength as their injuries healed. This was hardest for Gunne, who was the most seriously wounded, and was therefore constantly in trouble with the healers for pushing himself too hard in training and reopening his wounds.

When the day finally arrived that Canute announced they would be departing for Copenhagen, a sense of relief washed over them—but the sense of nervous anticipation somehow seemed to grow. Now that the day they were to leave had been set, they became even more impatient for it to arrive.

On the day they were to embark, Leif arrived at their boat early to make sure all final preparations were made with plenty of time to spare, only to find Freydis, Tove, and Jakob all already there—and Gunne not far behind him. Leif and Tove had been given permission to row by the healers, although Gunne was still under orders to take things easy. The other rowers arrived not long later, just as impatient to get back to Agnafit as the rest of them.

The fleet set off with a round of trumpet calls that echoed across the bay, following the ships as they made for Copenhagen. It was only to take them a few days to reach the other port and reunite with the fleet, and for the first day they made good time. However, late that night, the wind that had been carrying the ships to the east turned suddenly, driving them to the south. Captains and night watchmen woke their crews with shouts, and oars were hurriedly thrust back into the sea as the waves began to grow around them.

Leif was on his feet almost the instant the sail whipped around and slammed the yard against the mast. He ran through the bodies of the slowly-waking crew as Gunne shouted from his position by the rudder. Freydis was also on her feet and shouting, rousing the others and urging them to take up their oars and bind the sail.

Leif took Gunne’s place by the rudder. “Hold on to something,” he said, pushing down on the berserker’s shoulder until he took the hint and tucked himself up against the keel near Leif’s feet, grabbing onto the ropes that secured their gear to the boat. Leif glanced back at the crew; Freydis had them in position and had taken up one of the oars, alongside Tove, while Jakob stood in the prow of the boat.

“We’ve lost the fleet!” Jakob called back to Leif, his voice carried on the wind.

Leif saw fear and panic flash across the faces of several of the rowers. “Don’t worry about them!” he called back. “All we have to worry about is ourselves. Worrying about the others will just get us shipwrecked. Now row!”

The grey light of dawn found them surrounded by raging waves as the storm began to properly strike, heavy pellets of freezing rain and hail striking the crew as they fell, wind whipping at hair and clothes as it tried to force the boat off course. Jakob and Gunne were set to bailing the slush out of the bottom of the boat as it built up around the rower’s feet, weighting the ship down further into the waves. Leif did his best to keep the ship on its path, occasionally catching glimpses of the other boats around them.

Besides the hail and freezing rain, the storm itself wasn’t so bad—Leif had certainly sailed through far worse—but by the time the clouds began to part and the rain stopped, everyone was soaked thoroughly through and shivering with cold. As the waves began to settle back into the sea, they were able to see many of the other boats nearby, and Leif adjusted his course to join them. Canute’s large flagship was near the rear of the convoy, and Leif brought them up beside it.

“Greenlander! Prince Jakob!” Canute called, grinning, as he emerged from his tent and came to the side of the boat to speak to them. “I am glad to see that you made it through the storm.”

“Have we been blown far off course?” Leif asked.

“No, I do not think so. My helmsman says that we should still reach Copenhagen shortly after nightfall.”

Leif nodded, glancing back at the sky. “I do not think that the storm has completely ended.”

“Then let us hope and pray that it waits to unleash its fury until after we have made port.”

.*.*.*.*.*.

Luckily for the fleet, the majority of the ships had made it to the port by the time the storm properly made landfall in Copenhagen—although a few stragglers were still trickling as it began to rage. By the time Leif and his companions docked, snow was falling, quickly swirling its way into a full-on blizzard as they headed to the tent city set up outside of the port.

Unlike Jelling, Copenhagen wasn’t equipped to house the huge number of soldiers from Canute and Emma’s armies, so most of the forces that had arrived before them had already either bought out rooms in the city’s lodging houses, or set up tents and camped out in the fields around the city proper. Leif, Freydis, Tove, and Gunne made the trek out to the fields, where they were greeted and shown a good place to set up a tent for the night, near an already-raging fire under a makeshift canopy, where it was protected from the driving snow. They huddled together with a handful of English and Norse soldiers—old feuds forgotten for the sake of warmth—around the fire, wrapped in furs and blankets for protection against the snow. Jakob joined them later, when Canute and his men came from meeting with the leaders of the English forces. The norsemen cheered at Canute’s arrival, and Leif reflected on what such a simple gesture as spending the night in discomfort with them did for morale, as even the Englishmen showed marked appreciation for the gesture.

In the morning, the snow had shifted back into sleet and hail, although it was falling much lighter than it had the day before, and the wind had significantly died down. Canute decided that they would wait another day to set out, not wanting to lose any ships to the vicious waves that still filled the harbor, so they sat around fires, shivering and grumbling but (mostly) dry at long last.

They wound up staying in Copenhagen until nearly noon the next day, just waiting for the waves to settle enough for their boats to have a relatively safe passage—particularly the great English ships, with their multiple decks and sails and masts, that dwarfed the low, shallow, single-masted Norse longboats. If the weather held, Jakob promised a short journey—no more than a week, likely less—to Agnafit. Unfortunately, they quickly discovered that the English ships could not make such good time as the longboats. Without oars to propel them, they were reliant exclusively on winds and currents to get them where they needed to go. This meant that there was no need for the Viking ships to rely as heavily as their rowers as they were accustomed to doing—much to the relief of those designated for rowing—but also that their journey could be made much longer.

Eventually, tired of the fickle winds that kept changing and slowing the fleet down, Canute ordered that the English ships be towed by the longboats. This order didn’t go over entirely well with the rowers, but with two or three longboats to each ship, the work wasn’t overly difficult. Leif set Gunne as lookout on their boat—which, since it was so small, was stationed between two larger ones so that all three of them could tow a single ship—to make sure they kept good distance between their little ship and the boats around them, but the process was stressful and tiring.

When the bay of Agnafit and the mouth of Lake Mälaren came into view, a great cheer went up across the fleet. Leif couldn’t hide the smile twitching at the corners of his mouth; Freydis noticed this and traded a grin with Tove. As they came within sight of the city itself, a round of horn calls went up from the lead ships, rippling back through the fleet. Moments later, another round of horns answered them—this time from the city.

The big ships couldn’t get close enough to the city to dock, so they dropped anchor in a cluster at the mouth of the bay. A round of Englishmen was loaded onto the Norse boats to be ferried into the city; the rest would be carried by the small longboats carried by the large ships, and would come at the rear of the fleet.

As the first of the ships reached the docks, the horns sounded again, this time accompanied by a flood of curious onlookers that began to cheer as they realized who was arriving at their harbor. Leif brought his ship to dock at one of the long piers, near the beach itself, with room for other ships to come in behind them, and the rowers tossed ropes to men on the docks to draw the ship in close, even as they struggled to stow their oars with the extra English soldiers packed into the center of their boat. Leif craned his neck to look around the people climbing out of the boats around him, scanning the crowd on the shore for familiar faces.

“Harald!” he heard Freydis call from the dock, and glanced over to see her beaming broadly and waving at a figure on the shore. He, Tove, and Gunne followed her, squeezing along the edge of the throng on the pier, and met Harald on the shoreline, hopping off the wooden walkway into the soft sand. Freydis had already pulled Harald into an embrace, but he reached out and snagged Leif too as soon as he was close enough, and Leif and Freydis grabbed Tove to bring her in as well.

“Welcome back!” Harald was grinning from ear to ear. “We were starting to worry about you.”

“What, you didn’t think we’d make it?” Freydis feigned offense, swatting Harald on the shoulder.

“On the contrary, I was certain you would,” Harald said. “But we were worried that, perhaps, something had happened that was preventing you from returning.”

“We’ll tell you about it later,” said Leif.

“I look forward to hearing the stories,” Harald grinned. He kissed Freydis on the cheek and ruffled Leif’s hair before releasing them, and kissed Tove on the crown of her head. “I see you are now a shieldmaiden,” he said, running a hand over the curve of the shield Tove wore on her back.

“Yes,” she grinned. “I am free. King Canute freed me after we helped him fight a battle in Denmark.”

“What were you doing in Denmark?” Harald’s brow furrowed, and he glanced between them.

“Later,” Freydis laughed. “It’s a long story.”

“And who is this?” Harald asked, turning to Gunne. “You look familiar, but I cannot place your face.”

“Gunne Fenrirson. We met before—in London. I came to the city with Brigid and Hjalte, to submit our plea to King Canute.”

“Of course!” Harald grinned. “Welcome back from the dead, friend.”

“Thank you,” Gunne chuckled, reaching out to grasp the arm that Harald offered him.

“Speaking of Brigid,” said Tove, turning to scan the crowd, “where is she? I would have thought she’d have been with you.”

“I haven’t seen her today,” said Harald. “You’re right, though—I’m surprised she didn’t come when the horns sounded. She must be up at the hall. Come—let’s get you all dry and fed, and you can start telling those stories.”

Chapter Text

“Good morning, Tilda, Elli,” Brigid yawned, taking a seat next to the handmaidens by a fire in the great hall.

“Morning? It’s nearly lunch!” Tilda teased, elbowing Brigid in the ribs. “Where have you been?”

“Sveinn was up all night,” Brigid groaned. “We went down to the kitchens for some food around dawn, and then I was finally able to get him to sleep, and get some sleep myself. I’d still be sleeping if he hadn’t woken me up again.”

“Oh, what’s wrong, little one?” Tilda cooed, taking Sveinn from Brigid. “More teeth?”

“I don’t think so,” Brigid shrugged. “Just one of those nights, I suppose.” She glanced around the hall. “Is Ingegerd still in her room?”

“No, actually,” said Elli, setting aside the sock she was darning. “She said she wanted to go for a walk by the lake, now that the weather is improving.”

Brigid arched an eyebrow and leaned around Tilda to peer out the open door of the hall. It was true that the weather had warmed somewhat in the past few weeks, but it was still grey and dreary, and had been raining off and on for several days straight. “Improving isn’t quite the word I’d use,” she grumbled. “Did she go alone?”

“I think so,” said Tilda, bouncing Sveinn on her knee. “Well, she must have taken a guard or something—she is not supposed to go anywhere on her own, as a princess—but she told us to stay here, as she did not want to keep us from our work.”

“Hmm,” Brigid hummed softly. “I think I’ll go and join her.”

“She left almost an hour ago now; it will take you a while to catch up,” said Elli. “You’re more likely to find her on her way back than anything.”

“Still, I could use the fresh air,” Brigid stood and patted her skirt into place. “Would you mind watching Sveinn for me?”

“Of course not,” Tilda smiled down at the baby.

“If I don’t come back before you’re needed elsewhere, you can give him to Harald,” said Brigid.

Tilda nodded, and she lifted Sveinn’s pudgy arm to wave at Brigid as she headed for the corridor back to her room to fetch her shawl. By the time she had returned to make her way towards the lake, Tilda and Elli had already turned back to their work, Sveinn settled between them and playing with a scrap of cloth. Brigid paused to kiss him on the head before she left, pulling her shawl up over her head as she stepped into the dreary, drizzling greyness of the spring day.

.*.*.*.*.*.

A guard at the city gate was able to point Brigid in the direction that Ingegerd had gone—and also informed her that the princess was, in fact, alone, and had adamantly refused an escort. The road outside of the city had once been packed earth, but had turned to sticky, thick mud between the melting snow and steady rain. Brigid held her skirts high and tried to pick her way around the worst of it, but her shoes stuck and threatened to come off if she was not careful and deliberate with how she lifted her feet. As she slogged along, she kept an eye out for Ingegerd—a light fog was rolling in from the lake, but was not heavy enough to really obscure her vision. Nearly a half an hour after she left the city, movement by the water’s edge caught Brigid’s eye. She turned, and her heart leapt into her throat.

Ingegerd stood at the edge of the lake, nearly up to her knees in water. Her blue and green skirts floated around her, like some sort of stain on the water’s surface, and her white-blonde hair hung in limp tendrils around her face and shoulders, soaked through by the mist.

“Ingegerd!” Brigid cried. She tried to quicken her pace to hurry towards her friend, but the mud sucked at her feet and ankles. In her rush, she lost one of her boots, and the next step found ice-cold goo seeping through her sock. In another step, that was gone too, and she was struggling through the muck with one bare foot, quickly losing feeling as it was wrapped in the freezing wetness of the mud.

Ingegerd made no sign that she had heard Brigid’s cry. In fact, as Brigid watched, terror making every nerve in her body scream at her to hurry, go faster, Ingegerd took a step deeper into the water. As Brigid struggled towards the shore of the lake, continuing to cry out for her friend, the princess kept wading deeper and deeper into the water. Soon, she was up to her stomach, then her shoulders, hair floating on the surface of the water, and then… she was gone.

A scream tore at Brigid’s throat, and she made a final lunge towards the lake, tripping on a hidden rock and hitting the water hard enough to knock the breath from her lungs. She stopped long enough to peel off her overdress and toss it aside, then dove into the freezing water, kicking off her remaining boot as she swam towards where she had last seen Ingegerd.

In the dim, murky shadows of the lake, Brigid feared that Ingegerd would be impossible to find, but, to her luck, the sun broke through the clouds above, and a beam illuminated the water around her, catching the white-blonde of Ingegerd’s hair and making it shine like a beacon. Brigid rose to the surface to fill her lungs with cold air, and dove down, struggling to kick with enough strength to reach Ingegerd as her underskirt clung to her legs. Her lungs were beginning to burn, indicating that she needed to resurface for air, her outstretched hand brushed against Ingegerd’s sleeve. A final kick brought her close enough to grab onto her friend’s wrist, and she pulled the princess towards her. Unlike Brigid, Ingegerd had shed no layers, and the sodden fabric of her gown and underdress weighed her down. The burning in Brigid’s lungs grew as she struggled to get to the surface with Ingegerd’s weight in her arms, but she persisted, refusing to give up when she was so close.

When her head broke the surface, Brigid immediately gasped for breath—and was met with a mouthful of water as she bobbed back under the surface. She came up again, coughing and choking, and hoisted Ingegerd up onto her shoulder as much as she could, keeping the young woman’s head above the water as she hauled her towards shore. They were only a few feet out, but the swim was torture. By the time she reached the shore, Brigid was gasping, struggling to get enough air into her lungs to compensate for the effort she was exerting. Once it was shallow enough, she got her feet under them and stood, dragging Ingegerd the rest of the way to the shore. The princess grew even heavier without the buoyancy of the water to compensate for her weight, and Brigid began to wonder what she would do with her once they were out of the water if Ingegerd did not wake.

As soon as they were out of the water, Brigid fell to her hands and knees, coughing up the water she had swallowed during the swim. Beside her, Ingegerd lay still and pale, but, just as Brigid was starting to worry, she coughed and spluttered, and turned onto her side to spew a geyser of water. Brigid sat down heavily beside Ingegerd and rubbed her shoulder.

When Ingegerd sat up, she was sobbing, tears flowing down her pale cheeks. “Why did you save me?” she shouted, pulling away from Brigid and struggling to her feet, staggering through the mud. “You should have let me go!”

“‘Why’?” Brigid repeated. “What do you mean, ‘why’? Do you really think I would have let you go like that?”

“You should have let me drown!” Ingegerd screamed, turning to face Brigid, her hair sticking to flushed cheeks, eyes red from tears. “You had no right to pull me out of that lake!”

Brigid dragged herself to her feet, fury burning in her chest as hot as any fire. She took a step towards Ingegerd, tears beginning to fill her own eyes. “I couldn’t stand by and watch you kill yourself,” she said. “I couldn’t just watch you drown!”

Ingegerd let out a cry and fell to her knees, sobbing. Brigid staggered forward and knelt down beside her, pulling her into a hug, her own tears overflowing as she buried her face in Ingegerd’s shoulder.

“I’m so tired of it all,” Ingegerd sobbed. “I’m tired of everyone trying to control me and use me for their own gain. I don’t want to be sold off to some Russian prince for my father to further his ambitions—I want to be able to make a choice for myself for once in my life.”

Brigid pulled Ingegerd even closer, rocking her slightly as her sobs began to quiet. “I understand,” she murmured. “I understand wanting to be free of all that. I can’t imagine what it must feel like to have such important choices made for you. But, my darling Ingegerd,” she pulled away, taking the princess’s face in her hands and forcing Ingegerd to look into her eyes, “this is not the way to fix that. Ending your life will not do anything, for anyone, especially not yourself.”

“I don’t know what else to do,” Ingegerd sobbed.

Brigid kissed her on the forehead, then leaned down to rest her forehead against Ingegerd’s. “You don’t have to know. You can figure it out along the way. I’ll help you—and so will Elli and Tilda, and anyone else you let close enough to become your friend. But death is not the answer.”

They stayed like that for a little while, until thunder rumbled above their heads and the rain started to fall more heavily.

“We need to get back to the city,” said Brigid, pulling away. She stood up and helped Ingegerd to her feet. She looked around briefly for her overdress and shawl, but, with the rain seemingly growing heavier by the moment, she quickly gave up and joined Ingegerd on the road. They hadn’t gone far when they heard the sound of hooves on the road behind them.

“Little sister.”

“Emund!” Ingegerd gasped, squinting up through the rain at her older brother.

“What are you doing here? Why are you soaking wet and covered in mud? And where is your guard?”

“Brigid and I went for a walk,” said Ingegerd. “I slipped in the mud and fell into the lake. Brigid rescued me.”

Emund arched an eyebrow, but didn’t argue. He held out his arm to Ingegerd. “Come. We should get you back into the city.” One of his men dismounted and helped Ingegerd up on the horse behind Emund, giving his cloak to the princess. Another of the men took Brigid on the back of his horse and gave her his cloak.

The ride back to the city was silent and oddly tense. Inside the gates, they found the streets packed with warriors and shieldmaidens—many of the warriors clad in unfamiliar armor and bearing unfamiliar symbols.

“Who are all these people?” Brigid wondered aloud.

“We saw the ships coming into the port from the hills,” said the man whose horse she was sharing. “We cut the hunting short for the day and came back to greet Prince Jakob. There was no game out in this weather anyways.”

By the time they reached the hall, Brigid was shivering violently and numb to the bone with cold. The men dismounted, and two of the guards helped Ingegerd and Brigid off of the horses. They followed Emund towards the doors of the hall, and a pair of guards opened them to let them enter.

The entire hall fell silent when the doors swung open. Brigid’s eyes scanned the crowd, taking in unfamiliar soldiers gathered around the tables and Jakob, Canute, and Harald up on the dais, and searching for Leif, Freydis, and Tove in the crowd.

“Prince Emund!” Canute called out, stepping down from the dais, arms spread, to welcome the prince back into the hall.

“King Canute,” Emund smiled. “Uncle. Welcome to Agnafit.”

“Many thanks,” Canute smiled back, giving him a brief hug.

“You remember Jakob’s sister, Princess Ingegerd?” Emund stepped aside and pulled Ingegerd forward.

“King Canute,” Ingegerd stammered through chattering teeth.

“Princess,” said Canute.

“I apologize for the princess’s state,” said Emund, his voice dripping with disdain. “It seems that she and her friend had some kind of adventure this morning.”

“Not an adventure,” Ingegerd said, drawing herself up proudly. “Just an incident involving some slippery mud and a very cold lake.”

“Well, do not let me keep you from getting yourselves warm,” Canute chuckled. “There will be much time for me to get to know my niece in the coming days.”

Tilda and Elli appeared out of nowhere and each took one of Ingegerd’s arms. They pulled her away, but not before Tilda had a chance to catch Brigid’s eye and nod towards the fire they had been seated at earlier. She nodded, and took the opportunity, while no-one was paying attention to her, to slip away. She was hardly halfway through the crowd when a pair of strong arms grabbed her and swept her into a tight embrace.

Brigid let out a sigh of relief and wrapped her arms around Leif’s neck, greedy for the heat she could feel coming off of his body. “Welcome home,” she whispered, her eyes filling with tears.

“What happened?” Leif demanded, pulling away just far enough to bring her closer to the fire.

“It doesn’t matter,” Brigid murmured. “I’m just glad you’re back.”

Freydis appeared at Brigid’s side and pulled her into a hug, and Tove took her place a moment later, holding Sveinn on her hip. “Where are your shoes?” Tove asked, rubbing a hand over Brigid’s shoulder.

“I lost them in the mud,” Brigid forced a laugh that turned into a wet cough. “I should go and change.”

“Come on,” Leif said, steering her through the crowd towards the hall that led to their chamber. Once there, he shut the door behind them, and led Brigid straight to the banked fire in the hearth. He stirred it and added wood, then turned back to her and peeled off her soaking wet clothes, tossing them aside along with the borrowed cloak. He grabbed a blanket from the bed and wrapped her in it, sitting her down on the edge of the bed while he fetched dry clothes. He knelt on the floor in front of her and pulled her feet into his lap, rubbing them between his hands to warm them, the skin turning blue from the cold. “What happened?” he asked again.

“Ingegerd was going to drown herself,” said Brigid. “I saw her go into the water. I couldn’t let it happen. You mustn’t tell anyone.”

Leif frowned, but nodded in agreement. He pulled a pair of heavy socks onto her feet and looked up at her. Brigid smiled down at him and leaned down to kiss him, resting her forehead against his when they separated. “I’m so glad you’re home,” she whispered, voice thick and tears prickling in her eyes again.

“So am I,” Leif sighed.

Brigid’s breath caught in her throat as Leif’s arms slipped around her waist and he pulled her in close. She wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him up into a long, slow kiss, feeling the scratch of his beard against her jaw and the flutter of his eyelashes against her cheek. She fumbled to untie his hair and tangled her fingers through the salt-stiff curls as they came loose from his bun. Leif’s hand tracked its way up her back, along her spine, until it came to the back of her neck, while the other came around her waist to pull her in even closer.

Brigid was the first to pull away, resting her forehead against Leif’s while she caught her breath. She felt something prickle at the back of her eyes, but smiled anyway. “I’ve missed you,” she whispered.

“I’ve missed you too,” Leif murmured, peppering kisses along her nose, cheeks, and jaw until he finally landed on her lips again.

“You’re going to get us in trouble,” Brigid teased when she pulled away to catch her breath. He leaned away to peel off his sea-damp coat and shirt, tossing them aside after her wet clothes, and she grabbed onto the waistband of his trousers to pull him back in, even as she continued: “They’ll wonder what’s taking so long.”

“Let them,” Leif murmured, burying his face in the crook of her neck. “I don’t want to let you go.”

Brigid opened her mouth to protest half-heartedly, but the sound stuck in her throat as Leif kissed a line up her neck and over her jaw to kiss her on the lips again. She smiled against his lips and pushed his hair back behind his ears before draping her arms over his shoulders.

Leif wrapped an arm around Brigid’s waist to pull her into him before guiding her down onto her back. He ran his other hand down her side and along the outside of her thigh, guiding her leg up to rest against his hip. Brigid rolled her hips up into his and he chuckled. “So impatient,” he whispered into her ear before nipping at her earlobe.

Brigid let out a breathy laugh and pulled him into another kiss. “Just cold,” she murmured when they pulled apart. “Warm me up?”

“Gladly,” Leif grinned. His hands roamed her body, tracing hot paths across her chilled, goose-fleshed skin, from her round hips, up and over the curve of her stomach, to settle on her soft breasts. Brigid moaned softly as he rolled her nipple between his thumb and forefinger. She traced her hands over his chest and down his torso. Leif let out a soft hiss when she came to the half-healed gash on his left side, flinching away from her hand.

Brigid leaned around to see what had elicited that sound and gasped when she saw the wound. “What happened?” she demanded, pushing him off of her and sitting up. She gasped again when she saw the wound on his arm. “And here?”

“It’s fine,” Leif murmured, taking her hands and bringing them down to her sides. “I am fine. They’re mostly healed by now.”

“Leif,” Brigid whispered, her eyes welling up with tears. She cupped his face and pulled him down into a kiss.

Leif wrapped his arms around her and pulled her body into his, settling her on his lap. “It’s alright,” he said when they separated. He kissed her forehead, the tip of her nose, her cheek, and her lips. “It’s alright.”

Brigid sniffled, wiping tears off of her cheeks. “I know. I was just so worried while you were gone.”

“I’m back now; there is nothing more to worry about,” Leif said firmly, punctuating his words with kisses that caught the tears slipping down her cheeks. “And I am not leaving again any time soon.” He smoothed her hair over her head, back away from her face, and kissed her on the forehead.

Brigid forced a smile and nodded. She tucked his hair behind his ear again, then rested her head on his shoulder, her face buried in the crook of his neck, one arm draped over his shoulder, the other wrapped loosely around his waist. Leif turned his cheek to rest against her damp hair, arms around her back and hands warm against her skin.

They separated when a soft knock sounded at the door. Brigid pulled the blanket back around herself and shuffled across the room, away from the door, while Leif went to see who it was. When he opened the door, Elli offered an uncertain smile and held out a pair of fleece-lined slippers. “Princess Ingegerd sent these for Brigid. She says she’ll buy her a new pair of boots to replace the ones that were lost.”

Wordlessly, Leif accepted the shoes, and Elli scurried away. He closed the door and turned around to find Brigid pulling on her dry clothes. He helped her get the overdress over her head and laced up at the sides, frowning with concentration as he fumbled with the lacing.

“Easier to take off than put on?” Brigid teased.

“Very much so.”

Once she was dressed, Leif took the opportunity to change into clean, dry clothes as well, while Brigid combed and braided her hair out of the way. By the time they returned to the hall, dinner was being served. It was a casual, rowdy meal, with a great number of warriors happy to be off their boats after over a week of sailing just enjoying solid ground and hot food. The English soldiers that joined them in the hall—mostly generals and other officers, with some of the high-ranking footmen—endured a great deal of ribbing from the Norse, much of which they likely couldn’t understand anyways, although that didn’t seem to make it much easier for them to handle. A few scuffles broke out, but were quickly dispersed by Jakob and Emund’s guards. When Brigid and Leif reached the hall, they found Harald seated at one of the tables at the side of the hall, along with Freydis, Tove, and—

“Gunne!” Brigid cried, darting forward towards her friend.

Beaming, Gunne stood and caught her, sweeping her into a tight hug that lifted her off her feet and spun her around. When he released her, she took a step back, grabbing him by the arms as she looked him up and down. “What are you doing here? How are you here? They told us your ship went down in the storm on the way to Kattegat!”

“I was rescued by one of Jarl Olaf’s ships,” said Gunne. “They left me in Jelling, and I woke up there a week later. Canute promised me passage to Norway if I fought for him against the Wends, but then Leif and Freydis and Tove showed up, and I decided to stick with them.”

Brigid laughed and hugged him again. “Well, it is wonderful to see you again. I am glad that you are not dead.”

“So am I,” Gunne laughed.

.*.*.*.*.*.

After dinner, they sat together for a little while, beginning to catch up on each other’s stories of their time apart, before heading back to their rooms. Tove offered to share her room with Gunne—“Don’t get any ideas, mind you. You can sleep on the floor only , but at least it’ll be warmer than the drafty barracks. I’ve been in there—trust me, the floor is better.”—but Harald and Freydis were the first to slip off together. Brigid took a half-asleep Sveinn from Tove and was about to head for her own room, but was intercepted by Ingegerd and Tilda.

“Why don’t you let us watch him for the night?” said Ingegerd. “I’m sure you could do with some privacy.” She winked knowingly.

Before Brigid could protest, they were gone, Ingegerd offering a guilt-tinged half-smile back at Brigid before they disappeared down the hallway. Leif chuckled and pulled Brigid close to his side, his arm around her shoulders and hers around his waist. They walked in silence, the ruckus of the hall fading away behind them as they went deeper into the hall. Back in their room, Brigid let out a sigh and tumbled onto the bed, kicking her borrowed slippers off before burrowing under the covers. Leif laughed but immediately followed suit, snuggling up against her and pulling her into him.

“I doubt this is what Ingegerd and Tilda were expecting, but I’m too tired for anything else,” Brigid yawned, voice muffled as her face was buried in Leif’s chest.

Leif couldn’t help but yawn in response. “Me too,” he murmured, rubbing small circles on her back with one hand.

Brigid pulled away just far enough to look up at him. “Time for bed?”

Leif yawned and nodded. “Time for bed.”

Brigid giggled and squirmed out of his grasp to crawl over him, pausing to kiss him on the jaw as she went. Leif watched her slip out of her overdress and fold it, setting it aside to wear in the morning, and considered getting up to undress, but thought better of it when Brigid rejoined him in the bed, snuggling back into his arms and pulling the blankets over both of them. Leif rested his chin on her head and smiled to himself.

“I missed this,” he murmured. “I missed you .”

“I’m holding you to that ‘not leaving again any time soon’ promise from earlier,” Brigid mumbled, already half asleep.

Leif laughed and kissed her on the head. “I’m holding myself to it, too.”

Brigid let out a sigh, and he felt her relax into him. Only once he was sure she was asleep did Leif pull away, gently slipping out of the bed. He stirred the embers in the fireplace and added an extra log for good measure, then pulled off his tunic and socks before crawling back into bed and pulling Brigid back into his arms. He fell asleep to the sound of her even breathing and the fire crackling as it began to eat away at the log, a smile on his face and love in his heart.

.*.*.*.*.*.

Hours later, after the fire had once again burned to low glowing embers, Leif woke to the sound of Brigid retching somewhere on the other side of the room. He tumbled out of bed and stirred the fire, bringing it back up to a low blaze, both for warmth and for light, then turned to look for Brigid. He found her curled up in the corner, next to a bucket, tears streaking down her face and blood soaking the lower half of her chemise.

“What’s wrong?” he asked softly, dropping to his knees beside her and pulling her into his arms.

“I—I didn’t even know,” Brigid sobbed, clinging to him with trembling fingers. “I mean, I thought ‘maybe’, but… I didn’t know.”

“Shh,” Leif murmured, rocking her gently. The fog of sleep was finally beginning to clear from his mind, and he was beginning to form an idea of what was happening. “It’s alright.”

Brigid hiccuped as she cried, which spiralled into a coughing fit so hard she nearly threw up again. She pulled away from Leif and steadied herself against the wall, chest heaving as she struggled to catch herself. Leif reached out and rubbed slow, steady circles on her back, feeling entirely helpless.

“I didn’t know,” Brigid whispered, staring down at her blood-soaked skirt. “I didn’t know.”

Leif turned to set his back against the wall and wrapped his arm around Brigid’s shoulders, drawing her against his side. He leaned down and kissed the top of her head. He could feel his heart stuttering in his chest, heavy as he mourned the loss of something he hadn’t even gotten to know that he had. After a long while, Brigid pulled away and heaved herself to her feet. Leif scrambled up and helped her cross the room and pull off her bloody chemise. He stopped her from putting on fresh clothes long enough to clean the worst of the blood from her legs, then let her stumble back to bed while he scrubbed the blood off of the floor. By the time he finished, Brigid had fallen into a fitful sleep. He laid down beside her and pulled her into his arms yet again, and finally allowed himself to cry—a few hot tears that burned as they tracked across his skin. He didn’t want to make any sound that would wake her up, but his heart was full enough to break and that needed to go somewhere. He kissed her temple and rested his forehead against her head.

“I love you,” he whispered. “It will be alright. I’ll be here for you; I promise.”

Chapter Text

In the morning, Leif woke to find that Brigid had rolled away from him in her sleep, and now lay with her back to him, about a foot of space between them. The light peeping through the windows was grey and dim, and the clouds made it impossible to tell how late into the morning it was when Leif peered outside. Brigid was still sound asleep, so Leif took the opportunity to change and slip out into the hall to go for breakfast. When he stepped into the great hall, it was surprisingly quiet—meaning he was either early or late for the meal—with only a few handfuls of people scattered around the room. Leif spotted Freydis, Harald, and the others and headed towards them.

Freydis saw him coming and was on her feet in an instant. “What’s wrong?” she asked, giving him a brief hug before wrapping her arm around his shoulders.

Leif sighed. He ran a hand over his face and hair, pushing loose curls back and away from his face. “Later,” he murmured.

Freydis pulled him towards the table and sat him down between herself and Harald. Across the table sat Gunne and Tove, the latter bouncing Sveinn on their lap.

“No Brigid?” Tove asked.

Leif shook his head as he accepted a bowl of soup and a chunk of bread from Freydis. He ate silently, the conversation of his companions flowing around him. When he was done eating, he put together a plate to take to Brigid and stood. “Would you mind watching Sveinn for a little while longer?” he asked.

“Of course!” Tove grinned. “I have missed this little monster,” she added, pulling Sveinn closer to her and tickling him.

“Thank you.”

Freydis hesitated, then hopped up to follow Leif into the hallway. “Leif, what’s wrong?” she asked, slipping her arm through his and keeping pace beside him. “Did something happen last night? Is Brigid sick from whatever happened yesterday?”

Leif stopped, pulling Freydis to a halt, eyes distant and unfocused. “She was pregnant,” he murmured finally, then pulled away from Freydis and continued walking.

Freydis stared after him for a moment before hurrying to catch up. “Oh, Leif,” she said, wrapping her arms around him in a gentle hug, cradling his head with one hand. “I’m so sorry,” she whispered, kissing him on the temple as she pulled away. “What can I do?”

“There is nothing to be done,” Leif said, once again on the move to get back to Brigid in their room. This time, Freydis let him go, much to his relief. Back in the safety of the room, he set the dish on the little table by the door and knelt down next to Brigid. He gently brushed her hair away from her face, then kissed her forehead, the tip of her nose, and her cheek. She stirred at the last touch, blinking sleepily as she stared at him. “I brought you breakfast,” he said, giving her another kiss on the cheek before he stood.

“I’m not hungry,” Brigid mumbled. Leif expected her to roll to her other side and go back to sleep, but she sat up, drawing her legs up to her chest and resting her chin on her knees.

“You should eat something,” Leif said. He sat down on the bed in front of her and took one of her hands in his. “Just a little bit?”

“Maybe later,” Brigid sighed. Her eyes flicked towards him and she offered the tiniest of smiles and squeezed his hand. “I will be alright.”

“Don’t try to get there too fast.”

“Where’s Sveinn?”

“With Tove. I asked her to watch him for a little while longer.”

Brigid nodded. She glanced towards the jumble of her bloody chemise from the night before. “I should go wash that.”

“I’ll take care of it,” said Leif. “Get some rest.”

Brigid looked like she was about to protest, but Leif stood and pulled away before she could. He leaned down and kissed her on the forehead again. “Eat your soup,” he said, tucking her hair back behind her ear before crossing to the pile of bloody clothes. He stuffed the garments into his bag from the journey—which he had never gotten around to unpacking the night before—and headed for the door.

“The washroom is behind the kitchen,” Brigid called after him. “If you see Elli or Tilda, they’ll show you.”

Leif nodded. “I’ll be back.”

Brigid smiled fondly and turned her head so her cheek was resting on her knee. Once he was gone and the door was closed, the smile faded. Slowly, she shuffled around until she was laying down and pulled the blankets back tightly around herself. If Leif had still been there, he would likely have noticed the way her blanket-covered form trembled as silent tears tumbled down her cheeks and over her nose, but, as it was, she was alone.

.*.*.*.*.*.

Harald found Leif in the washroom, accompanied by a handful of thralls just trying to peacefully do their work without making eye contact with him. The arrival of the prince of Norway, however, was apparently too much, and they scurried off in a little huddle as Harald crouched by Leif.

“Freydis told me.”

Leif nodded, attention completely focused on scrubbing a bloodstain out of one of his shirts. Harald rested a hand on his friend’s shoulder and gave it a gentle squeeze. “What can I do to help?” he asked.

Leif sighed and his hands stilled. “I am not the one who needs anything. Brigid is, but I don’t… I don’t know what to do for her.”

Harald smiled. “She will tell you. When she is ready.” He shuffled forward and pushed his sleeves up over his elbows before reaching into the tub and fishing out another garment to scrub.

“I don’t need help,” said Leif.

“I know,” Harald shrugged. “But I don’t have anything better to do, and I think you could use the company.”

.*.*.*.*.*.

Days passed, and, slowly, Brigid returned to something close to her regular self. She spent most of her time either in her room or Ingegerd’s, and at meals tended to hover close to Leif. The others didn’t seem to notice that she remained slightly distant and all-but avoided holding Sveinn much of the time, but Leif did. He did what he could to help, largely by taking care of Sveinn, constantly wondering if there was anything else to do, but too scared to ask.

Just under two weeks after the arrival of Canute’s armies, even more ships arrived in the port of Agnafit—only a handful this time, flying strange and unfamiliar banners. When they came into the port, Brigid, Ingegerd, and Tilda were returning to the hall from the market. They heard the horns from halfway up the hill to the great hall and hurried the rest of the way to the courtyard to join the warriors who were training there in looking out over the bay. 

“Whose flag is that?” Tilda asked as they joined Gunne, Harald, and Tove in the yard.

“Novgorod,” said Harald. “That will be Prince Yaroslav, or at least his men.”

Ingegerd sighed—not a sad sound so much as a resigned one. Brigid heard and slipped her hand into Ingegerd’s, giving it a reassuring squeeze.

“We should get back inside,” said Harald, resting a hand on Ingegerd’s shoulder briefly. “Your father will be welcoming the prince, and I’m sure he’ll want you there.”

.*.*.*.*.*.

King Olof had returned to Agnafit two days after Canute’s arrival and brought both his wife and consort with him. When they returned, Emund immediately made himself scarce, taking a party of his warriors on a scouting expedition into Norway, and leaving his father and Jakob—and Harald—to negotiate with Canute. Olof and Canute, despite being half-brothers, very much did not get along. Therefore, when Harald entered the hall to inform them of Yaroslav’s arrival he was entirely unsurprised to find them arguing. Jakob appeared to have given up on mediating—he was seated at one of the tables to the side of the hall with Freydis. Leif was on the floor next to them, playing with Sveinn, who had just started crawling—and getting into a fair amount of trouble while he was at it.

Ingegerd, Tilda, and Brigid vanished almost immediately, presumably heading towards Ingegerd’s quarters. Out of the corner of his eye, Harald saw Brigid pause to give Leif a kiss on the cheek and pat Sveinn on the back before following the princess. Gunne and Tove also headed to join Freydis and Jakob at the table, leaving only Harald to share the news of Yaroslav’s arrival.

Olof and Canute’s arguments were generally not loud—the two were far too dignified to yell at each other—but filled the air with tension and barely-restrained rage that felt like it could bubble over in the blink of an eye. Harald steeled himself as he climbed the three stairs of the dais. Behind him, he heard quick footsteps, and then Jakob was at his side.

Harald cleared his throat, and both kings turned towards the princes. “Prince Harald. What is it?” Canute turned towards them, giving the cold shoulder to Olof, who glowered at his younger brother.

“The Prince of Novgorod is here,” said Harald.

That got Olof’s attention, and his scowl deepened. “That Rus bastard,” he spat. “Come to claim my daughter, no doubt.”

Jakob frowned, shifting his weight slightly. “Quite the sense of timing Yaroslav has.”

“He sent word weeks ago that he would arrive soon,” said Harald. “He seemed eager to claim his bride.”

Jakob’s frown deepened, but before he could speak, the great doors of the hall swung open. Every head turned to face the new arrivals, and Harald and Jakob stepped aside to give Olof and Canute a clear line of sight towards them. At the head of the group was a tall, fairly slender man, with a full head of thick, black hair, just beginning to grey at the temples, wearing a fine, dark blue wool coat, covered with intricate gold embroidery and beadwork that sparkled in the light of the fires and torches within the hall. Behind him was a retinue of guards in bright armor, lined with leather and trimmed in black fur, bearing halberds and carrying swords on their hips.

“Prince Yaroslav,” said Canute, voice booming. He stepped down from the dais, Olof only steps behind. Harald and Jakob remained at the top of the stairs, allowing the monarchs to deal with one another.

“Prince Yaroslav,” Olof echoed, pushing past Canute to greet the visitors with a bow. “We welcome you back to Agnafit.”

“Thank you, King Olof,” said Yaroslav, inclining his head ever so slightly. “And Canute—I hear you are finally king in your own right, now that you have conquered England. How unfortunate that its true king met his untimely demise just after you left. I imagine you didn’t even get the opportunity to know your ruling partner before his death.”

Canute offered a frosty smile. “King Edmund’s death was quite a tragedy, indeed. My wife, Queen Emma, was quite distraught at the loss of her stepson.”

“I’m sure she was,” Yaroslav’s lips parted in an eerie imitation of a smile.

“What brings you to Agnafit at this time of year, Prince Yaroslav?” Olof asked. He held an arm out to Yaroslav and turned, gesturing with the other for Yaroslav to join him on the hall’s dais.

Harald and Jakob stepped aside as Yaroslav mounted the dais. At first it seemed that the Rus prince would claim Olof’s center throne, but at the last moment, he took the seat to the right—Estrid’s normal position—leaving the center for Olof, and the left for Canute.

“I’m sure you remember my son, Jakob,” Olof gestured as he took his seat, “and this is Prince Harald of Norway.”

“It is an honor, Prince Yaroslav,” Harald bowed deeply. “Word of your strength and wisdom has reached even Norway, and I count myself truly privileged to meet you in person.”

Yaroslav arched an eyebrow and nodded at the praise. “We have heard of you as well in Novgorod, Prince Harald—or, rather, of your brother, Olaf. Particularly in the past weeks and months have we heard of Olaf. It seems that he is determined to destroy the country he is so eager to rule, if rumors are to be believed.”

“I assure you, my Prince, there is no exaggeration in regards to my brother’s crimes.”

“Hmm,” was Yaroslav’s only response.

“Once again, Prince Yaroslav,” said Olof, drawing all eyes to him, “I ask: why have you come to Agnafit, especially at such an inclement time of year.”

“Can you not guess, King Olof?” said Yaroslav, his tone languid. “I am here to marry your daughter.”

Chapter Text

“I did send word several weeks ago that I would be coming to claim my bride,” said Yaroslav. “My messengers assured me that the message was delivered. Did they lie?”

“No, they did not, my Prince, we just did not expect you before the spring,” said Olof. “I didn’t realize that you intended to travel in such poor weather.”

Yaroslav shrugged. “It’s been a mild winter, even in Novgorod.”

“Right,” said Olof. “Of course.”

“What makes it so important for you to marry Ingegerd now?” said Jakob. “Why could you not wait until spring?”

“I do not owe you an explanation,” Yaroslav quipped.

“Might it have anything to do with your father’s death?” said Harald. “We had heard news of Grand Prince Vladimir’s death, even before your message reached Agnafit. Now you need to marry and begin to produce heirs to secure a claim to his throne—a claim that is not yours, as long as Prince Sviatopolk lives.”

“You will watch your tongue, little prince,” Yaroslav snapped, eyes narrowing to glare at Harald. “You have no more claim to the throne of Norway than I do that of Kievan Rus’, and yet my informants tell me that you seek to take it from your own elder brother, Jarl Olaf.”

Harald shrugged. “I certainly do not criticize your actions, only say that there is no point in hiding them. After all, openness between allies is important—and you did come here intending to form alliances, did you not?”

Yaroslav leaned back, draping his arms over the arms of the throne and crossing his legs at the ankles. “Don’t stop now, little prince—if you know me so well, why don’t you continue unveiling what you believe my plan to be?”

Harald crossed his arms, maintaining eye contact with the older man. “You need more than just heirs to make a claim to the throne of all of Kievan Rus’. Sviatopolk has a better claim than you, as an older son of Vladimir. He’s conspired against your father in the past, as we all know, but was unsuccessful in his coup. Without your father to stop him, and with his legal right to the throne, it will be easy for him to take it. You need support if you plan to supplant him, and by marrying Ingegerd, you expect that King Olof will lend you such support—and, ideally, King Forkbeard and Canute with him. With the armies of Sweden, Norway, Iceland, Denmark, and England all at the back of your own forces, you would be unstoppable, no matter who Sviatopolk managed to ally himself with.”

Yaroslav nodded. “All good points,” he said. “I must admit—you are not wrong. That is all true. But my greatest obstacle is not Sviatopolk, as you assume. Sviatopolk has just as little claim as I do, as our father named our younger brother Boris his heir before our death. Now Boris sits as Grand Prince of all Kiev. Undoubtedly, Sviatopolk will take this transition as an opportunity to take the throne for himself—and Boris will have no way to stop him. I will let them fight it out, and once one has emerged victorious, I will make my own move. And yes; I will need help to take the throne, so that is the larger half of the reason I have come to claim my rightful bride at this time—the other being to begin producing heirs to solidify my claim once I have the throne, as you stated.”

“So you come not only to steal away my daughter, but to demand military aid from my own army, as well as those of my allies?” Olof scoffed. “That is no little thing!”

Yaroslav shrugged. “It would be your duty, as the father of my wife, to come to my aid. I had hoped to not be so obvious about these intentions before the wedding, but…” he turned his attention to Harald, “it seems the little prince of Norway is more clever than he is given credit for.”

Harald smirked and bowed slightly. “I am honored to have surprised someone renowned for being so wise as you, great one.”

Yaroslav’s eyes narrowed at the sarcasm that dripped from Harald’s words, but Canute and Jakob both hid smiles. “What do you say, Skötkonung? Will you give me your daughter? Or will you break our contract and invite my wrath? I assure you, once I have claimed the throne of Kiev, I will bring the might of the entire Kievan Rus’ down on you if you deny me.”

Olof opened his mouth to reply, but before he could speak, Jakob stepped forward. “Your journey has been long, Prince Yaroslav. You must be tired. Rest, and at dinner tonight, I would be honored to introduce my little sister to you so that you may get to know her.”

Yaroslav hesitated, but stood. “I look forward to meeting her—and hearing your response to my question, King Skötkonung.”

“I will have it for you then, my Prince.”

Jakob gestured, and thralls appeared to lead Yaroslav and his men away, further into the hall.

“Why did you do that?” Canute asked, turning to Jakob once Yaroslav had vanished down the corridor.

“I have an idea,” said Jakob. “The Danish and English armies are tired. When we make for Norway, despite having greater numbers, they will be at a disadvantage, as Olaf’s army will be in their native land. Having the additional forces of Novgorod would cinch our victory against Olaf.”

“And how do you propose to secure the army of Novgorod for our cause?” Canute asked.

“He wants to use Ingegerd as a bargaining chip,” Harald frowned.

“Yes,” said Jakob, regret flashing across his face.

“I admit, despite my desire and sense of urgency to wrest Norway from Olaf’s control, I am reluctant to use Ingegerd as a pawn to do so,” said Harald. “Even if she hadn’t become a friend in the past weeks, it just feels wrong to use a human being for political gain.”

Canute chuckled. “You are noble, Harald, but politics are messy. They’re all about pawns, and in this case, Ingegerd is our pawn, whether you—or she—like it or not.”

.*.*.*.*.*.

“I’m not hungry,” Ingegerd grumbled, leaning away from Elli as the latter tried to braid her hair. “I don’t want to go to dinner.”

“Nonsense,” Estrid said. She had joined them in Ingegerd’s room as soon as she heard of Yaroslav’s arrival, hovering over Elli and Tilda as they scurried around, getting Ingegerd dressed and ready for dinner. “Your intended is here. Don’t you want to meet him?”

“No, not really,” Ingegerd mumbled. Brigid, perched on the end of the princess’s bed, cast her a sympathetic glance.

“Oh, please,” Estrid huffed. “I have met him—he’s not so ugly and old as you probably think. And he’s a fair enough man in his personality as well. You could do far worse.”

“It’s not about doing better or worse!” said Ingegerd. “And it’s not about how ugly or old he is either—although he is twice my age, I will remind you. It’s about… well, it’s about the principle. I don’t want to marry a man I’ve never met, who I didn’t choose, and who I don’t love!”

“It isn’t about what you want,” Estrid snapped. “It’s your duty, as it is the duty of any high-born woman, to serve her family—and in your case, the entirety of Sweden—by making allegiances. Someday, Jakob will do the same—by marrying the daughter of some lord or king or prince—in order to make Sweden’s position in the world, just as your father and I did when we were young.”

“Just because it’s the way the world works doesn’t mean I have to accept it, and doesn’t make it right,” Ingegerd said.

Estrid stood and smoothed out her dress, then turned for the door. “Make sure she’s presentable for dinner,” she said over her shoulder. “Prince Yaroslav must be impressed.”

As soon as the door closed behind Estrid, Ingegerd jerked to her feet, pushing Elli away from her. “Leave,” she snapped.

“But, princess, your mother”—

“ Leave .”

Elli and Tilda traded nervous glances, but slowly left the room. As the door shut behind them, Ingegerd flung herself on the bed beside Brigid, facedown on the bedspread. Her shoulders shook as she sobbed, the sound muffled in the mattress. Brigid rubbed her back, silent. Eventually, Ingegerd’s sobs began to quiet, and she rolled over onto her side, curling up into herself and staring at Brigid through puffy, red eyes. Brigid stood and crossed the room to wet a cloth in the washbasin, then brought it back to Ingegerd. “Put that on your face. It will help with the swelling.”

Ingegerd scowled, but draped the cool cloth over her eyes. “Is that all you have to say?”

Brigid sighed, running a hand over her face as she sat back down on the bed, but said nothing.

“I thought… if anyone would be on my side… I thought it would be you.” Ingegerd was crying again, stammering as she sucked in breath between sobs.

“I am on your side, but… there is nothing more to do, or to say. Nothing I say will change what is happening. There is no choice anymore. Your father will force you to marry Yaroslav. And I will be here for you, through anything, but I cannot change that.”

A moment passed, and then Ingegerd rolled away from Brigid, off of the bed and onto her feet. “Get out,” she said, voice low. When Brigid didn’t move, she snatched up the wet cloth and threw it at the other woman. “Get out!” Ingegerd screamed. “Get out !”

Wordlessly, Brigid stood and left, the sound of something breaking cut off by the door closing behind her. She paused to wipe her own tears from her cheeks, then headed for her room, ignoring Tilda and Elli huddled further down the hallway. When she passed Harald and Jakob in the corridor, she nodded politely, but turned her face away from further scrutiny.

.*.*.*.*.*.

Jakob and Harald arrived at Ingegerd’s door to find Tilda and Elli outside, ears pressed to the wooden planks and whispering furiously to one another. Tilda spotted them first and jumped, squeaking slightly. “Your Highnesses,” she bowed deeply. “Are you here to fetch the princess for dinner?”

“Not just yet,” said Jakob, and both women immediately relaxed. “Is Ingegerd inside?”

“Yes, but…” Tilda and Elli traded glances. “There was quite a bit of… noise after Brigid left.”

Jakob arched an eyebrow. “And you did not think to see what it was?”

“She screamed at us when we tried to go in.”

Jakob sighed. “Open the door.” When the handmaidens hesitated, he pushed past them and grabbed the handle of the door, wrenching it open.

Inside, Ingegerd had truly outdone herself in her redecorating efforts. There were shattered pots and cups, all tabletops were clear, the pillows from the bed had been flung across the room, the blankets had been ripped off and thrown to the floor, and there were fresh dents in the polished silver mirror over her dressing table. Shoes and clothes had been ripped out of chests and closets to carpet the floor, and a jewelry box had fallen off of the dressing table and spilled its contents across the floor. Ingegerd lay in the middle of her bare bed, curled into a ball and completely still.

Tilda and Elli pushed past the princes and immediately hurried about setting things back in order. Jakob let them work for a moment, then moved to the bedside. “Ingegerd.”

His sister ignored him, snuffling from the middle of her ball.

“ Ingegerd ,” Jakob repeated, reaching out to touch her on the shoulder.

“What?” she snapped, slapping his hand away. She sat up, pulling her knees to her chest and glared up at her brother, thoroughly ignoring Harald, Tilda, and Elli.

“I want to speak with you,” said Jakob.

“I don’t want to speak to anyone,” Ingegerd snarled. “Go away.”

“At dinner, father and Canute will be making Yaroslav an offer.”

“I don’t care.”

“They are going to bargain with him. If he agrees to help take Norway for Harald, they will let him marry you. If not, the contract will be broken.”

Ingegerd gaped up at her brother. “I thought simply marrying me off to that man was bad enough—now you would use me to bargain for power as well? Is that all I am worth to you? A pawn to use to get what you want?” She turned her attention to Harald. “I suppose this is all your idea, pretender to the throne of Norway,” she spat.

“It was mine,” said Jakob simply.

Ingegerd slowly turned back towards her brother, eyes welling up with tears again. “You?” she whispered, further words escaping her as her tears began to fall.

Harald pushed past Jakob and knelt before Ingegerd, taking her hands in his. “Princess Ingegerd, I do not want to use you, on any level. Simply say the word, and I will sneak you out of your father’s castle tonight and whisk you to safety. I know that Freydis and Leif and Brigid will help, and our other friends as well. But before you answer, please, hear my plea.

“I need your help. There is nothing more to it. My brother Olaf has killed hundreds, if not thousands, of people already, and once the winter ends, he will be right back at it, massacring anyone who will not convert to Christianity. With the support of your father and Canute, we could defeat Olaf, but Yaroslav’s armies will secure our victory. I know it is impossible to ask you to sell yourself to save people you do not and never will know—people who have nothing to do with you, who are not even from your country—and yet I must ask this of you, because I have no other options. It is selfish of me to ask, I know, but I promise you that if you do this, I will be forever in your debt. And while that is not a consolation, it is a promise that I will do whatever you ask of me. I will never be able to repay you for this, but I will do whatever I can to contribute to that debt.”

Harald kissed the backs of Ingegerd’s hands before releasing them and standing. “We will leave you now, princess.” His eyes flickered around the room, and a teasing smile pulled at the corners of his lips. “We would not want to make you late for dinner.”

Harald took Jakob’s arm and hauled the gobsmacked Swedish prince out the door, closing it behind them, leaving Ingegerd alone in the middle of her aftermath, which Tilda and Elli were trying furiously to clean.

Long minutes later, Ingegerd sniffled, wiped her nose on the back of her sleeve, and stood. “Elli, would you please finish my hair?” she said, crossing to her dressing table, where she righted her chair, straightened the mirror, and took a seat. As Elli dropped what she was doing and set to work unbraiding, brushing, and styling Ingegerd’s fine blonde hair, she looked at Tilda in the mirror. “Please ready my best dress. I have a prince to impress.”

Chapter Text

Dinner was quite possibly the most impressive occasion Leif, Freydis, Gunne, and Brigid had ever experienced. Queen Estrid had sent fine clothes for each of them, along with thralls that hurriedly altered the garments to fix them. Brigid, dressed in one of Ingegerd’s dresses, a sea-green satin gown, embroidered in glass beads that mimicked the shape of sea waves all around the skirt, with a green and gold brocade bodice and overskirt, was afraid to move, much less eat or drink, for fear of ruining a garment that had probably cost more than twice as much money to create than she had ever touched in her life. Beside her, Leif wore an old suit of Jakob’s, black velvet slashed with blue silk, and Gunne wore a similar garment of brown velvet and burgundy brocade, both looking equally uncomfortable. Tove had another of Ingegerd’s gowns, gold silk layered with red satin for the skirts and a red velvet bodice adorned with gold braid. Freydis, the only one of them who seemed comfortable no matter what she was wearing, was too tall and broad for anything of Ingegerd’s, but had been dressed in a gown of Astrid’s: orange satin embroidered with a rainbow of threads and beads to create beautiful sprays of flowers and colorful birds across the entire garment, and a ruffle of brown raw silk that shimmered where it caught the fire had been hurriedly added at the bottom to add length; more of the raw silk had been used to lengthen the sleeves as well, in dainty bell shapes that seemed to get in her way when she tried to use her hands for anything. 

The five of them sat at the edge of the hall, in a place of respect but far from the top dais, near one of the roaring fireplaces. Sveinn was in the care of one of the hall’s thralls, as Estrid had clearly indicated that the baby would not be welcome at the feast. Harald, also dressed in borrowed clothes from Jakob, a green velvet tunic embroidered with silver and gold thread, with a decorative cape made of black-on-black brocade, had been seated at the end of the table on the dais, next to Jakob, who wore red and purple brocade accented with gold jewelry. In fact, the entire royal family wore purple: Olof, a suit entirely of purple velvet; Estrid, a matching gown with a purple and silver brocade bodice and overskirt; Emund, a black velvet suit slashed with purple satin, much like Leif’s borrowed clothes; Astrid, a silver gown trimmed in purple velvet and with a burgundy-dyed fur stole around her shoulders; and even Magnus in a purple tunic over a blue shirt.

Canute, on the other hand, wore somber black velvet, leather, and fur—clearly fine clothes, and perfectly tailored to suit him, indicating that they were his own, but less ostentatious than those of his brother’s family. Yaroslav, similarly, wore black and blue wool and velvet, embroidered with silver thread and accented with silver studs, matching a simple silver crown set with onyx and sapphires; the clothes were fine, but less ostentatious than Olof’s and his family’s, suited to being packed and traveled with, just like Canute’s. If the royal family stood out in their finery, these two were notable for the opposite, but in a way that commanded equal respect, and was likely getting under Olof’s skin.

When dinner began to be served, Brigid looked around for Ingegerd. Her place at the table, between Yaroslav and her father, was glaringly empty. “What if she doesn’t come?” Brigid whispered to Leif. “Do you think there will be fighting?”

“Not tonight, I think,” said Leif. “They’re too worried about keeping face, and Yaroslav is too desperate in his situation. I expect, if Ingegerd does not show herself tonight, Yaroslav will wait at least another day, possibly longer, to wait for her to officially refuse him or for the contract to be broken, but once it is, he will return to Novgorod and attack with his army come spring.”

Brigid shivered. “I don’t want war.”

Leif kissed her temple. “If it comes to it, we will leave. We have no reason to stay here.”

Brigid smiled softly and slipped her arm through his, resting her cheek on his shoulder.

The meal was well into its second course when a quiet slowly began to spread across the hall. Tove, seated next to Leif on the end of the bench, was the first to notice, and elbowed him to get his attention before drawing that of the rest of their party. Once the entire hall had fallen silent, Ingegerd stepped into the light, followed by Tilda and Elli. The princess wore a rich violet velvet gown, trimmed in shimmering white satin. The bodice was boned decoratively on the outside with a silver framework corset, and tiny white and grey pearls sewn with silver thread were scattered heavily across the skirt and the bells of the sleeves. A white lace cape was fastened at her shoulders with silver medallions, studded with grey pearls, and trailing at least six inches on the ground behind Ingegerd as she stepped slowly around the dais to stand in front of it. She wore a delicate silver crown, encrusted with white pearls with her white-blonde hair woven around it in an intricate braid, piled and sewn to the top of her head and studded with more pearls, along with a matching set of silver and pearl earrings and necklace, and several heavy silver rings. Tilda and Elli kept pace behind her, both dressed in black gowns trimmed in violet to show their service to the royal family.

Ingegerd stopped in front of the dais, directly below her father, and curtsied deeply, Tilda and Elli mirroring the gesture from behind her. When she rose, Ingegerd turned to Yaroslav and curtsied again, just as deep, Tilda and Elli once again mirroring. “I apologize for my late arrival.” The princess’s voice was cool but polite, and a smile played across her lips—but not her eyes.

Olof nodded and gestured to the empty seat between him and Yaroslav. Tilda stepped up beside Ingegerd, offering her arm as Ingegerd picked up her skirts to climb the dais. Elli fell in behind, picking up the train as she followed. As Ingegerd mounted the dais, Harald rose and bowed to her, Jakob a hair behind him. At the opposite end of the table, Magnus hopped to his feet and followed suit, then Astrid and Canute. Brigid, Leif, Gunne, Tove, and Freydis all stood—along with many of Olof’s warriors around the hall—watching as Ingegerd slowly moved to take her seat. Tilda pulled out the chair and pushed it into place for Ingegerd to sit, and Elli draped the cape over the back of it.

When Ingegerd turned her attention to the hall, it didn’t take long for her searching eyes to find Brigid and the others. When their eyes met, Brigid bowed her head in respect, and caught a grateful smile that flashed across Ingegerd’s face before she turned her attention to Yaroslav.

“Let us eat!” Olof’s voice boomed, and his warriors cheered, resuming their seats. Astrid, Canute, and Magnus sat, followed by Jakob, but Harald lingered a moment longer, eyes trained on Ingegerd, and the others followed his lead, waiting to sit until he did. It seemed to Brigid that both Olof and Canute noticed the hesitation, but both kings turned to their meals as conversation once again filled the hall.

.*.*.*.*.*.

“What was that about, back in the hall?” Freydis asked as she undressed after the feast.

“What was what about?” Harald had had far too much to drink at dinner and was fumbling with his borrowed tunic, swaying on his feet and slurring when he spoke.

Freydis rolled her eyes and shoved his hands out of the way to open the fastenings herself. “With Ingegerd. The way you looked at her.”

Harald narrowed his eyes and arched an eyebrow, staring at her as she glared at his clothing. “What do you mean?”

Freydis jerked the last toggle as she freed it, leaving Harald standing bare-chested as she stomped to the chest that held her clothes. “You know what I mean.”

Harald watched Freydis change, wondering why his mind was working so slowly tonight. “Do you think… You think I have feelings for her?”

Freydis was silent for a moment while she pulled on her yellow-gold tunic and a pair of trousers. “Do you deny it?”

“I… what? Yes! Of course!” Harald shrugged off the heavy tunic and started to remove his pants before remembering that his boots needed to come off first. “It’s prepo… prepost—ridiculous. I don’t love Ingegerd; I love you.”

Freydis scowled and threw Harald’s clothes at him. He struggled into his pants. “I saw something different in the hall.”

“That makes no sense,” Harald slurred, struggling with the laces of his trousers.

Freydis grabbed Harald by the shoulder, opened the door, and shoved him into the hall, barefoot and shirtless with his trousers half-laced. “Find somewhere else to sleep tonight,” she snarled, slamming the door behind him.

.*.*.*.*.*.

Brigid had been the first to leave dinner, excusing herself to collect Sveinn and put him to bed. Leif left less than an hour later, but found her already changed and in bed by the time he reached their room. Sveinn had been tucked into his cradle, yet was still awake, burbling happily as he played with his spoons. Leif left him while he changed quickly and twisted his hair up into a bun, then scooped up the baby and sat with him by the fire, bouncing him gently and humming. It didn’t take long for Sveinn to fall asleep, and Leif tucked him back into the cradle before crawling into bed next to Brigid. She didn’t move as he settled under the blankets behind her, slipping an arm around her waist to pull her close to him and kissing the top of her head.

Leif was woken several hours later by someone pounding at the door. Brigid grumbled in her sleep as he practically vaulted over her, trying to get to the door before the person on the other side could wake her or Sveinn. When he opened it, he found Harald, half-dressed and bleary-eyed, on the other side.

“Harald?” Leif said, voice hoarse from sleep. “What are you doing?”

Harald shrugged. “Freydis pushed me out. She’s angry with me.”

Leif very quickly decided that he wasn’t going to deal with that tonight and stepped aside. “You can sleep on the floor or in a chair.”

Harald nodded and half-tripped his way to the fireside, almost immediately sinking to the floor and sprawling out face down in front of the banked flames. Leif covered him with a blanket and checked to make sure Sveinn was still asleep before getting back into bed.

Chapter Text

Harald woke horribly stiff and with a raging headache, not entirely sure where he was until he heard Sveinn giggling somewhere nearby. He rolled over and groaned, the movement making the world spin, spreading out his arms and legs on the cool stone floor as he stared up at the ceiling. Leif grabbed his arm and pulled him up to a sitting position—ignoring Harald’s wordless growl of protest—and placed a cup of something hot in the prince’s hand. “Drink.”

Harald reluctantly obeyed, glaring at Leif over the rim of the cup. The Greenlander picked up Sveinn from his cradle and sat in one of the chairs by the fire to feed the baby something green and mashed. When Harald had finished his drink—it didn’t help much—he crawled across the floor—not his finest moment—and pulled himself up into the other chair.

“How are you feeling?” Leif asked, voice low. Harald glanced over and realized that Brigid was still in bed, presumably asleep.

“Jakob can hold his liquor better than me,” Harald mumbled. “I need to remember that next time.”

Leif arched an eyebrow. “Is that why Freydis was angry with you?”

“Freydis was angry with me?”

“You said she threw you out last night.”

“She did?”

Leif sighed. “Go and talk to her.”

Harald nodded, then groaned when the motion made his brain rattle in his skull. Leif passed him a cup of water. “Drink that first. There is food for you, too. You can eat before you go.”

Harald wasn’t sure that eating was his best move at the moment, but gave it a try anyways. It didn’t seem to help, but didn’t make things worse either, so he finished the bowl of hearty stew and thick slice of bread Leif passed him. “How is Brigid?” he murmured, casting a glance at the sleeping form in the bed.

Leif sighed. “She sleeps a lot these days. She doesn’t want much to do with Sveinn right now and he does not understand it. I am doing what I can.”

Harald nodded, once again regretting it immediately. “Let me know if I can help.”

Leif nodded. They sat in silence while Leif rubbed Sveinn’s back. Eventually, Harald felt that the world was solid enough for him to stand, and he headed for the door, stopping to kiss Sveinn on the head and pat Leif’s shoulder as he passed.

When he opened his door, he found the room empty. Both his and Freydis’s borrowed clothes had been folded neatly and left on one of the chests they kept their things in. Harald dressed himself properly before heading out in search of his lover. He wasn’t shocked to find her in the training yard with Tove, Gunne, and, to Harald’s chagrin, Jakob. The prince grinned as Harald approached.

“Good morning, brother!” Jakob called out, Harald wincing at the volume. Once he was near enough, Jakob clapped him on the shoulder—harder than was exactly necessary, with nearly enough force to knock Harald over in his… weakened state. “You seem in good health this morning.”

Harald glared at the other prince, Jakob’s cheeky grin only fueling his annoyance. He turned his attention to the match in front of them: Gunne and Tove against Freydis. He couldn’t help but appreciate the way she moved—gentler with Gunne, who was still recovering from his injuries, and quicker and more subtly with Tove, who was still learning the finer points of combat. Freydis had come so far so fast, and Harald felt his heart swell with pride in her ability, even though he had had nothing to do with her training. 

Jakob nudged Harald with his elbow as the spar ended and the other three brushed dust from themselves. “Care for a round?”

Harald was about to protest, but Freydis shoved her spear into his hand and clapped him—hard—on the shoulder. “Go on, prince of Norway. Show us what you can do.”

Jakob took Gunne’s spear, and Harald reluctantly joined him in the center of the ring. Tove and Gunne handed them shields and joined Freydis, who stood at the edge of the packed-earth circle with her arms crossed.

“You look a bit worse for wear this morning, Harald,” Jakob teased, spinning his spear artfully, the blunted tip whistling through the air. “I shall take it easy on you.”

Harald responded with a vicious smirk. “I don’t need your mercy.”

Without another word, Jakob lunged at him. Harald barely got his shield up in time to block the blow from Jakob’s spear, and immediately regretted agreeing to this fight. Jakob had been better trained than Olof and Emund’s men that Harald had spent the last months training with, and was a naturally skilled warrior in his own right. He was fast and strong and cunning, and, while Harald would have found his match in the other prince on a good day, he was not currently at his best and wasn’t entirely sure he could keep up with Jakob in this state.

Even the field . As the thought flashed across Harald’s mind, he nodded and steeled himself. Even Jakob had weaknesses. Harald feinted towards Jakob’s shield, shifting at the last second to bring his own shield around into Jakob’s knee. Jakob couldn’t get out of the way fast enough, and Harald winced as he heard the impact of his shield hitting Jakob’s leg. Jakob grunted and staggered backwards, putting distance between the two of them. Harald let him, and they slowly circled at the edge of the ring. Jakob was limping, but only slightly, and Harald breathed a sigh of relief that he hadn’t injured his friend too badly.

By this point, they had begun to draw a crowd. Harald caught glimpses of many familiar faces beginning to fill in around the ring; he saw Canute, Emund, and even Elli. Leif, holding Sveinn, stood next to Freydis and was speaking to her, both of them looking rather less than pleased with one another. He lurched out of the way as Jakob slashed at him, stumbling over his own feet just as Jakob’s knee gave out and he went down on the ground. A dark fury lit the Swedish prince’s eyes, even as a wicked grin spread across his lips. Harald regretted his life choices.

The spar went on longer than it should have, and eventually ended in a draw when Emund finally intervened. Both Harald and Jakob were soaked with sweat and gasping for breath. Jakob clearly couldn’t stand on his injured knee any longer, and Harald was swaying with dizziness and nausea, courtesy of his hangover. Emund offered his arm to Jakob, helping his brother back towards the hall. Jakob glanced over his shoulder and grinned at Harald, fully without malice, and saluted him.

The small crowd dispersed quickly. Tove and Gunne left with Leif and Elli, heading back towards the hall after Emund and Jakob. Soon, it was only Canute and Freydis left standing there with him. Canute was smiling as he stepped forward and grasped Harald’s arm. “I had forgotten what a formidable fighter you are, my friend.”

“Thank you,” Harald said, still trying to catch his breath. Canute chuckled as he made for the hall, leaving only Harald and Freydis behind in the circle.

“Well fought,” Freydis said, still standing, unmoving, with her arms crossed where she had taken up position at the beginning of the spar.

“Thank you,” Harald repeated, then promptly turned to the side and vomited. He was immensely grateful that everyone else had left already. “Apologies,” he said, coughing, as he straightened up and swiped his sleeve across his mouth.

Freydis arched an eyebrow. “Better?”

Harald shrugged.

After a long moment, Freydis turned and began walking back towards the hall. Harald scowled and hurried after her, catching her wrist to pull her to a stop. “Why are you angry with me?” he demanded, in no mood to dance around the subject. “Leif said you threw me out last night. Is it because I was drunk?”

Freydis yanked her arm out of his grip. “No. Although that certainly didn’t help.”

“Then what is it?”

Freydis hesitated. “It’s about what you did at the feast last night.”

“What did I do?”

Freydis’s scowl deepened. “When Ingegerd entered. You stood.”

Harald was fairly certain he had never been more confused in his life. “I… stood? It was out of respect. Many stood—you did, too.”

“But you were the first. And the last standing at the end—and the way you looked at her. It didn’t seem like you were looking at a friend. More like… someone you cared for.”

Harald’s brow furrowed. “I do care for Ingegerd, as a friend. I have known her since she was a child, and have grown to know her better in the past months here in Agnafit. I respect her, and the choice she made when she came to the feast last night.”

“That didn’t look like respect.”

Harald reached out and took her hand, gently this time. “After meeting with Yaroslav, it was decided by Jakob, Olof, and Canute to use Ingegerd as a bargaining chip to convince Yaroslav to fight with us to take Norway. Before the feast, Jakob and I went to tell Ingegerd of this. I told her that I was uncomfortable using her in such a way, and if she simply said the word, I would help her escape Agnafit and the marriage, but that if she went through with the betrothal, I would be forever in her debt, as would my people. When she appeared in the hall last night, I knew she had decided to help me—to save me people. I stood to show that I respected her and her decision, and to show my gratitude.”

Freydis continued to frown, but her face began to relax, and she allowed Harald to pull her closer. She draped her arms over his shoulders and rested her forehead against his.

Harald reached up and tucked a strand of loose hair behind her ear. “I have eyes for no-one but you,” he murmured. “I promise.” He kissed her cheek, jaw, and neck as he pulled her in closer for a hug. Freydis let out a sigh and relaxed into him, and they stood like that for several long moments, arms tangled around each other.

Freydis was the one to pull away eventually, just far enough that they could see each other’s faces. She reached up and cupped Harald’s cheek in her hand. “I love you,” she whispered.

“And I love you,” Harald smiled. He leaned forward to pull her into a kiss, but Freydis pushed his face away, feigning disgust.

“Wash your mouth out first,” she teased.

Harald laughed and released her, settling an arm around her waist as he headed for the hall; Freydis wrapped her arm around his shoulders, resting her cheek on the shoulder nearer her as they walked. “If you ever leave me, it had better not be for a little waif like Ingegerd,” she whispered.

Harald laughed again and squeezed her closer. “Given the choice, I will never leave you.”

“Good.”

.*.*.*.*.*.

Brigid stood outside of Ingegerd’s room. Her and Tove’s borrowed dresses were folded neatly in her arms, a heavy pile of fine cloth that seemed to echo the burden she felt on her heart. With a bit of difficulty, she shifted the load and knocked on the door.

Tilda opened it in moments, smiling brightly. “Brigid! Hello!”

“Hello, Tilda,” Brigid said. “I wanted to bring these back, and to thank Ingegerd for lending them to me and Tove for the feast.”

Tilda nodded, reaching out to relieve Brigid of her burden. “Princess Ingegerd, it is Brigid.”

“I heard.” Ingegerd was seated at her dressing table, unraveling her braids from the day to comb her hair. “Thank her for returning them. That is all.”

Tilda hesitated, but Brigid offered her a small smile and nodded her head. “Good afternoon, Tilda.”

“Good afternoon,” Tilda murmured, closing the door as Brigid turned and headed back down the hall to her room.

She found the room empty, to her relief, and promptly laid down on the bed, curling up in the middle of it. She was nodding off when Leif and Sveinn returned. She watched Leif go about putting Sveinn down for a nap without a word, and didn’t protest when he laid down behind her and wrapped his arms around her waist to pull her into him.

Brigid was silent for so long that Leif began to think she had fallen asleep, and was beginning to nod off when she finally spoke. “Ingegerd is angry with me.”

“Why?” he murmured, moving his hands to grasp hers and twining his fingers through hers.

“I don’t know.”

“That seems to be going around.”

“What?”

“Nothing. Harald and Freydis had a fight last night, apparently.”

“Ah.”

There was a pause.

“I think she’s angry about something I said yesterday,” Brigid sighed. “I told her that there was no longer any way to change her father’s mind about the marriage, but that I would be there for her no matter what. I think she took it to mean that I didn’t care what she was going through.”

Leif nodded. “She’ll come around.”

Brigid sighed. Several minutes later, she spoke again. “I didn’t care.”

“Hmm?”

“I didn’t care. About Ingegerd—I didn’t care about the marriage, about Yaroslav and how much she hates him, about any of it. I still don’t.” She paused. “I don’t care about much any more, I think.”

Leif hesitated before pulling her even closer to him, squeezing her hands in his. “I know. It’s alright.”

A single hot tear traced its way down the side of Brigid’s face, falling invisibly to the mattress. She squeezed her eyes shut and bit her lip and clung to Leif’s hands as tightly as she could. He didn’t protest, even when she felt a knuckle crack and knew she was holding too tightly and should let go, but couldn’t seem to bring herself to. She fell asleep there, wrapped safely in Leif’s arms, lulled by the sound of the fire crackling in the hearth, of Sveinn murmuring in his sleep, of Leif humming softly behind her, and, for the first time in days, did not dream.

Chapter Text

Over a month later, as spring began to creep over Sweden and the snow finally stopped falling, Ingegerd and Yaroslav were married. It was a beautiful wedding, performed in the Christian traditions both had been raised in. Ingegerd wore her violet velvet dress, and the lace cape was turned into a veil for the occasion. Instead of her silver crown, she wore a flower wreath of early spring blossoms studded with pearls. Yaroslav gave her a gold ring with an oversized sapphire set in its center, circled with tiny diamonds.

Day by day, the light began to return to Brigid’s eyes, although her smile remained hollow. At Ingegerd’s wedding, she danced with Leif and Harald and Gunne until she was so tired she could barely stand, but it was the first time anyone had heard her laugh in weeks. Leif was loathe to let the night end, afraid the smiling, beautiful woman he loved would vanish back into her shell. However, after the wedding, despite the fact that distance still remained between her and Ingegerd, the bright and cheerful Brigid lingered, and she began to open back up, even willing to hold and snuggle Sveinn again. In fact, once he was back in her arms, she seemed unwilling to let him go again. Soon enough, he was nearly always found either in her arms, on her hip, or toddling along at her side clutching her fingers.

As the spring rains began in earnest, bringing with them floods as the snows melted, Sveinn learned how to walk and became a true menace. As soon as whoever was minding him took their eyes off of him for a moment, he would be gone, giggling madly as he made his escape. This wasn’t as much of a problem indoors as it was on the sunny days when they would take him outside and, in a split second, he would be off, making for the gate into town. The guards grew accustomed to stopping the careening toddler, and he gained such a reputation among them—and grew so well-loved—that he was often brought to visit them even on dreary days, usually by Leif or Harald on their way to the training yard.

When the floods came, the war councils began, as soon the passes in the Kølen Mountains would be clear enough to allow the armies to travel through them. Canute and Olof sent spies, and Yaroslav returned to Novgorod to collect his armies for the planned assault. Canute also sent messengers to Kattegat, where Forkbeard had hunkered down for the winter, and they returned with word that the Danish monarch had fortified the city even beyond its normal defenses. While he didn’t have the men to move out of the city to take ground from Olaf—skirmishes and assaults from Olaf’s men throughout the winter had had a surprisingly devastating effect on his army—he would keep it secure in Canute’s name so that Olaf could not escape through the bay.

As reports from the spies continued to come in, Harald, Jakob, Olof, and Canute made their plans. It was determined that, with Forkbeard continuing to hold the southernmost point of Norway against Olaf, their attack should be two-pronged. Canute would take his Danish and English fleet and sail around Sweden and Norway to Nidaros, far in the north, and mount his attack from there, while the Swedish and Russian armies would splinter into small groups to make their way through the main mountain passes, blocking off Olaf’s escape to the east. The plan made, Canute set sail for Nidaros, the big English ships finally leaving the Mälaren bay, along with many of the longships.

In Agnafit, there was a nervous energy as Olof called his bannermen and mustered his army. The great hall was constantly full; the barracks were stuffed to overflowing, and later answers to Olof’s summons were quartered in nearby Sigtuna, which was situated just a bit higher in altitude, enough so that its surrounding lands were less affected by the spring floods and therefore more appropriate to support the camps. By the time Yaroslav returned with his army, Agnafit felt ready to burst, both with sheer volume of occupants and with the frenetic excitement that accompanied the beginning of a war, before the reality of death and battle set in.

The rains and floods had stopped by the time the army was ready to set out. By this time, Canute should be reaching Nidaros, and the two-pronged assault to flush out Olaf began. The footsoldiers and a handful of siege weapons—only a few, as getting them through the mountain passes would be impractical at best—set out first, the cavalry and officers to follow a few days later. Olof threw a feast the night before he and his guard, along with Jakob, Harald, and Yaroslav, were to set out.

The feast was a surprisingly somber affair. The skalde told only a few stories before retiring, his words poorly received. Estrid and Ingegerd retired early as well, and many of the warriors began to trickle out of the hall shortly after them. Brigid and Leif lingered for a while with Harald, Freydis, Tove, and Gunne, but when Tove stood and declared that she was going to bed, they left as well. Wordlessly, as they approached their rooms, Tove took Sveinn from Brigid, who did not protest.

In their room, Brigid sat on the bed and watched Leif as he went through his bag one last time, making sure he had everything he would need for the coming march. Eventually, she stood up and moved behind him, wrapping her arms around his waist and resting her forehead between his shoulders. Leif stopped what he was doing, put down his bag, and held her hands. It was several minutes before he pulled away and turned around to face Brigid and pull her into him in a tight embrace. He buried his face in her hair and breathed deep, taking in everything about her.

“I feel like every time we finally get used to being together, you’re leaving again,” Brigid grumbled, voice muffled with her face buried in his chest.

Leif chuckled. “Someday soon, I’ll be back and I’ll never leave again—at least, not like this.”

Brigid sighed. She leaned back and looked up at him. “Promise?”

“Promise,” Leif smiled. He leaned down and kissed her on the forehead, tip of her nose, cheek, and the corner of her mouth. “Promise,” he whispered before kissing her lips.

Brigid reached up to wrap her arms around his neck, pulling him in closer. When they separated, she brushed his hair back from his face, tucking it behind his ear, and smiled fondly. “Come home soon.”

“I will.”

She leaned up to kiss him again, hands sliding down his chest and stomach to unfasten his belt, letting it fall to the floor. She pulled up his shirt and rested her hands against bare skin, one lingering on the barely-healed scar on his side as the other lifted the hem. Leif pulled away to help remove the shirt and toss it aside, his hands next going for the lacing on the front of her overdress. Moments later, the garment fell away, and they separated again so Brigid could squirm free of her underdress and chemise, and Leif could divest himself of his pants and boots. When they were both done, Leif leaned down, pulling Brigid’s arms over his shoulders. She squealed as he lifted her up and she reflexively wrapped her legs around his hips, his strong arms around her back to steady her. She draped one arm over his shoulder, her other hand busy freeing his hair from its low bun so she could run her fingers through it, resting her forehead against his.

Her breath quickened as Leif moved towards the bed, kisses fluttering against her jaw and neck. When he laid her down, she unwrapped her legs from his waist, resting her feet on the bed, knees bent and hugging his hips. Leif kissed his way to her mouth and their lips locked, Brigid tightening her grip on his neck to keep him close. His hands roamed her body, sides, stomach, hips, and chest, before settling behind her shoulders so he could push her up further on the bed and crawl onto it with her. Brigid broke away to catch her breath, fingers twining in his hair as she loosened her grip on him. “I don’t want you to go.”

Leif simply leaned down to kiss her again. Brigid’s hands slid slowly down his sides to rest on his hips, gently pulling him towards her. He obliged, taking a moment to line himself up with her entrance before carefully sliding in. She moaned as he did so, head falling back against the bed. She watched his face with half-lidded eyes and he smiled down at her, reaching to run his thumb over her cheekbone. He leaned down and kissed her forehead, the tip of her nose, her cheek, and her lips, lingering on the last as he slowly pushed the rest of the way into her, pausing with his hips flush against hers while she adjusted to the intrusion. When he pulled away, her cheeks were flushed and her eyelids fluttered slightly, but she smiled up at him and cupped his cheek with her hand. He turned to kiss her palm, then took her hand in his and slid his fingers between hers before pressing it into the bed above her head. He took her other hand in his and repeated the motion, so that both of her hands were pinned above her head, before slowly beginning to move his hips.

Brigid’s breath caught, and she rolled her hips into his, matching the rhythm he set. Leif peppered kisses across her face and chest before letting his head come to rest on the bed next to hers. He let her pull her hands away from his and wrap her arms around his chest, leaning on his forearms as he set a fairly slow but steady pace. Soft moans filled the air between them, sweat beading to chill on their skin as the low fire died away and the brisk spring air took hold in the darkened room. Brigid came first, with a soft gasp like something breaking and a shudder that ran through her whole body. Leif followed a few minutes later, just as her body was beginning to relax again, with a sound somewhere between a moan and a whimper, and a jerk to his hips that was harder than he intended. Brigid grunted as he slammed into her, her back arching her body up into him for a moment before his arms gave way and he rested more weight on her, pressing her into the bed beneath them.

When he had the presence of mind to think of it, Leif rolled off of her, and she followed, coming to rest on top of him for a moment. She brushed his hair out of his face and leaned down for a kiss, long and gentle, then climbed off of him and crossed the room to retrieve her shift and pull it on. She also brought Leif his pants, leaning down to kiss him when she handed them to him. Once he had pulled them on, he slipped under the covers beside her, wrapping his arms around her waist to pull her against him and resting his chin on her shoulder.

“Don’t go,” Brigid whispered.

Leif sighed. “I will be home as soon as I can.”

“You’d better be.”

“I will. I promise.”

.*.*.*.*.*.

In the morning, Brigid woke first. Reluctant to be the one to pull away, she stayed wrapped in Leif’s arms until noises in the hall indicated that others were rising. She managed to untangle herself from Leif’s embrace without waking him, and slipped out of bed to get dressed. Leif woke as she was lacing the sides of her overdress, and rose to pull on his own clothes. When Brigid was finished, she crossed to where he stood and pushed his hands away from the fastenings at the neck of his tunic. She closed the last toggle, then got a good grip on his tunic at the shoulders and pulled him down to kiss her, long and hard, one arm snaking around his neck to keep him there. Leif’s arms wrapped around her waist and pulled her into him. Brigid tried to ignore the knocking at their door, but Leif pulled out of the kiss and gently pried her arm from his neck.

“Come in,” he called, resting his forehead against hers.

Freydis entered. “King Olof wants to leave within the hour,” she said.

“I’ll be ready,” said Leif.

Freydis nodded and left, leaving the door open behind her. The hall was full of low conversation and the clatter of weapons being settled into place. Leif pulled away from Brigid, his arm falling away from her waist as he gently pried her fingers from their grip on his tunic shoulder. He left her standing there as he pulled on his boots, then began to put on his armor. Brigid helped with the fastenings on his leather chest piece, and he looped the buckles of his pauldrons around the strap of his bag. Tove appeared in the doorway, Gunne looming over her shoulder, both already dressed and armored, bags on their shoulders and Sveinn on Tove’s hip.

Leif slung his bag over his shoulder and took Sveinn from Tove, settling him on his hip. Brigid slid her hand into his as they stepped into the corridor, following Tove and Gunne towards the hall. The great hall was a bustle of activity, people coming and going as they made final preparations for the day. Tove and Gunne snagged some bread and dried fruit and snacked on it as they went, chattering the whole way.

Outside, Jakob and Emund were arguing as carts were loaded and horses were saddled around them, the sound of their voices lost to the commotion in the yard. On the other end, Estrid was farewelling Olof, Astrid and Magnus waiting politely behind her to say their own goodbyes. Harald and Freydis stood by a cart near Jakob and Emund, and waved the others over to them. Tove, Gunne, and Leif loaded their things into the cart, and they all stepped away to say their goodbyes to Brigid and Sveinn.

Brigid was misty-eyed as she released Leif’s hand and reached out to embrace Gunne. “Make sure you come back,” she said. “I’ve already lost you once.” She turned to Tove and Freydis and hugged them each in turn, then turned to Harald. Before she could make a move, he scooped her up into a massive hug that lifted her off the ground. When he put her down, he kissed the top of her head and smiled down at her. “I say farewell to you as a prince—I expect the next time I greet you, you will be a king,” Brigid teased, smiling up at him.

Freydis took Sveinn from Leif and pulled Tove, Gunne, and Harald away. Leif leaned down and wrapped his arms around Brigid’s waist; she wrapped one around his neck and the other around his chest, fingertips finding purchase to grip his leather armor. “Come home soon,” she murmured.

“As soon as I can.”

They stood like that until Jakob and Emund began to call for the men to form up in their companies and the sound of footsteps, hoofbeats, and cart wheels began to fill the air. Leif pulled away. Brigid took his hands in hers and squeezed them tight, staring up into his eyes as she memorized his face once again. Before he let go, Leif kissed Brigid on the forehead, the tip of her nose, the cheek, and lastly on the lips, long and hard. When he finally stepped away, she held onto one of his hands as long as she could, her fingertips slipping across his palm as he moved further from her.

Tilda appeared at Brigid’s side—out of nowhere, it seemed—and wrapped her arm around the other woman’s waist. Elli was beside Tilda, holding Sveinn, with Ingegerd on her other side, a dark veil over the princess’s face. They watched the army disappear through the gate, and Brigid turned and buried her face in Tilda’s shoulder, sobbing quietly. Tilda rubbed her shoulder and shushed her, pulling her towards the door of the great hall. Elli and Ingegerd fell in behind them, their footsteps growing louder and louder in their ears as the din of the receding army fell away.

Chapter Text

The slog through the mountain passes was torturous. It took over a week of marching through foggy, damp forests and marshes to even reach the feet of the Kørel mountain range, where the army splintered into smaller factions to spread along the length of the Norway-Sweden border. Yaroslav took half of his army further north, planning to cross the mountains there and head south, meeting up with Canute as he went. His chief general took the rest of his men and headed for Uppsala, to head west there. Olof and Emund took a larger half of the Swedish forces, heading for a large pass near the splinter point, while Jakob and Harald took the smaller half, largely consisting of berserkers and rangers rather than traditional footsoldiers, for a higher pass that would put them out further in the south of Norway, a few days’ travel from Kattegat.

The mountain hike was not easy, the air growing cold and thin as they went higher. At one point, Harald spotted the ruins of a distant but familiar village, and recognized their path as one remarkably similar to the one he, Leif, and Brigid had taken to reach Uppsala months earlier. With the warmer weather and less snow on the ground, the going was easier, and Jakob’s rangers were able to hunt plenty of game to keep the small force fed as they went. Once over the mountains, they split into even smaller bands: Jakob and Leif split command of the several dozen rangers, taking them out as foreguards in parallel paths, while Freydis took the footsoldiers and a small number of shieldmaidens, along with Tove, on a track about a mile behind them. Gunne and Harald split the berserkers in half—about a score each—and fanned out in a thin belt between the foresters and the warriors.

Jakob’s company was the first to encounter anyone else: a small scouting party from Kattegat with news from Forkbeard. Canute had passed through the port on schedule on his way north, before heading further out to sea to avoid detection by any sympathizers of Olaf’s. Furthermore, when he made landfall in Nidaros two weeks earlier, he had sent a small ship back to Kattegat to inform Forkbeard of his arrival there. Jakob sent messengers to the others to inform them of this, and they reconvened in a large clearing at the foot of the mountains.

“We’ll make this our base, and cover the ground between here and Kattegat, and along the foot of the mountains to this point,” Jakob pointed on a small map he carried. “This is where my father’s army should be making their camp. They will spread across the foot of the mountains to the north to cut off Olaf’s escape there, while the Russian army makes for the coast to cut off escape by sea. Between all of that and the joined armies of Canute and Yaroslav coming from the north, that should force Olaf and his men back towards Kattegat, or towards the mountains to Sweden. It comes down to whether he will try to escape past Forkbeard, or to break through our line at the mountains.”

“He would have to be desperate to try for Kattegat,” said Freydis. “Forkbeard is a formidable opponent and has already defeated Olaf once.”

“Hopefully that means he will be fool enough to try and break our line,” said Leif.

“If we can get out word that Harald is here, maybe Olaf will think he has a chance to convince his brother to let him escape,” suggested Jakob.

Harald shook his head. “I turned on Olaf at the battle of Kattegat. There is no way he would fall for that. He would see it as a trap.”

“Maybe if he’s desperate enough…” said Gunne.

“No,” said Harald. “The only reason Olaf would come for me is to kill me.”

“We still might be able to use that to our advantage, though,” Jakob said. “Do you think he would risk not being able to break our line and escape to come after you?”

Harald hesitated. “I don’t think so. Olaf is smart and cunning. He places high value in his life, and he believes it is his divine right to rule. I do not think that he would risk his crown to take revenge on me, despite how much he hates me.”

“Maybe not you, but what about Freydis?” said Leif.

Harald paused, turning towards Freydis, who stood with her arms crossed and eyebrows raised. “Perhaps…”

“He does hate me,” Freydis grinned wickedly. “And I killed Kåre.”

“You are the most outspoken of the pagan voices in Scandinavia at this point, also,” said Leif. “And the Keeper of the Faith. The last Keeper of the Old Ways.”

“Olaf sees you as a threat,” Harald said, “because you will never bow to him, and as long as you are alive others will see hope in you. And that will make them harder to convert. He will have to kill you to truly make Norway a Christian country.”

“Then I will be our bait,” Freydis’s smile widened. “And when Olaf comes… I will kill him.”

.*.*.*.*.*.

“Kelda! Kelda!”

Kelda turned at the sound of her name, smiling fondly at the young girl running towards her. “What is it, Åse?”

Åse stopped in front of Kelda and bent down, hands on her knees, to catch her breath. “You’ll never guess what I heard!”

Kelda smiled and shook her head, turning back to her knitting. Åse, along with her sisters, Drifa and Thyra, had been the only survivors of an attack on Uppsala by a Christian jarl many months—nearly a full year—earlier, left alive by the jarl as a warning to whoever found them. They had been brought back to Kattegat by the shieldmaidens of the former jarl of Kattegat, Jarl Haakon, but hadn’t fared much better then, as the city was soon after attacked by the same Christian jarl. The girls had survived in the same way that many of the other commoners had, by holing up far from the fighting until King Forkbeard and his men had arrived and chased the remaining Christians out of the city. When Forkbeard reopened the bustling market of Kattegat in the spring, Kelda had returned to her old stall to sell her wool, yarn, and knitting needles; she found it not too much different from how it had been under Haakon’s rule. Forkbeard was a Christian king, unlike Haakon, but didn’t seem interested in mass conversions and persecuting pagans like the Christians Kelda was used to. He allowed the Old Ways to be observed, in private at least, and let the people go about their daily lives as though nothing had changed—although any whiff of rebellion would lead to a hasty punishment for the perpetrator, anything from the removal of a hand to the removal of a head, depending on the perceived crime.

Kelda had met Åse and her sisters shortly after returning to Kattegat. The three were left to run wild in the streets; with no family left and no benevolent jarl to give them a home, they had been turned out from the great hall and forced to fend for themselves. Kelda had promptly taken them back to her village with her and given them a home. With two small boys of their own, this put quite the tax on her and her husband, Ullr, but with the girls’ help on the farm and at the market, they managed to get by. Today, Kelda had brought Åse and her infant son Fiske with her, and had given Åse permission to explore the market when business proved slow.

Once she had finally caught her breath, Åse straightened up, fixed her dress, and joined Kelda in the stall. “I heard some of the guards talking,” she said excitedly. “I was down by the beach with some of the other children, and the guards were saying that there are armies invading Norway.”

“Armies?” Kelda repeated, trying not to give away how much panic that thought gave her.

“From Sweden and Denmark, and even England—and another place I don’t remember the name of. The soldiers said that they have come to kill Olaf Haraldsson, the one who tried to capture Kattegat last year. They said that there are berserkers in the mountains so he can’t escape to Sweden, and King Canute has come from England to block up the ports so he can’t escape that way, either.”

Kelda arched her eyebrows. “That sounds like a fairy tale to me,” she chuckled. “What would Swedish berserkers and English sailors care about Jarl Olaf? He’s just another crazy Christian Viking who wants to take Norway for himself. Our little corner of the world doesn’t matter to them.”

“Well, that’s what the guards said.” Åse crossed her arms and pouted.

Before Kelda could continue the conversation, Fiske, who had been napping in a basket by her feet, woke up and began to fuss. Åse leaned down and picked him up, bouncing him on her hip and shushing him. Kelda sighed and looked around them. “It’s long past lunch. No-one is out shopping today. Let’s pack up and head home a bit early.”

The suggestion brightened Åse up considerably. She passed Fiske to Kelda and immediately set about packing up their table. It didn’t take long to do so, or to load their wares onto the donkey, and soon they were on their way home. There was only one horse, which Kelda rode, Fiske in a sling on her chest, while Åse rode the donkey, bouncing along cheerfully amidst the sacks of yarn and wool.

By the time they reached home, Åse had run out of stories to tell. Their village was, as ever, quiet; it was made up of only a few little houses, along with a few small farms around the outskirts. Their home lay on the far side, in the shadow of the forest and near a spacious meadow where their flock of sheep could graze during the summer. There was an herb garden out front, a sizeable vegetable garden on the side, and a spacious paddock out back, behind the barn. As they approached the house, Kelda could see Drifa and Bodil, the old sheepdog, driving the sheep home from the meadow. The sound of a hammer around back promised that Ullr was fixing the broken fence staves in the paddock, as he’d said he would.

Kelda and Åse dismounted and led the horse and donkey to the barn. Ullr was, in fact, at work on the paddock fence, and had let three-year-old Björn loose inside of it where he could be easily minded. Ullr looked up when he heard them approach, and smiled broadly. “Welcome home!”

“Thank you,” Kelda said, leaning down to kiss his cheek as she passed.

“Thyra has dinner on,” said Ullr, tucking his hammer into his belt as he stood. He picked up Björn as Drifa and the flock began to arrive. Kelda passed the reins of the horse to Åse to take it into the barn with the donkey, then went to the paddock gate to help Ullr and Drifa herd the sheep and Bodil into the paddock. Once all of the animals were safely in for the night, and the horse and donkey had been unpacked and unsaddled, they all headed for the house.

Fourteen-year-old Thyra was the oldest of the sisters, and had quickly proven adept at household chores. She had a level head, was practical, and did well with the boys, and was therefore given a great deal of responsibility around the house. Twelve-year-old Drifa was quiet and calculating, seeming to prefer the company of Bodil and the sheep to Ullr, Kelda, and the other children. Åse was the youngest, just shy of eleven, and full of energy, curiosity, and imagination. She loved to explore, but was hard to keep on task much of the time, which tended to get her in trouble when she wandered off or abandoned her chores.

Kelda passed Fiske to Drifa and sent them with Björn and Åse to play while Ullr washed up for dinner and she helped Thyra finish the cooking. At dinner, Drifa and Åse kept the others entertained with chatter about what they had seen during the day. Kelda wasn’t paying too much attention—she was too busy feeding Fiske and helping Thyra keep Björn from flinging his food across the room—but when she heard Åse bring up what she had heard from the Kattegat guards, she turned to Ullr, expecting to see him nodding along, simply entertaining the conversation. Instead, he was frowning, dinner abandoned, as he listened to Åse talk.

After dinner, Kelda sent the girls to get the boys and themselves ready for bed, and joined Ullr in the kitchen as he washed the dishes. “What was that about, at dinner?”

Ullr put the bowl he was washing down and stared out the window. “I was speaking to Ivar earlier today; he stopped by to trade some fresh venison for some of the goat’s milk. He told me that when he came down from the mountains, he was captured by soldiers—Swedes. They took him to their camp, demanded to know who he was and what he was doing. When he told them, they let him go, and told him to tell everyone that they were there, and that with them was someone called the ‘Keeper of the Faith’.”

“The Keeper of the Faith?”

Kelda and Ullr turned to see Thyra standing, eyes wide, at the bottom of the stairs that led up to the children’s room.

“Do you know who that is?” Kelda asked.

Thyra paused, staring down at the floor and twiddling her thumbs. “Her name is Freydis,” she said finally. “When Jarl Kåre attacked Uppsala, he left us alive so that when Freydis came, we could tell her his message. She was a shieldmaiden from Kattegat. She was the one who brought us back to Kattegat, with Prince Harald.”

Kelda and Ullr traded glances. “What is she doing with Swedish soldiers in the Kørel Mountains?” Kelda mused.

“Wherever Freydis goes, death follows,” Thyra said darkly. “First she came to Uppsala, then Jarl Kåre destroyed it. Then, she took us to Kattegat, and Jarl Kåre and Jarl Olaf attacked there. Now she’s back…” Her face filled with fear, and she began to cry. “Please, don’t let anyone take us away.”

Kelda hurried across the room and pulled Thyra to her, rubbing her back as she cried. “No-one is going to take you, or your sisters, away from us. I promise.” Once Thyra had calmed down, Kelda took her upstairs and got her settled in the big bed with her sisters. She checked on Björn and Fiske, Björn tucked neatly into a little cot at the end of the big bed and Fiske asleep in his basket, which she took downstairs with her to transfer him into his cradle. She and Ullr slept down in the main room on a makeshift bed made from a fairly flat straw mattress, stored rolled up in the corner during the day, spread over three benches. It was a surprisingly comfortable setup.

As they lay in the dark, nestled under extra blankets to avoid a fire as the nights warmed, heralding summer, Kelda found herself unable to sleep. “Do you think there’s anything to it?” she whispered, not entirely sure that Ullr was even awake to hear her.

“To what?” Ullr mumbled after a moment, half-asleep.

“To what Thyra was saying about Freydis, the Keeper of the Faith. Do you think she’s really there in that Swedish camp? That she brings death with her?”

Ullr was silent for so long that Kelda thought he had fallen asleep. “You were right, in what you told Thyra. No-one will take them away from us.”

Kelda smiled, reaching out to take his hand and squeeze it. Ullr rolled over and pulled her close to kiss the top of her head. “Maybe tomorrow we will take the children and the animals up into the mountains. We can spend some time in your cave up there.”

“I like the sound of that,” Kelda murmured. “Get away from the politics for a little while.”

Ullr nodded. “It’s decided. We’ll go tomorrow.”

Chapter Text

“What is this one?” Harald asked, nodding towards the most recent captive of Jakob’s men. “Another farmer? Or maybe a hunter this time?”

“You agreed to this plan, may I remind you?” Jakob didn’t bother to turn and face Harald. “We agreed to use Freydis as bait to lure Olaf to us while the others pressured him from the north. Well, the only way to get that word to Olaf is to spread it to others first. These farmers and hunters will talk, and that , my friend, is how we will spread that word through Norway.”

“Are you not worried that Olaf will realize that it is a trap?” Tove asked.

“That is why there are so few of us in the camp at a given time,” said Leif, and Harald jumped, not having heard his friend come up behind him. “The news will spread that Freydis is here, with only a handful of warriors in her camp. Hopefully, Olaf will think that she is overconfident in her abilities, after her victory against Kåre, and with so few around her, or that she was sent to reinforce Forkbeard and chose to strike out on her own instead, despite having such a small force behind her.”

“Either way, the overall plan is to make Olaf desperate. He will see this as a weak point in our line, where he may be able to break through and make for Helsingborg, or some other southern port, where he could obtain passage aboard a ship.” Jakob said. “Hiding our numbers is the best way to do that.” He turned to Leif. “Were you able to meet with my father’s forces?”

Leif nodded, resting the butt of his longbow in the dirt and leaning on it. “King Olof sends his regards. He has received word that Canute and Yaroslav have joined forces and begun their march south from Nidaros. They began the march nine days ago.”

“They could be halfway here by now!” Harald complained.

“Excellent,” Jakob nodded, heading off towards his men and their captive.

Harald scowled after him. Freydis rested her hand on his arm, making him jump again, not having heard her approach either. “Stop doing that,” he grumbled, glancing between the Greenlanders.

“Be patient,” said Freydis. “Olaf will come. I can feel it.”

Harald sighed and shook his head. “I need to get out of this camp. I’m going hunting.”

He pulled away and headed for his tent, and Freydis, Leif, and Tove watched him go. “Keep an eye on him?” Freydis asked, turning to her brother.

Leif sighed, reluctant to leave again after just returning from his mission, but nodded in agreement and headed off after Harald, slinging his bow over his shoulder.

Harald was sullen and quiet as they made their way through the forest, heading up into the mountains where the noise of the camp had hopefully not driven away all of the game. Leif couldn’t help but think that the way Harald was stomping through the underbrush would certainly scare off anything the sentries hadn’t, but didn’t bother to point that out.

After the third time Harald’s arrow missed its prey, Leif watched the prince stomp off in pursuit of the missile, grumbling to himself. “Why are you so angry?” he asked.

“What?” Harald snapped, stopping and turning abruptly.

“This is more than simply impatience,” said Leif. “Why are you angry? Is it just at Olaf, rage that has been stewing for the past seven months? Or is it something else?”

Harald sputtered for a moment. “Of course it is at Olaf!” he said finally. “My own older brother betrayed me for a throne”—

“You betrayed him, too.”

Harald glared at him. “He did so first, when he decided not to tell me about his son for twelve years .”

Leif shrugged. “Continue.”

Harald sighed, his head falling back as he looked up at the bright blue sky over them, smattered with fluffy white clouds. Summer was arriving, and it was beginning to warm up even in the mountains. The trees were burdened with green leaves, budding flowers, and infant fruit, and soft breezes stirred the leaves and carried the scent of the flowers. Harald closed his eyes and took a deep breath, feeling the sun on his face and the wind in his hair, then turned back to Leif. “The longer we wait, the more time Olaf has to wreak havoc in the land. Or are you telling me he has stopped attacking pagan villages now that Canute, Yaroslav, and Olof have come for him?”

“Olof said that there have been reports of raids on pagan villages across the center of Norway, it is true.”

“The longer this takes, the more people will be hurt,” said Harald. “The more damage he will cause, the more homes and fields and flocks he will burn.”

“The less you will have to rule?”

“It is not about ruling!” Harald shouted, scaring birds out of the nearby trees. “Olaf is killing people, simply because they do not believe in his god. No matter who or what you worship, that is wrong, and I will not allow it—but there is nothing I can do about it sitting around in a mountain camp halfway across the country!”

“So what will you do instead?”

Harald stood still for a long moment, simply staring at Leif, who met his gaze, once again leaning casually on his longbow. “I’m going after Olaf. By myself if I have to. But I won’t sit here and wait for him to come to me.”

Leif nodded and slung his longbow over his back. “That’s the Harald I know,” he grinned. “You won’t be alone. Now, let’s get back to camp. We need to plan our escape from Prince Jakob and his men. And I want to sleep.”

.*.*.*.*.*.

That night, Freydis, Gunne, Tove, Harald, and Leif gathered together on the edge of the camp, packs on their backs and weapons on their hips. They slipped away into the forest, between Jakob’s sentries, under the cover of the new moon. Gunne and Harald had helped to set the patrols further out from camp, and used this to their advantage as they made their way through the woods. They stopped an hour’s walk past the edge of the patrols and slept for a few hours, rising a little after sunrise to resume their journey in an effort to put more distance between them and Jakob. With no telling how the prince would react, Harald didn’t want to make it easy for him to catch up to them.

They headed into the interior of the country, away from the mountains, towards the farming villages that would be easy prey for Olaf and his men. Based on the reports Leif had heard from Olof’s scouts, Olaf was cutting almost a straight line through the center of Norway in an effort to outrun the armies bearing down on him. But five warriors on foot can move faster than any army, no matter how small, and it was less than a week before they discovered a village that had fallen prey to Olaf’s prejudice. The ashes were still smoldering when they reached it. In the center of the village was a pile of burned bodies, reduced to ash-coated skeletons, next to a pile of smashed idols and icons.

In the soft earth of a nearby field, there was an overlapping tangle of footprints heading for the road. They followed the tracks, on high alert, until sunset, when a haze of smoke rising through the trees indicated the location of Olaf’s camp. At this point, they melted into the forest, and Leif broke off from the others to scout ahead. When he returned, it was after nightfall and bearing information about the camp.

“There are fewer than we thought from the tracks,” said Leif, “unless he has split his forces. Maybe sixty men total. They have no horses, and I saw little food; they are weak and tired. They don’t even have shelter—there are a few makeshift lean-tos they’ve made from branches and blankets and capes, but most of them were sleeping on the open ground around the fires. Olaf was in one of the shelters near a central fire, with a few of his loyal men that I recognized from the campaign in England. There are only three sentries, to the north, west, and east of the camp. We could sneak around to the south, rest for a few hours, and attack in the early morning, when the sentries are tired and the others are in the deepest sleep.”

They gave the camp a wide berth, far from the western sentry in the thickest part of the forest. Once they found a place to bed down for a few hours, Gunne split off and scouted the forest between them and the camp.

“The forest is thick,” he said when he returned. “It will be difficult to move quietly. That’s probably why Olaf didn’t feel a need to post a sentry there. I saw the guards change shift, so I think Leif is right that if we strike early in the morning, they are likely to be tired and easier to surprise.”

“We will rest for a few hours, then make for the camp,” said Freydis. “Be ready.”

.*.*.*.*.*.

Olaf woke to the sound of screams, of blades striking flesh and armor, of shouts of alarm. Bleary-eyed, he scrambled for his axe, blinking sleep away. The light was grey and fog was heavy on the ground, making it difficult to determine what was going on. He heard a thunk and a groan, and saw Hallbjörn keel over beside him, an arrow through his right eye. Olaf staggered to his feet, brandishing his axe as he looked around for their attackers.

More arrows whizzed past his ears, finding homes in the bodies of his men. He heard berserker’s screams, and saw a pair of men wielding handaxes mowing down his warriors, covered in the blood of his men. There was a pair of shieldmaidens, also, their war cries easy to track as they were the only women on the field. He couldn’t tell how many archers there were or where they were hiding, only that the arrows were coming from the south.

The four warriors continued to cut swathes through his men, heading straight for Olaf. He snarled and braced himself, raising his axe high and letting out a war cry as he lunged into the fight. He met the shieldmaidens first, knocking the smaller one out of the way with ease. Once he got a good look at the other, a grin stretched across his lips. “Freydis,” he smiled. “We meet again.”

Olaf raised his axe, ready to strike Freydis, but something hard hit the back of his head, and he collapsed. The last thing he remembered was hitting the ground, four faces looming over him. Besides Freydis, he soon recognized Harald’s face, under the blood that covered it. After a moment, another face appeared: Leif Eriksson. Somehow, he wasn’t surprised to find the three of them together.

“We should kill him now,” Freydis snarled, and Olaf felt the tip of her sword at his throat.

“We need to take him to Kattegat,” said Leif. “Canute and Olof will want to make a public example of him.”

“I don’t care what they want,” Harald snarled. He leaned down and grabbed Olaf’s shirt, dragging him up. There was something wild in his little brother’s eyes that Olaf couldn’t help but fear in the moment. He had never really thought Harald would kill him, but now, seeing the rage Harald had towards him… he wasn’t so sure.

Olaf had never been so grateful for Leif as he was when the Greenlander gently pried Harald’s hands from his shirt. “Tie up the rest of his men. We’ll take them all with us. With Olaf as your prisoner, Canute and Olof will have no choice but to crown you king of Norway. You have your prize. Let someone else have Olaf’s blood on their hands.”

The others wandered off, leaving Leif standing over Olaf. “I never thought to be in your debt, Greenlander,” Olaf chuckled. “Let me go, and I will reward you hand”—

Leif’s boot heel met Olaf’s temple before he could finish the sentence, and the world went black. “You talk too much,” Leif grumbled, leaning down to roll Olaf over and hogtie him before going to help his companions bind the rest of their captives

Chapter Text

Somehow, Kelda and Ullr had never managed to get away to the little cave with the children, but she had stopped going to Kattegat’s market—at least for a while. It was shearing season, which meant that she had a greater bulk of wares to sell, so it was decided that the whole family would make the trip into the city, leaving their flock in the care of a neighbor, with the exception of the young lambs that they planned to sell. They rented a room in a boarding house, taking the time to enjoy the busy season in the city.

They had been in Kattegat for three days when a great commotion went through the market. Vendors were closing their stalls, hastily packing up their wares, and hurrying away. Kelda passed Fiske to Drifa and leaned out from behind the stall, waving to catch the attention of the vendor across the lane from them. “What is going on?” she called, hurrying across the way.

“The armies of King Canute of England, King Olof of Sweden, and Prince Yaroslav of Novgorod have arrived in the fields outside the city,” the man said, stuffing the carved wooden dishes he sold into their crates and bags. “The kings are riding into the city to meet with King Forkbeard, for the trial and execution of Jarl Olaf.”

“Jarl Olaf is to be killed?” Kelda asked.

“It seems unlikely they would let him live,” the man retorted.

Kelda returned to her stall. “Thyra, help me pack up. Drifa, take Fiske and go and find Ullr and the others. Tell them to meet us at the courtyard outside the great hall.”

Drifa nodded and ran off, Fiske in her arms. Thyra and Kelda made short work of packing up their things and carried them back to the inn to be locked in their room, then headed for the courtyard. The packed-earth yard was stuffed to overflowing, people spilling out into the roads and craning to see over one another. Kelda saw Åse standing on something to put her head above the crowd, and she and Thyra pushed their way through the throngs to join the rest of the family.

From this new position, Kelda had a surprisingly good view of the courtyard. There were many important-looking men in fine clothes gathered in the courtyard: a dark-haired man in blue wool and black fur, despite the late summer heat; a Viking man, also in black and blue, with silver accents, his long hair in a thick ponytail; King Forkbeard himself, massive grey beard bristling, scowl on his face; a portly, balding man in violet and gold; and a small collection of battered and worn-looking warriors, some of whom Kelda recognized—but she wasn’t the only one.

“That’s her!” Åse gasped, pointing at a tall, sturdy woman with dirty blonde hair, dressed in a golden-yellow tunic and leather armor, the uniform of Jarl Haakon’s shieldmaidens. “That’s Freydis. And her brother, and Prince Harald.”

Kelda smiled to herself when she recognized Harald. “So the prince survived the journey through the mountains,” she murmured, slipping her hand into Ullr’s.

“It seems the cave served him well,” Ullr chuckled.

At this distance, Kelda could just barely hear most of what was being said by the men on the porch of the hall; enough to get the gist of it, at least. The man with the ponytail stood a step in front of the others, who she guessed to be the kings the other vendor had mentioned, although she wasn’t entirely sure who was who. He spoke loudly and clearly, gesturing with his hands to emphasize his point.

From what Kelda could gather, the man was saying that Olaf Haraldsson—who was on his knees, covered in blood and dirt and barely able to hold himself upright—was a traitor. That he had turned against his alliance with the speaker (it was at this point that Kelda realized the man must be King Canute) and made, instead, an agreement with Jarl Kåre to take Kattegat from its rightful rulers, Jarl Haakon and King Forkbeard. Canute also said that Olaf would be punished for the crimes he had committed against the smallfolk of Norway, who he had hunted and murdered for no crime other than being pagan. This, said Canute, made Olaf no better than the criminal Kåre.

Canute paused, gesturing off to the side. Two brawny warriors pushed their way through the crowd, bearing a large stump between them, and a gasp went through the gathering. Olaf, when he saw the stump, began to struggle; he had been bound with his arms behind his back, and there was a collar around his neck with a pair of chains attached to it, each held by a guard. Olaf’s struggle was in vain. The stump was placed in front of him, and one of the big men grabbed him by his hair and forced his head down onto the stump. Olaf was screaming something—Kelda had no idea what he was saying, between the distance and the chatter of the crowd around her.

Canute raised his hands, and silence rolled through the crowd. He spoke again, this time even louder, his voice echoing off of the buildings around the yard. “You have heard the crimes of Jarl Olaf. Judgment has already been passed by King Forkbeard, King Olof, Prince Yaroslav, and myself. Jarl Olaf Haraldsson will be executed for his crimes.”

The crowd remained eerily silent as Canute stepped down from the porch and took a greataxe from one of his men. Even Olaf’s screams petered out as Canute stepped towards him. The king raised the axe, and, with a single, swift motion, brought it down on Olaf’s neck with a sickening crunch and thud.

Not a sound came from anything or anyone gathered there. The big man who had held Olaf’s head down took a step back from the stump and raised his arm as he turned around to face the crowd. Hanging from his hand by a tangled mass of hair, swinging slightly from the motion, was Olaf’s severed head. The jarl’s eyes were wide and his mouth agape, frozen in a permanent expression of fear. Blood ran freely from the stump of his neck, hitting the packed earth with a soft pattering and squelching, like water running from a cracked jug.

“This is what happens to those who betray their king!” Canute cried, brandishing the bloody axe. The guards released their grip on Olaf’s body, and it slowly slumped to the side and hit the ground with a thud .

Kelda turned away from the scene, her stomach roiling. Thyra and Drifa, standing in front of her and Ullr, couldn’t see much of what was happening in the courtyard, and Kelda found herself grateful for that. Åse, on the other hand, could see everything from her perch, and her eyes remained trained on Olaf’s swinging head, face steeled in an expression of carefully-restrained anger. As if she could feel Kelda’s eyes on her, she turned slowly and met the woman’s gaze.

“It is the will of the gods,” she said, then hopped down off of her perch and vanished into the crowd.

.*.*.*.*.*.

Harald hadn’t expected to feel sorrow at Olaf’s death, but when he saw Canute’s axe sever his brother’s neck, he staggered involuntarily backwards as a wave of heartache swept through him. Leif reached out and caught him, and he felt Gunne’s shoulder against his back, keeping him from falling. He blinked rapidly, eyes searching for a more welcome sight than that of his brother’s dead body on bloodstained earth, or Olaf’s head swinging from Canute’s warrior’s hand, and landed on Freydis’s face. Reflexively, he started to reach for her hand for comfort, only to realize that she was smiling—something vicious in the bared teeth and narrowed eyes—and he withdrew.

As the courtyard began to empty, they stayed there. Leif kept his arm around Harald’s waist, and Gunne kept his shoulder to the prince’s back, keeping him on his feet until the others were gone. Soon, it was just the three of them, Freydis, Tove, and Jakob. Freydis turned to Harald, the wicked grin still on her lips. “We have had our revenge,” she said.

Harald nodded, and Freydis turned, heading into the hall after the other warriors. Once she was gone, he pulled away from the others and slowly sunk to his knees in the earth. Thunder rumbled overhead.

“I did not think I would be sad at Olaf’s death,” he said slowly.

Leif rested his hand on Harald’s shoulder. “No matter what he did, Olaf was still your brother. You are allowed to grieve him.”

Harald nodded, reaching up to squeeze Leif’s hand. “He was the only family I had left.” His voice cracked slightly as he spoke.

“You still have a family,” Leif whispered.

Harald smiled despite himself and squeezed Leif’s hand again before standing.

Jakob stepped up to Harald’s other side and placed his hand on his shoulder, then bowed his head and whispered a quiet prayer. “You will see both of your brothers again someday, Harald, in heaven.”

Harald arched an eyebrow. “I think seeing Olaf there would make it much less… heavenly.”

Jakob laughed and clapped him on the back, then headed for the hall. Harald stared at Olaf’s body for another moment, then turned to face his friends. He rested a hand on Leif’s shoulder, and reached out the other for Tove, who took it and gave it a reassuring squeeze. Gunne completed the circle by slinging his arms around Tove and Leif’s shoulders.

“Thank you, my friends,” said Harald. “For helping me take my revenge, and my throne, and for simply… simply standing here with me today. I will never forget your kindness.”

Tove tucked herself against his side and gave him a hug, and Harald wrapped his arm around her shoulders and kissed her head. “Let’s go inside, King of Norway,” Tove teased. “We will drink a farewell to your brother.”

Harald laughed and pulled Leif to his other side, half-dragging the others towards the hall, Gunne falling in behind. As they reached the doorway, a figure stepped out of the shadows around it.

“My sorrow for the loss of your brother, Prince Harald, and my congratulations on the acquisition of your throne.”

Harald squinted at the shrouded face, then laughed loudly, released Tove and Leif, and lunged forward to wrap his arms around the newcomer, lifting him off of his feet in a massive bear hug. “Johann!” he cried. “I feared you were dead in the attack.”

Johann laughed and clapped Harald on the back before releasing him. “I am not so fragile,” he chuckled, “although I will wear the memory of that battle for the rest of my life.”

Johann stepped into the light, revealing a pair of wicked scars making an ’x’ shape over the right side of his face; one went from the hairline at the center of his forehead, through the eye socket, and over his cheek almost to his earlobe, while the other started just above his temple, cut across the corner of the eye, and ended in his lip, which had a permanent cleft in it from the blow. The eyelid had been sewn shut, a web of skin over the hollowed-out socket. When he spoke, the right corner of his mouth didn’t move, except for when he smiled, when it quirked up about half as high as the left.

“It has healed well,” Harald chuckled.

Johann shrugged. “What is an eye? I am a friend to the rightful king of Norway. I know that he will watch where I cannot.”

Harald grabbed him by the shoulder and shook him slightly, grinning broadly. “I will always have your back, my friend.” He turned to the others and gestured to them. “You remember Leif Eriksson, of course; this is Tove, a shieldmaiden from Kattegat, and Gunne Fenrirson, one of the refugees from the Danelaw. We lost him at sea, and found him again fighting for Canute in Denmark as a berserker. They are my true friends, just as you are.”

“It is good to meet you all,” Johann nodded at each of them in turn. “I look forward to fighting at your sides, if you too choose to stay with Harald.”

Harald laughed. “That is a conversation for another day. Tonight, we drink to the memory of my brother, and to friends once lost and found again.”

Chapter Text

“You know, of course, that we cannot allow Harald Sigurdsson to rule Norway,” Olof sniffled. Over a week after the execution, the armies had already begun to leave Kattegat under their commanders, but the kings had remained behind, housed in the great hall of Kattegat by Forkbeard.

“Why is that?” Yaroslav asked, pouring himself a cup of wine. “The little prince will make a good king.”

“Harald is impossible to control,” said Olof. “We will sooner or later encounter the same problem as with his brother, and he will rise against us.”

“I agree,” said Forkbeard. “Harald is too independent. In order to keep Norway, we must install a king who will bow to our rule.”

“I do not understand,” said Yaroslav. “You undertook this campaign to win the throne of Norway for Harald. Why would you now turn on him?”

“We undertook this campaign to win the throne of Norway from Olaf,” said Olof. “I, for one, never intended to allow Harald to take that power for himself.”

“What do you plan to do?” said Jakob, from the shadows at the back of the room. “Will you kill Harald and plant someone else on the throne?”

“Put simply… yes,” Canute shrugged.

“And who will that be?” Jakob demanded. “You are king of England, Canute; you cannot control it, fight Denmark’s wars, and also rule Norway. Sven?” He gestured towards Canute’s older son, seated beside his father. “He is a boy, and your heir in England, now that King Edmund is dead. Knut? He is even younger. Would you make him king of Norway, with maybe your father as regent? The people of Norway may not accept Forkbeard and Knut Canutesson as their kings.”

“They will accept the blood of their royal family,” said Canute, swirling the wine in his cup before taking a sip.

Realization struck Jakob immediately. “Magnus.”

“Olaf’s son,” Canute nodded. “Your nephew, your father’s grandson, my great-nephew… Magnus will be easy to control, between his age and his connection to our family. He is in line for the throne of Norway anyways, no matter how Harald may feel about it.”

Jakob nodded slowly. “So you will kill Harald. I don’t imagine his friends–the Greenlanders in particular–will take kindly to that.”

“They will be offered a chance to fight for us instead, but I agree that they are unlikely to take it,” said Olof.

“I will regret the death of Leif Eriksson,” said Canute. “He was a good warrior, and I think he could have been a friend someday.”

“His sister we will gladly do without,” Olof scoffed. “‘The Keeper of the Faith’. Bah. A pagan whore who garnered the belief of her people with her skill with a sword and shield. She is a great warrior, but more trouble than she is worth. We should not even give her the option; we should just kill her before she can cause trouble.”

“And Tove and Gunne?” Jakob asked. “I may be able to convince them to serve in our army. They would be worthy additions.”

“A freed slave and a berserker raised in England?” Forkbeard laughed. “If you can convince them, you can have them, but I doubt they’re worth the trouble.”

Jakob chuckled darkly, turning his back to the room to pour himself more wine. Yaroslav joined him at the table and took the pitcher from him, exchanging a pointed glance with the prince.

“It sounds like you have it all planned out,” Jakob said, turning back towards the others. “Why did you not tell me sooner?”

“You and Harald are friends,” said Canute. “We could not be sure you would not side with him.”

“I wanted to tell you, my son,” said Olof, “but Canute and Emund convinced me not to.”

“ Emund knew?” Jakob scowled.

“We needed someone to keep an eye on Magnus in Agnafit,” said Canute. “It was my idea. Do not hold it against your father.”

“And why was I not informed?” asked Yaroslav. “I thought we were allies.”

“A matter of practicality,” said Olof. “We assumed your allegiance, especially since your marriage to my daughter, but could not be sure of it at first. By the time we were, there was no point in telling you before Magnus arrived.”

“And when will that be?” Jakob asked.

“Tomorrow,” said Forkbeard. “He was sent for when we received word of Olaf’s capture. Emund is bringing him and Astrid along with Yaroslav’s fleet, which has been sighted by our lookouts to the south.”

“You truly have it all planned out,” Jakob grinned. He raised his cup in a toast to the others. “You have my respect for your forward thinking and plotting, although it is shadowed by my bitterness over your lack of trust in me.”

Canute laughed. “You have proven yourself true, Anund Jakob. That is why we are telling you now. Soon you will not only be son to a king, grandson to another, and nephew to a third, but uncle to a fourth—maybe even a fifth, someday, if Yaroslav and Ingegerd’s union is so blessed.”

Jakob smiled. “I raise my cup to that, uncle. May crowns stay heavy on our family’s heads for generation after generation to come.”

.*.*.*.*.*.

Harald woke to Jakob shaking his shoulder. He was sleeping in his old room in the great hall of Kattegat, where he had stayed in Jarl Haakon’s court many months before, Freydis at his side. On the other side of the room, Tove, Gunne, Leif, and Johann were all asleep on the floor, due to the lack of space in the city and hall. Harald’s hand went immediately for his sword, but Jakob stopped him. “My father, Canute, and Forkbeard are planning to kill you and make Magnus king,” Jakob whispered. “Yaroslav will help you escape. You must be on his boat before Magnus arrives.”

Harald reached over and shook Freydis awake while Jakob crossed the room and woke the others. In minutes, they were all on their feet, dressed, and collecting their belongings. They followed Jakob out the door and through the corridors to the kitchens. No-one was there, given the hour, and they were able to slip unseen through the door to the herb garden.

“I cannot go with you; I must return to my father before they miss me. They cannot know that I helped you.”

“How can we trust you?” Freydis snarled. “You could be leading us into a trap.”

“You’ll just have to take my word for it,” Jakob offered her a crooked grin. “It has been an honor fighting beside you all. I hope that someday God sees fit to place us on the same side once again.”

Freydis seemed inclined to protest, but Jakob held up his hand. “There is no time,” he said. “One of Yaroslav’s ships arrived early; he is waiting for you in it, down in the harbor. He will take you to Novgorod with him.”

“Novgorod? How will I fight for my throne from Novgorod?” Harald demanded.

“You won’t,” said Jakob. “You will live there, and you will thrive, and someday in the future, you will return to reclaim your throne. Just… don’t kill our nephew, if you can help it.” He glanced over his shoulder at the sound of voices in the hall. “There is no time. Go, now.” He shoved Harald out the door and shut it quietly, then hurried to the pantry.

He gave the thralls arriving in the kitchen the fright of their lives when he reappeared, bearing a platter laden with early fruits, hard cheese, bread, and dried meat. “My apologies,” he laughed drunkenly, stumbling past them. “Just a bit of a snack.”

.*.*.*.*.*.

Kelda woke to a commotion outside the window of their room in the inn. “What is all that noise?” Ullr grumbled beside her, lifting his head to glare at the window in the dim light. Kelda ignored him and stood up, picking her way around the sleeping bodies of the children on the floor, and peered out the edge of the curtain.

“Boats coming into the port,” she said grimly.

“Why would boats be coming in?” said Ullr. “They just spent the whole day leaving.”

“We should leave,” said Kelda. “I don’t like the looks of this. I know we haven’t sold everything we meant to, but… There’s something about this that is making me uneasy. I want to go home.”

Ullr was quiet for a moment. “I will pack. Get the children up and dressed and meet me in the stable.”

Kelda moved swiftly, waking the girls one at a time and shushing them to keep them quiet. They got dressed in the dark, shoving belongings into packs haphazardly in their hurry. Once they were all bundled up against the night’s chill, Kelda strapped the still-sleeping Björn to Thyra’s back with a long piece of heavy, soft fabric, tucking a blanket around him to keep him warm. She fashioned a sling out of another panel of fabric to tuck Fiske against her chest, hefted a bag over her shoulder, and shepherded the girls out the door and down to the street. The stable where they had left their horses and donkey was at the other end of the street, which was surprisingly busy for the time of night, so Kelda kept to the shadows of the boarding house and other buildings as they slipped towards where Ullr and the animals were waiting.

Upon entering the stable, Kelda had to stifle a gasp as she came face to face with a group of warriors, all armed to the teeth. “Prince Harald!” she gasped, then, looking past him, smiled slightly. “Leif Erikson.”

Leif bowed his head in greeting, even as Harald lifted a finger to his lips to encourage silence. Kelda and the girls squeezed into the small stable, Thyra and Drifa immediately heading to join Ullr at their horses. Åse, on the other hand, stopped to stare at the tall woman in gold that she had pointed out in the square days before. “Freydis,” she said solemnly. “Keeper of the faith.”

Freydis looked surprised, but smiled and moved to kneel in front of Åse. “Keep the old gods in your heart, and they will hear your prayers always.” She kissed Åse on the forehead before standing.

“Åse,” Ullr whispered, gesturing for the girl to join him. He lifted her onto the larger of the two horses; Drifa was already astride the smaller, Thyra and Björn behind her. Their belongings had been loaded onto the donkey already, and Ullr was only waiting for Kelda to join them and mount the horse behind Åse so they could leave.

“I am glad to see that you made it through the mountains alive,” Kelda said, giving Leif’s arm a squeeze as she slipped past him and Harald. “Give my love to Brigid, and the baby.”

Leif nodded, and Harald followed her to help Ullr boost her onto the horse. “Get out of the city as quickly and quietly as you can,” the prince said. “As soon as they know we have gone, they will be searching for us. I’m sure they will not be letting people leave then, either.”

Ullr nodded.

“Gods’ speed to you, Prince Harald,” said Kelda. “And to all of you,” she added, looking over the group.

“Thank you,” Harald smiled, stepping aside so the horses could get to the stable door. 

A tall man with stringy, dark hair and a single eye cracked the door open and peered out. “The street is mostly clear for now.”

Silently, the group of warriors slipped one by one through the doors, clinging to the shadows under the eaves. Once they had all gone, Ullr opened the door, allowing Kelda and Drifa to guide their horses out onto the street, before taking up the donkey’s lead to follow them. Leif closed the stable door behind him, the others in his party already melted into the shadows, and gave them a final wave before disappearing himself.

.*.*.*.*.*.

Jakob woke to a pounding headache, the clatter of swords and armor being donned, and Canute’s voice roaring through the halls. 

“Where is he?” the Danish king bellowed. Jakob lurched out of bed, fumbling for a shirt as he staggered towards the hallway. Despite his best efforts, his father and the other kings had, in fact, managed to drink him nearly under the table the night before–earlier that night, he amended upon noticing that there was no daylight coming through the windows of the great hall as he entered it.

“What is going on?” Jakob asked, coming to a halt beside Sven Canutesson.

“Harald is gone,” Sven said plainly. Jakob could practically hear the shrug in his words.

“Interesting,” Jakob kept his tone even, despite his heart leaping with joy in his chest.

“Apparently Yaroslav tipped him off to our fathers’ plans and stole him away last night. The Rus ships are long gone from the harbor.”

“Never trust a Russian,” Jakob chuckled, turning away to snatch a warm roll off a passing thrall’s tray.

“That’s what Canute has been saying all morning,” Sven said. “But to me, it seems we should never trust a Swede.” He turned towards Jakob, piercing blue eyes staring up into the elder prince’s face, searching for a flicker of guilt there.

Jakob’s mouth went dry and he swallowed his mouthful of bread with some difficulty. “What do you mean by that, princeling?” he sneered.

“Your secret is safe with me,” Sven shrugged, turning back to the scene of Canute, purple-faced and screaming at anyone unfortunate enough to get near him. “I bear Harald no ill will–nor you, either.” He sniffed and crossed his arms, turning to leave. “Someday we will both be kings. Remember this time when I kept your secret, Anund Jakob, and when I ask you to return the favor, I expect that you will.”

Jakob said nothing as he watched the younger prince leave. So, the little Danish prince has more bite than he lets on. I’ll have to keep that in mind…

Chapter Text

Harald was quiet as he stared out over the bow of Yaroslav’s ship. The Volkhov river was unlike anything he’d ever seen in Norway, banked with heavy snow on either side, surrounded by ice-laden trees, and still beginning to freeze at the edges. Yaroslav was concerned about being able to reach the city before the river fully froze, but, so far, the heavy iron reinforcement on the front of the ship had broken through the thinner ice at the center of the river. At any other time, Harald would have been breathless at the beauty of the frigid landscape, but all he could do now was look back on the most recent betrayal he had suffered.

Their escape from Kattegat had been surprisingly easy, and remarkably clean. After leaving Kelda and her family on the road to the gate, the small group had slipped across the last few narrow streets between them and the docks, dodging parties of soldiers and sailors from the arriving ships. The big Russian ships were further out in the bay, but Yaroslav was waiting for them on the dock with several of his men, and quickly loaded them into a small rowboat to make the short trip to his ship. They had likely spent less than ten minutes in the rowboat, but the full exposure to the soldiers on the shore had made it feel ten times as long. As soon as they had climbed the rope ladders onto Yaroslav’s ship, he had pulled anchor and set his rowers to their task, speeding them out of the bay without further ado. Harald and his companions had watched the flickering lights of Kattegat fade into the distance until they rounded the edge of the bay and the mountains eclipsed the city.

Now, the small group found themselves surrounded by foreigners, speaking an unfamiliar language, looking at them strangely and whispering behind their backs. Yaroslav had made sure that they were provided with extra furs and warm clothing for the shifting temperature. Leif and Freydis seemed comfortable in the cold–making Harald and the others wonder at the inhospitable climate of Greenland–but Gunne, accustomed to the slightly milder winters of Britain, couldn’t ever seem to get quite warm enough.

Harald spent much of his time at the prow of the ship, lost in thought. His mind raced, cycling between outrage, grief, and depression at yet another betrayal from those he thought he could trust. The others, for the most part, left him to his own devices after the first few days, once they realized that he wanted nothing to do with them for the time being. Even Freydis struggled to get through the barriers he had put up, and soon gave up.

Eventually, as they neared Novgorod, Harald’s companions decided to once again try to get through to him.

“But what should we do?” said Tove. “He doesn’t even listen when we try to talk to him. It’s like his mind is somewhere else, and he doesn’t even hear what we say.”

“Have you ever seen him like this before, Johann?” Leif asked. “You’ve known him far longer than any of us.”

“I have seen him… mope before. But never quite like this. In the past it has always just been him getting all quiet and distant for a while, but sooner or later he seems to leave it behind and return to the person we knew.” Johann shrugged. “I am at as much of a loss as the rest of you this time.”

Freydis shrugged. “I think we should just let him get over it on his own. Sooner or later he will. Until then, there seems to be no use trying to get through to him. He’s a grown man; he needs to stop acting like a child, and I will not coax him out of his fit like I would a child.”

They all fell quiet for a while as they finished their breakfast. Eventually, Leif stood, filled a bowl with the thin stew the ship’s cook had made for breakfast, grabbed a piece of hard bread, and headed for the stairs to the upper deck, pausing to wrap a heavy fur-trimmed cloak around his shoulders. The cold air was like a slap to the face; Leif could feel the condensation in his nose frosting over with each breath, and his eyes watered from the chill. On the bright side, it wasn’t snowing… currently.

He found Harald in his accustomed position in the prow, leaning against the bulwark and looking out over the snowy fields and frosted river ahead of them. The prince looked up as he approached, then turned back to his pondering, pulling his cloak more tightly around himself. Leif sighed and kicked him–a little harder than he had initially intended to–in the ankle. Harald’s head whipped back around towards him, a slight scowl now darkening his features.

“Eat,” said Leif, shoving the bowl of rapidly-cooling soup and hunk of bread towards the prince.

Harald hesitated.

“It wasn’t a suggestion.”

Slowly, Harald untangled his arms from his cloak and took the food from Leif, slowing sipping on the stew. Leif took up a position against the bulwark opposite Harald, mirroring his posture. “Freydis says you’re acting like a child.”

Harald arched an eyebrow, keen eyes staring at Leif over the rim of his bowl.

“I don’t think she’s wrong.”

Harald sighed and set the empty bowl by his feet, wrapping himself back up in his cloak. He turned his gaze back towards the land in front of them, apparently disinterested in the conversation.

“Johann says you’re sulking. I don’t think he’s wrong either.”

Harald continued to ignore his friend, but Leif thought he saw a twitch in the prince’s cheek.

“I just want to know what you think you’re accomplishing with this,” Leif waved vaguely at Harald. “Hiding away up here, ignoring everyone else… What is this doing to help you?”

They were both silent for a long moment before Harald finally spoke, his voice flat and hollow. “I am just tired of losing. Every time it seems that I have gotten closer to my goal, I am betrayed again and lose my momentum.”

“Who has betrayed you?” said Leif. “Olaf? Canute? They were never your friends. Freydis and I, Tove, Gunne, and Brigid–we have all stood by you through it all. We have never left you. Even Jakob and Yaroslav have stayed loyal to you. You have more friends than ever before. But all you can see are the roadblocks between you and your throne. Does that really matter more to you than all of us?”

Harald stared at him, mouth slightly agape. Without another word, Leif stood and turned, heading back to the relative warmth of the lower decks, leaving the prince once again alone with his thoughts.

.*.*.*.*.*.

“Yaroslav says that we should be in Novgorod by tomorrow.”

All heads turned towards Harald’s voice as the prince stepped into the small circle of his friends, Leif and Johann scooting aside to make space for him. He sat down on the floor between them, tossing his cloak over a nearby hammock and shaking snow out of his hair.

“He also says that his envoy in Agnafit should be arriving just behind us, if they haven’t reached the city already, with Ingegerd and Brigid, as he left word for them to leave in time to reach Novgorod before the river froze. Hopefully they will be waiting for us there.”

“Welcome back,” Tove said, smiling.

“Thank you,” Harald returned the smile. “I must apologize to you all for my behavior. You’re right–it was childish. I was so focused on what I had lost that I couldn’t see what I still had– who I still had: all of you. Thank you, deeply, for continuing to stand beside me. And thank you for reminding me when I forget.” The last was said to Leif, and Harald slung his arm over his friend’s shoulder, pulling him into a hug, as he said it.

“What is our next step, king of Norway?” Freydis asked, leaning forward and resting her arms on her knees, a semi-feral smile peeling her lips back from her teeth.

“Novgorod,” Harald said simply. “We will reunite with Brigid and Sveinn, and our other friends, and take stock of what we have. From there, I–we–must continue to form alliances, both within Kievan Rus and beyond. I have a mind to extend those alliances into Byzantium, but… We shall see where the road takes us.”

“No matter where you go, we will be by your side,” said Leif, and, one by one, the others voiced their agreement.

Harald grinned and wrapped his other arm around Johann’s shoulders. “No matter what I lose, so long as I have you, my friends, I will always be rich.”

.*.*.*.*.*.

Their arrival in Novgorod was late at night, and thus was met with little fanfare, even for the Prince himself. While Yaroslav’s men dealt with the ship, he, his guard, Harald, and the prince’s companions all headed for the palace. There, a flurry of activity from servants and attendants greeted them, with one attendant, dressed far more finely than the rest, hurrying ahead of the rest to greet them. He knelt before Yaroslav, stammering in Russian, voice wavering as though he was struggling to hold back tears.

“What is going on?” Tove whispered.

Harald shrugged, waiting until the man was finished speaking. Before he could ask, however, Yaroslav stormed off deeper into the palace, face twisted with rage and coat and cloak swirling heavily around his legs through his long strides. The vikings hurried after him, curious at the source of his anger. They stepped into a grand throne room, all shimmering gold and rich blue details, curtained in heavy velvet. At the other end of the room, on a three-tiered dais, stood a golden throne with indigo velvet cushions, upon which sat a gilded box, nearly as fine as the room itself. However, despite the finery, the first thing they all noticed was the smell, growing stronger as they approached the throne.

“Harald!” Yaroslav shouted, and the prince obligingly hurried to his side, arriving just as Yaroslav opened the box.

Harald jerked backwards at the sight, but Yaroslav’s scowl only deepened. Inside of the box, set on a cushion of bloodstained violet velvet and draped in a piece of torn white lace, was the severed head of the captain Yaroslav had left behind in Agnafit. Pinned to the lid of the box with a small, plain dagger was a note, written in Norse. Yaroslav ripped the note off and shoved it towards Harald, who read it out loud, voice ringing in the nearly-empty chamber.

“Prince Yaroslav: Princess Ingegerd shall remain in Agnafit until you turn Prince Harald Sigurdsson over to King Olof Skötkonung, King Swein Forkbeard, King Canute Sweinsson, Prince Anund Jakob, or Prince Sven Canutesson for execution. The princess and her court shall be regarded with the highest respect, but any attempts to retrieve them without the return of Harald Sigurdsson will be met with retaliation against both the sovereignty of Novgorod and the princess herself. The men you left in Agnafit found this disagreeable, and paid for their disrespect with their lives. The sooner you return the prince to us, the sooner you will be reunited with your bride. Signed, prince Emund Olofsson.”

Yaroslav roared in rage, picked up the entire chest, and hurled it down the steps of the dais. It opened as it fell, and the decomposed head inside–the source of the sickening smell that filled the room–tumbled out, coming to a rest at Freydis’s feet. She nudged it upright with her toe and stared up at Yaroslav. “Well, great Prince? You have been issued an ultimatum. What will you do now?”

Yaroslav turned towards Harald, still fuming. “I turn it to you, little prince,” he spat. “Retrieve my wife, by any means you see fit, whether that be by turning yourself in or by rescuing her, or I will kill you myself and send your head to Olof and his bastard sons.” He turned on his heel and stormed down the steps, pushing past Freydis–the others quickly moving out of his way–to leave the throne room, slamming the heavy door behind him.

“So… I guess that answers the question of what to do next,” said Tove.

Harald crumpled the letter in his fist. He walked down the steps of the dais to join the others and rested a hand on Leif’s shoulder. “Brigid and Sveinn will be with Ingegerd. We will get them all back, whatever it takes–even if I have to turn myself over to Olof and Canute.”

“It won’t come to that,” said Leif.

Harald nodded, squeezed Leif’s shoulder, and headed for the door. “Let’s get some sleep,” he called back to the others. “We have plans to make in the morning.”

Chapter Text

Elli yawned, standing beside Tilda as she brushed Ingegerd’s hair out to style it for the day.

”Tired, little Elli?” Tilda teased, nudging her with her elbow.

”I didn’t get much sleep last night,” Elli grumbled. “We were up so late packing, and then I had to go to my room and get the rest of my things packed… I hardly slept at all by the time I was done!”

Tilda and Ingegerd giggled slightly. “You’ve known for more than a week that we were leaving today; you had plenty of time to pack,” Ingegerd admonished her gently.

”I’m sorry, Princess,” Elli said, hanging her head. “I kept putting it off.”

”Clearly,” Tilda snorted, and Elli glared at her.

”Well, to wake yourself up, why don’t you go fetch us breakfast?” said Ingegerd. “Make sure Brigid and Sveinn are up as well, and invite them to join us.”

Elli curtsied slightly and set the pins she’d been holding for Tilda down on the small table Ingegerd was seated at before hurrying out into the hall. She stopped off at Brigid’s room first, and found the other woman and her son already awake and dressing. “Princess Ingegerd has asked that you join us for breakfast,” said Elli, curtsying awkwardly in the doorway. Neither Brigid nor her partner, Leif, were royalty or even upper class, but Leif was a war hero and Brigid was a free woman, so it felt strange not to show some form of deference to her.

”Elli, you don’t have to bow to me,” Brigid sighed, not for the first time. “We’ll join you for breakfast.”

Elli nodded and shut the door before hurrying down the hall. There wasn’t much need to run—the ships weren’t set to leave until high tide in a few hours—but she felt like if she didn’t scurry through the halls this one last time, she might burst with energy.

In the kitchen, she collected a platter of breads, salted meats, late-summer fruits, and dried nuts before returning to Ingegerd’s rooms. Brigid and Sveinn had already arrived, and Ingegerd was bouncing Sveinn on her knee and chatting with Brigid while Tilda packed the last of her things into a trunk.

“Elli, you’re all out of breath!” Tilda scolded, taking the platter from the smaller woman and setting it on the dressing table. “There was no need to rush like that.”

Elli only nodded politely. She and Tilda sat on the end of the bed and snacked on the food, listening to Brigid and Ingegerd—mostly Ingegerd—chat. The princess was rambling, talking about what she expected Novgorod to be like, how much she looked forward to seeing Yaroslav again—even though just a few months ago she would have sworn up and down that she hated her husband. Now, instead of a living reminder of her lack of agency, Yaroslav had become a symbol of freedom; no longer would she have to follow her father’s (and brothers’) rules, but she would be able to run her own household and make her own choices. Unless Yaroslav proved to be a tyrant, that is, although Ingegerd seemed to prefer to ignore that potential.

”I’m going to miss you all,” Brigid was saying, a sad smile on her lips as she watched Ingegerd play with Sveinn.

”You should come with us,” said Ingegerd. “You don’t want to be stuck here by yourself in Agnafit for who-knows-how-long until Leif and Harald come back. And I’m sure Prince Yaroslav won’t mind!”

”I think I should stay here,” said Brigid. “I hate to impose on your father’s hospitality, but I should be here when Leif returns.”

”But you’ll be alone with us gone!” Elli blurted out.

Brigid turned to her with that same sad smile and nodded. “I’m sure they’ll be home soon. The last messenger said that Olaf had been captured and was being brought to Kattegat, and that was more than a week ago. I’m sure the next will bring news of Harald’s coronation and the armies returning home.”

”I’m sure they’ll be back any day,” said Ingegerd.

Brigid retrieved a now-fussing Sveinn from the princess and nodded, forcing her smile wider. “I’m sure,” she murmured, kissing the toddler on the head before letting him loose on the floor.

.*.*.*.*.*.

After breakfast, Brigid and Sveinn joined the other women for a final walk around Agnafit. Again, the conversation was dominated by Ingegerd, reminiscing about her life in the city and daydreaming about the one she was about to start. She walked ahead of the others, Tilda a step behind holding Sveinn’s hand, and Brigid and Elli trailing a few feet behind. A pair of Yaroslav’s guards followed another few feet behind. The men had arrived with a few of their companions and a handful of thralls shortly after breakfast and explained, in broken Norse, that they would have Ingegerd’s belongings loaded onto their ship, to prepare to depart for Novgorod in two hours’ time. An immediate flurry of activity had begun, and Ingegerd had decided to take the walk, in an attempt to stay out of the way. The two guards had joined them, both to protect their Grand Princess and to make sure that they reached the boat on time.

They took a long, meandering path through the town, following the gentle slope of the streets down towards the sea. Brigid watched Sveinn toddle along happily, remarking to herself how much he had grown since his arrival in Kattegat, nearly a full year before. She remembered the small bundle she had carried across the mountains to Agnafit in the height of the previous winter, and was grateful he had been so small then—trying to carry a toddler over mountains covered in deep snow and ice would be no small feat. She was further grateful for the protection extended to them by King Olof and the safety of his keep and city, but longed for Leif and Harald’s return. Certainly once her lover and friends arrived, they could all return to Norway together—the little family they had built—and she and Leif could finally settle down and begin building their life together…

A strange choking noise behind her set the hair on the back of her neck prickling. She turned around to look for the source and froze. Beside her, Elli also turned, a beat slower than Brigid, and the scream that tore from her throat snapped Brigid to action. “Run!” she screamed over her shoulder, grabbing Elli and shoving her blindly towards Tilda and Ingegerd, her own feet planted in the packed earth of the street.

Rivulets of blood trickled through the damp earth, turning it to mud where it seeped into the dirt. The bodies of Yaroslav’s guards lay in the street, their heads slowly rolling down the gentle incline towards the women. Brigid heard screaming behind her, her own name being called, but it wasn’t until one of the heads bounced off her foot that she was able to force herself to move. She turned and stumbled as she began to run after the others. Sveinn’s head was just visible bouncing against Tilda’s shoulder and she thought half a prayer of thanks that the handmaiden had had the presence of thought to scoop him up as she ran. Tilda was a few steps behind Ingegerd and Elli, running hand-in-hand at full pelt for the harbor, slowed slightly by her little burden, and Brigid was yards behind her thanks to her delay.

Brigid heard the pounding of feet growing louder behind her and put her head down, forcing herself to run faster. She knew she didn’t have a chance—the men who had stood over the bodies of Yaroslav’s guards were huge, and she recognized them from the training yard at Olof’s hall. She felt sick to her stomach. What was going on? Had Olof turned on his own daughter? Pushing the questions aside, she focused on running, eyes glued to Tilda and Sveinn ahead of her. Faster , she thought. Faster.

Something hard and heavy hit her in the back between her shoulderblades, and her face met the ground faster than she would have thought possible. She thought she cried out as she fell, but couldn’t be sure. She felt even more than heard dozens of feet rushing around her like a stream around a boulder, and heard distant cries as they caught up to first Tilda and Sveinn, then Ingegerd and Elli. Someone grabbed her by the shoulder and rolled her onto her back, and she came around swinging. She caught the warrior by surprise, a solid hook to the jaw that jarred every bone in her hand and wrist. She felt a pop in her knuckle and hoped she hadn’t broken anything. The man yelled and grabbed her wrist, squeezing it so tight she felt bones grind against each other and cried out in pain. She swung with her other hand, nails first like claws. She went for his eye, but he turned his head out of the way and she scraped her nails down his cheek instead. He yelped and grabbed her wrist, squeezing it just like he had the first. She tried to kick, but he straddled her at her thighs, his bulk keeping her pinned in place.

Another face leered above Brigid’s attacker, and she realized her vision was blurred. She felt something warm and wet smeared across her face and wondered idly if she had cut her head in the fall. The new arrival grabbed her arms and the first man released her. They hauled her roughly to her feet and twisted her arms painfully behind her back, dragging her with them back up the hill, past the bodies of Yaroslav’s guards, their heads still bouncing along the sloped street somewhere towards the bay. Brigid could hear voices—Ingegerd’s especially—somewhere nearby, but her head was too fuzzy to tell if they were in front of her or behind. Sveinn . The thought of her son brought some clarity to her, and she looked around. Her head swam, and the warmth on her face began to drip from her jaw down her neck and chest. She was definitely bleeding.

The guards hauled them all back to Olof’s hall, where the captain of the guard stood in the center of the courtyard. Ingegerd’s belongings, so carefully packed into trunks just that morning, were strewn in bloodstained dirt, amongst the bodies of Yaroslav’s other guards and the thralls who had been helping them.

Brigid felt herself waking up more and more as she was dragged along. She finally caught sight of the others; Elli was shaking so hard her teeth rattled, one eye swelling shut already and bleeding from a split in her lip. Tilda clutched a sobbing Sveinn to her, silent tears streaming down her face. Her dress was ripped at the sleeve and hem, and her hair had fallen halfway out of its bun in the struggle. Ingegerd had lost several of her hairpins, her shawl, and one shoe, but drew herself up, tall and proud, to face down the captain.

”What is the meaning of this?” she demanded, shaking off the hands that had dragged her through the city.

From the shadows of the great hall’s doors, another figure appeared. Tall and dark and dressed in black leathers, Emund came to a stop at the captain’s side and surveyed the women. “Little sister,” he said finally. “You look the worse for wear today.”

”Emund?” Ingegerd’s brow furrowed. “When did you return?”

”Last night,” said Emund, “and with word from Kattegat. Your husband, Grand Prince Yaroslav, has shown himself to be a traitor. He stole away from Kattegat in the middle of the night, in the company of the false prince Harald Sigurdsson, pretender to the throne of Norway. Harald attempted to seize Norway from its rightful ruler, Canute Sweynsson, and his appointed regent, Magnus Olafsson. He and his companions escaped on Yaroslav’s ships.”

Brigid felt her heart stutter and her knees go weak. She was strangely grateful for the hands holding her up as her head began to spin even faster. Leif! Harald, Gunne, and Tove… Are they all gone?

”You’ll regret this when father returns,” Ingegerd snapped. “You have no claim on me. Return me to my husband, and perhaps you will be spared his wrath over the deaths of his men.”

Emund threw his head back and laughed. “You have no power here, sister,” he said, still chuckling. “Your traitor husband cannot save you. And father? Who do you think sent me to keep you here?” He grabbed Ingegerd’s face, large hand wrapping around her jaw, fingertips digging into her cheeks, and dragged her forwards. “There is no-one to save you, you spoiled child.” He shoved her hard, sending her stumbling backwards, off balance, into one of the guards. “Take my sister to her chambers. The others…” His smile faded into something far more cruel, and his eyes narrowed. “Do with the others what you want. Just don’t make it too loud. My journey was long and I’d like to sleep.” He punctuated the order with a yawn.

”Emund!” Ingegerd screamed as the guard began to drag her into the hall. “No! Don’t you dare!” She turned to the guards. “Don’t you touch them! My father”— She continued to scream, but was cut off by the hall doors slamming shut behind her.

Elli and Tilda were both sobbing, and Sveinn, frightened by the noise and the way Tilda clung to him, was beginning to wail. Brigid was still silent. Her spinning head was making her nauseous, and the screams of her friends and son rang in her ears. “Sveinn,” she mumbled, trying to reach for the child, but her arms wouldn’t move and she remembered that she was being held in place.

”Shut them up,” Emund snarled. “Get rid of the child. Give it to Ingegerd; maybe it’ll shut her up too.”

One of the guards ripped Sveinn from Tilda’s arms. Brigid could only watch as he was hauled off towards the hall, kicking and screaming. “ Mama! ” The cry broke through her stupor and she pulled at the hands that held her, too weak to actually get away and run to comfort her child. The hall doors cut off Sveinn’s cries as they had Ingegerd, and Brigid, Elli, and Tilda were left standing in the courtyard with Emund and his men as fat white snowflakes began to float through the air around them. Brigid could hear the guards muttering and laughing to each other, lewd comments and horrible suggestions as they reached for Elli and Tilda. The ones holding her began to drag her towards the hall as well, but she dug her heels into the dirt, trying to fight them.

Emund appeared in front of her. “Displays of strength are futile,” he murmured, lifting a hand to stroke her cheek. “You know, under the blood, you don’t look so bad. A prince shouldn’t sully himself lying with slaves and servants, but you’re a free woman… Maybe I should take you for myself.” He hooked a finger under her chin and lifted her face towards him.

”I’d like to see you try,” Brigid bit out.

Emund chuckled. “Take her to my rooms,” he said. “I’ll break that spirit soon enough.”

Brigid dug her heels in again, trying to pull away, but one of the guards kicked at the back of her knee, buckling it. They dragged her to Emund’s rooms, scraping her feet and legs along the stone floor the whole way there. Emund followed.

”Wait outside,” he said to the guards after they threw her on his floor. “You can have her when I’m done.”

He locked the door behind the guards and began to peel off his gloves, armor, shirt, belt, boots. Brigid watched dully, sprawled on the floor.

”Get up,” said Emund. She didn’t move. In a flash, he was standing over her, straddling her body, and reached down to grab her by the throat. He dragged her to her feet single-handedly—he was strong . He slapped her across the face with his free hand hard enough to make her vision go white for several seconds, and took the liberty of beginning to divest her of her clothes.

”Let me go,” Brigid rasped around his grip, just tight enough to keep her lightheaded, but loose enough that she could mostly breathe.

Emund just laughed again, retrieving a dagger from his discarded belt. Brigid felt fear for a second as the tip scraped against her collarbone, and then felt it begin to slice through her clothes. She clawed weakly at the hand around her throat, to no avail. Emund tossed the dagger aside and pushed her clothes off her shoulders; he had cut the garments far enough that they fell into a puddle around her feet without resistance. With the hand on her throat, he pulled her in close and leaned down to kiss her, hard enough that she knew her lips would swell.

When he pulled away, she mustered all of her strength and slapped him across the face. He laughed, but the blow split his lip, and he licked the blood away. “We’ll see how long this lasts,” he murmured, leaning down to kiss her again, and Brigid tasted copper on her tongue.

“You may not fear Yaroslav, but you should fear Leif and Harald,” Brigid spat when he pulled away again. “They will make you pay for what you do to us.”

”A disgraced prince and the Greenlander navigator you call your lover?” Emund smirked. “Hardly.” He finally let go of Brigid’s throat, leaving her swaying slightly as he crossed to his washbasin. “Wash your face,” he said, throwing a damp cloth over his shoulder.

Brigid wiped the blood from her cheek and neck as well as she could without a mirror and dabbed gingerly at the cut on her forehead. It felt small, for which she was grateful, but the cloth came away with fresh blood on it, so she guessed that it was still bleeding. Emund took a long drink from a decanter and returned to her as he unlaced his pants. “Get on the bed.”

”No.”

He shoved her and she stumbled backwards, tripping over her clothes, and landed hard on her rear on the edge of the bed. Emund dropped his trousers and stepped out of them to stand in front of her. “Open.”

Brigid leaned forward, opened her mouth, and vomited. She heaved several times, completely emptying her stomach on Emund’s hips, legs, and feet, as well as her own feet and discarded clothes. Emund screamed something at her and slapped her face hard enough to knock her fully off the bed. She heard him wrench the door open and scream at the guards. Rough hands grabbed her arms, and she blacked out as they began to drag her away.

She woke up later in her room, shivering so hard that her teeth rattled, curled into a ball on the cold stone floor in front of the unlit hearth. Sveinn’s cradle was empty, and she was still naked. Her head continued to reel as she dragged herself to her feet. She found the washbasin, the water from that morning icy cold as she splashed it over her face and arms. She did her best to clean the now-clotted cut on her forehead, and gently washed the scrapes on her feet and shins from being dragged across the stone floors. Once that was done, she let down what was left of the updo Tilda had done with her hair that morning and twisted it into a simple plait over her shoulder. She thought about pulling on one of her dresses, but instead pulled a pair of Leif’s trousers and one of his shirts from the wardrobe and pulled them on. Her whole body hurt. She had to use a long strip of cloth to belt the trousers around her waist, and the shirt fell to her mid-thighs, but the rough cloth and lingering smell on the garments comforted her. She crawled onto the bed, pulled a blanket around herself, and fell into a deep and dreamless sleep.

Chapter Text

Days or weeks passed in the wake of Emund’s return. Brigid was locked in her room, except for when Emund wanted to “see” her. She never saw Tilda or Elli and felt bile rise in her throat every time she thought of the servant girls. If she was receiving this level of treatment, what they were going through had to be a hundred times worse. She also didn’t see Ingegerd or Sveinn, and hoped that the princess had been allowed to keep the baby with her. She couldn’t bear to think of Sveinn with some stranger—or, worse yet, all alone somewhere.

Curled up on her bed, she didn’t move when the door slammed open. For what felt like the thousandth time, rough hands grabbed at her, dragging her out of bed and through the cold stone corridors to Emund’s room. She was barefoot, dressed in Leif’s clothes, both for her own comfort and because it enraged Emund.

Their “visits” had remained frequent since his return. He sent his guards for her once or twice a day, sometimes more. He wasn’t always alone when she was delivered to him, but he always took the first turn with her. This time, she was deposited on her knees on the floor, back to the roaring fire and facing Emund and his captain. She felt sick to her stomach and couldn’t tell if it was because of the situation she found herself in once again, or if it was because she had hardly been able to eat what little food she had been given lately.

”Clothes off,” Emund waved a dismissive hand at her and returned to his conversation. Brigid stood shakily and obeyed, only because she was afraid he would cut the garments from her body and destroy them—he’d already done so once. She couldn’t bear to lose what little she had left of Leif, so she obeyed. When she was done, she folded the clothes and set them neatly to the side. She didn’t care enough to try and cover herself any more, but refused to look at the men, focusing instead on the wall over Emund’s bed.

Emund grabbed her wrist and yanked, pulling her onto his lap. He was already hard; she could feel him pressing into her thigh through the thin fabric of his trousers. He continued to talk, hands roaming her body. Brigid stared into the fire and wished the light would burn out her eyes so she didn’t have to see him ever again. She closed her eyes and pictured Leif’s face, then Sveinn’s, Harald’s, Tove’s, Gunne’s, and Freydis’s. She couldn’t go blind; she had to see them again someday.

Emund didn’t like it when she didn’t react to him, so she had long decided that the best way to suffer through the visits was to simply withdraw. She didn’t protest as he groped her breasts and kissed her neck. She didn’t glare or spit at the captain as he leered at her, hand in his pants as he watched Emund fondle her. When Emund pushed her off of his lap, took off his clothes, and led her to the bed, she went along with it. She let him push her down on the blankets, spread her legs, and push into her. The docile act would only work for so long; eventually, he would get angry and begin trying to elicit a response. If she could hold out long enough, he’d get bored and throw her away, either to be sent back to her room or to be taken by whatever companion had joined him that time.

She stared over Emund’s shoulder at the ceiling. She refused to look at him. That was how he knew he hadn’t broken her, too—no matter what he did, he couldn’t get her to look at him. If he forced her to face him, she would close her eyes, and no amount of beating or threats would open them again.

One hand wrapped around her throat, the other collected her wrists and pinned them to the bed above her head. He grunted into her ear as his thrusts quickened. This time would be short, she hoped—a mercy, if he gave her to his captain after.

Sure enough, when Emund was done, he stood up, already wiping himself off with a soft cloth, and gestured for the captain to take his place. The man was all too eager to do so, fumbling his way out of his clothes as he moved to the bed. He was shorter, fatter, and greasier than Emund, and his hands were sweaty when they touched Brigid’s skin. He rolled her over—she gave him no help—and pulled her to the edge of the bed, spreading her legs for better access. She buried her face in the mattress. That, at least, was a mercy.

The captain seemed primed to finish even more quickly than Emund. Brigid hoped they’d send her away when he did.

The door slammed open, and she heard Emund shout. She felt a struggle between her legs, heard a gurgle, and something was wet on her thighs. Someone covered her with something—a blanket, maybe?— and pulled her to her feet. A strong arm wrapped around her shoulders and another behind her legs. She caught a glimpse of the captain lying on the floor in a pool of blood, his throat slit, as she was lifted up and clutched to a chest. Leif? she prayed, burying her face into a shoulder.

”Find me a healer!”

That wasn’t Leif’s voice, or Harald’s, but it was familiar. It felt safe. Brigid began to cry as she was hurried through the halls, bundled up and warm, held in a way she hadn’t been in so long.

They entered a room, and the door was closed behind them, and Brigid felt fear stab her heart again. She squirmed in her rescuer’s grip.

”Get a fire going.”

Brigid was set down on the edge of a bed and the blanket was wrapped more tightly around her. Gentle hands pushed her hair out of her face, before pulling her into a hug. When she was released, she finally got a look at her rescuer’s face. “Jakob?”

Jakob wiped away her tears and kissed her forehead. “The healer is coming,” he said, pulling her into another hug.

The door opened and shut again as the servants left, and Brigid tried to push Jakob away. “Get off me,” she grunted, shoving weakly at his chest.

Jakob obeyed immediately. “Quickly,” he said, voice low. “Canute, Sweyn Forkbeard, and my father turned on Harald in Kattegat. I helped him escape with Leif, Freydis, and the others. They went to Novgorod with Yaroslav. You can tell no-one.”

Brigid stared at him, struggling to understand what he had just said. “What?”

Footsteps filled the corridor outside, growing rapidly closer.

“Later,” Jakob whispered, taking a step back from the bedside.

The healer arrived, accompanied by a pair of Jakob’s guards, who took posts by the door. Once Jakob was certain that Brigid was in good hands, he left, leaving the guards behind. A pair of thralls arrived, bearing clean clothes, a basin of clean water, rags, and soap. They helped the healer clean Brigid up, then vanished again. The healer cleaned wounds, applying salves and ointments to half-healed cuts and bruises, and made Brigid drink a large cup of something hot, foul-smelling, and thick that made her stomach hurt almost immediately, even as the warmth seemed to spread through her body and soothe its aches and pains. She found it difficult to keep her eyes open. She thought she felt the healer helping her to lie back in Jakob’s bed, but wasn’t sure, as she slowly slipped into oblivion.

.*.*.*.*.*.

They had arrived in Agnafit late into the evening, after dinner, tired, cold, and hungry from the hasty journey from Kattegat. In the hustle and bustle of the slaves and servants welcoming them, Jakob had slipped away, planning to speak to Brigid and Ingegerd and tell them what had happened in Kattegat, but had found Brigid’s room empty and cold. Confused, but assuming her to be with Ingegerd, he headed for his sister’s room next, only to be stopped by a pair of Emund’s guards. When they refused to let him pass, he dispatched the men quickly, one with a sword to the gut, the other with a knife to the throat.

He burst into Ingegerd’s room to find her attempting to soothe a screaming Sveinn. She explained quickly, through her own sobs, what had happened almost two weeks earlier when Emund returned to Agnafit–how Emund’s men had executed Yaroslav’s envoy and taken Elli and Tilda, and how Brigid had been taken by Emund himself. Stopping only to give Ingegerd the barest of explanations of the events in Kattegat, Jakob had returned to the hall and collected his own guard, immediately sending two of them to stand guard at Ingegerd’s rooms, another half dozen to find Elli and Tilda, and the remaining four to watch his back as he went to confront Emund. The guards outside of Emund’s room fell as easily as the ones outside Ingegerd’s, and Jakob himself had flung Emund’s door open. He had slit the captain’s throat before the man knew what was happening while his guards beat Emund into submission. Leaving his brother to them, Jakob had concerned himself with Brigid.

Once she was safe in his own rooms with a healer tending to her, Jakob returned to the great hall, where his father was finishing his dinner, his guards dragging Emund behind. Now, he stood before the great Skötkonung, any nerves he might have felt quashed by his anger.

King Olof looked at his sons, Jakob standing tall and proud, trying to hide the rage twisting his features, and Emund, beaten and bloody, on his knees between a pair of Jakob’s guards. “What is this?” he asked, setting his horn of mead aside.

“Father,” Jakob stepped forward, reminding himself to bow in respect. “It has come to my attention that my brother has… exceeded his mandate in governing Agnafit in your stead.”

Olof’s eyes narrowed. “How so?” he focused on Emund. To his older son’s credit, he showed no sign of shame or regret, only anger, nearly as heated as Jakob’s.

“You ordered Emund to hold Prince Yaroslav’s envoy and Princess Ingegerd, along with her retinue and Leif Erikson’s consort Brigid and son Sveinn. Instead, he had the envoy executed in the city streets, the women–excepting Ingegerd herself–beaten and raped, and brutalized Brigid himself, along with his captain, perhaps others.”

Olof sighed. He looked down at Emund. “Is this true?”

Emund spat out a mouthful of blood. “I did nothing any other Viking has not done a dozen times on raids.”

“This is not a raid,” Jakob snapped. “This is our home . They are our people. You had our sister beaten in the streets, shaming her. How do you think Prince Yaroslav will react when he hears about the murders of his men and the humiliation of his wife?”

Olof frowned. “Jakob is right, Emund. The great Prince will not take kindly if word of this reaches him—and I have no doubt that it will; the prince will have sent spies to infiltrate our city as soon as he received word that Ingegerd would be held here.”

”He will want retribution for what has been done to his wife.”

Olof sighed, scrubbing a hand over his face. Jakob, watching closely, thought he seemed paler and older in that moment. “I will not have my son killed,” he whispered, his voice so soft that Jakob and Emund could hardly hear him. “You’re right,” he said, louder, after a long pause. He turned his full attention to Emund. “Take what men you have left. You will leave for Sigtuna in the morning. And you will not return unless I call for you.”

.*.*.*.*.*.

When Brigid woke, she could see the first hints of pale morning light through Jakob’s window. The fire was still roaring in the hearth, and she was blissfully warm bundled in the prince’s bed. She was groggy and hungry, but, for the first time in many days, felt rested and oddly at peace. She sat up slowly, taking note of a figure seated in one of the chairs by the fireplace. Had it not been for the flames glinting off Jakob’s fair hair, turning it to molten gold, she would have panicked, nearly mistaking him for Emund at first glance. Jakob glanced over when he heard her stir, but she couldn’t see his face with all the light in the room behind him.

Jakob stood and crossed to the bed, taking a seat beside Brigid and offering her a thin, but warm, smile. “Good morning. I hope you slept well.”

“Where is Sveinn?”

“With Ingegerd. She has been taking care of him since Emund’s return. She says he is well, but has been asking for you. I said that I would bring you to them when you woke.”

Brigid let out a shaky sob, not even aware that she had started crying. “Tilda and Elli?”

Jakob’s scowled. “Fortunately for them, Emund’s soldiers tired of them quickly. They are battered and bruised, and will need time to recover, but are sound enough. I made sure that they were returned to Ingegerd, and posted guards at her room to ensure no-one would touch any of them.”

Brigid nodded. She drew her legs up to her chest and wrapped her arms around them, resting her forehead on her knees as she cried quietly. She hadn’t cried since Sveinn had been taken from her. Jakob reached out hesitantly and rubbed her back, his touch timid but warm. She wasn’t sure how long she stayed like that. Eventually, there was a knock on the door and Jakob pulled away to answer it. It closed softly after a quick and quiet conversation, and Brigid smelled food, an abrupt reminder of how hungry she was.

Jakob sat down on the bed beside her again, and Brigid lifted her head. Wordlessly, he held out a large wooden mug, the scent of some sort of stew drifting from it. Brigid decided she didn’t care what it was and took the tankard, sipping carefully at the steaming soup inside. Jakob handed her a sizeable chunk of still-warm bread and resumed his seat by the fire with his own breakfast. They ate in silence, then Brigid stood slowly, stretching stiff muscles as she joined Jakob by the fire.

“Where is Leif?” she asked, setting her empty tankard on a small table next to Jakob’s chair.

Jakob’s face darkened. “If all went well, in Novgorod by now.”

“You said something about the kings turning on Harald?”

Jakob nodded. “After Olof’s execution, Canute, my father, and Forkbeard revealed to me that they had never intended to make Harald king of Norway. They felt he was too wild and difficult to control, so they planned to kill him and place Magnus on the throne, under Forkbeard’s regency. I helped Yaroslav get Harald, Leif, and the others out of the city. They made a clean escape, so I have every reason to expect that they have arrived in Novgorod by now.”

“What about us?” Brigid asked.

“My father intends to hold Ingegerd as a ransom to force Yaroslav to give Harald over to him. I tried to convince him to free you and Sveinn as a sign of good faith, but he refused. He seems intent to hold on to any leverage he can, and it seems that you and the boy are part of that.”

Brigid’s heart fell. It must have shown in her face, because Jakob set his tankard aside and reached out to rest a hand on her shoulder. “Now that I’ve returned, you are under my protection. I’ve convinced my father that should any further harm befall any of you, it will not bode well with Yaroslav and Harald. He has sent Emund to Sigtuna for the foreseeable future. No one will lay a hand on any of you again.”