Chapter Text
As the sun lowered, a chill had settled in the air. A cool breeze now wafted through the longhouse, refreshing against the heat of the hearth.
Midwinter would arrive in only a fortnight, but no snow had yet fallen over Ravensthorpe. It was peculiar: these green winters of England.
Randvi sipped at her mead, feeling more at ease than she had in some weeks. Around her, her clansmen drank and made merry, the spoils from their hard work finally beginning to pay off.
Ceolbert nursed his ale beside her, wrinkling his nose with every sip.
Eivor had started the evening mingling and drinking with the other villagers, but was now seated across from Randvi, a pink-cheeked Ulf in her lap. The boy had been running about and eating like a horse all evening, and now dozed lightly in Eivor’s hold, belly full, the late hour finally creeping up on him.
“At one time, the title ‘jarl’ referred to a man second only to the king,” Randvi explained, stopping to take another drink. “But that use has softened. Now a jarl may be a chief, a leader, or a man with broad wealth and influence.”
Ceolbert hummed thoughtfully. “The world is bigger now, and broken into many pieces. It seems our language must do the same to keep up.”
Randvi smiled at the young man. “An interesting thought.”
“Ceolbert,” Eivor laughed, “your father sent you here to learn, not to teach.”
Ceolbert joined her light laughter, and soon Randvi was chuckling along. Ulf stirred lightly in Eivor’s arms at the sound, and Randvi was awash with affection for the woman.
“Then you must start, Eivor,” Randvi declared, looking pointedly at the drengr. “Give us a summary of our recent gains, for instance. The clan is thirsty for knowledge.” She gestured to their clansmen, still merrymaking, and Eivor cleared her throat, eyes widening.
“You want me to give a speech?”
Randvi nodded, stifling a small smile when Ceolbert quickly nodded along with her. Eivor was cornered, it seemed.
Eivor huffed. “Right.”
Handing Liulfr off to Randvi, Eivor rose, looking uncharacteristically stiff as she made her way to the free area in front of the throne. Her eyes flickered back to Randvi; she gave Eivor a smile and a nod. Eivor rolled her shoulders back, seeming to resign herself to her fate.
“My friends, harken to me,” she exclaimed, raising her horn, “and hear a tale of triumph and toil.”
After a few excited woops of acknowledgement from some clansmen, she continued. “I have traveled far since we landed, and seen much on the roads and fields of this new England. And for all my travels, strong alliances we have gained. The honorable Ceowulf, king of Mercia,” Eivor gestured toward Ceolbert, “now calls us a friend.”
“And to the South,” she gestured to the far end of the longhouse, “Soma Jarlskona and the Danes of Grantebridge have pledged their oaths to us.”
The news sent the clansmen into drunken cheers and hoots. “By Sigurd’s hand and my own, we have strengthened the ties of-”
“You set yourself as Sigurd’s equal in these tales of yours,” Dag interrupted loudly, emerging from the loose crowd and making his way toward Eivor. “Would Sigurd do the same if he were here?”
Eivor’s brows furrowed, and she set her jaw, standing up straight. “I do not claim to be Sigurd’s equal. But I will not shy from the triumphs I have fairly won, Dag.”
“Let glory seek and find those who have earned it,” she declared, and a few clanspeople nodded in agreement. “If that means me, so be it. If that means you,” she gestured to the whole of the longhouse, “any one of you, all the better.”
More cheers rang out, and Eivor smiled again. “And so I raise my horn! First to Sigurd; may he return to us soon,” Eivor lifted her horn toward her people, “and to the Raven Clan, the best of friends and fighters!”
Raiders and settlers alike raised their horns to Sigurd, to the clan, and to each other with a final holler. Dag let the noise die down before raising his voice again. “To Sigurd! May he return and relieve us of you!”
Eivor sighed, but was quick to reply. “And may all of you enjoy the ale as much as Dag has! Skal!”
Laughter and skals rang through the building. Through the mass, Randvi could see Dag storming toward Eivor, but the carousing prevented her from hearing most of their conversation. Liulfr, awoken by the horn raising, stirred in Randvi’s arms and laid his head back down on her shoulder.
Randvi was just about to make her way over to Eivor when Sunniva came barreling into the longhouse.
“Dane attackers from the river!” she shouted. Heads immediately whipped to the scout, who already had a few cuts and bruises. Randvi‘s heart raced, and she reached for her hammer reflexively.
“Danes?” Eivor called out, hurrying toward the door. “How many?”
“Too many!” Norvid shouted, jumping in from outside. “Come! The battle roars already.”
“Bloody curs,” Dag swore, brandishing his axe, “What quarrel have Danes with us?”
“Those who can fight, take up your weapon!“ Eivor called. “All others, stay here.”
Randvi quickly found Ceolbert, still close by, and handed him a confused Liulfr. “Keep him away from the doors. Stay here, and use your sword if you need to.”
Ceolbert nodded soberly, and Randvi turned and ran out of the longhouse, pulling out her hammer and bounding out after Eivor into the bloodshed.
The Danes already had four buildings in flames, the inferno creeping up the trail from the docks. While their fighting prowess was inferior to the Ravens, they had strength in numbers, and Eivor was thankful that her clansmen had not gotten too far into their cups yet this evening.
Eivor cut through man after man ruthlessly, keeping an eye on her companions as she paved a path in blood. As she fought, she kept a keen eye on Randvi, though the jarlskona certainly did not need help as she slammed her hammer through one man’s head before burying her axe in another’s.
“Keep them out of the longhouse!” Randvi called out, panic in her voice, and Eivor whipped around to see just why: the Danes were making a concentrated push toward the heart of Ravensthorpe, the docks behind them quickly burning to ash.
Charging forward, Eivor let one of her axes fly with a shout, the weapon landing in the neck of a man just steps from the longhouse entrance. Before she could breathe out in relief, Dwolfg ran through the longhouse door, teeth bared.
Ignoring the icy fear squeezing at her chest, Eivor followed the wolf just in time to see that the longhouse, indeed, had been breached.
Fortunately, most of the unarmed clansmen had fled, and the rest were trying to make use of weapons stored in the hall against the intruders. Eivor heard some of her raiders roaring in behind her, trying to chase out the Danes, but she paid the sound of conflict no mind as she scanned the hall, eyes wide and heart hammering.
Finally, her eye caught familiar tawny hair at the other side of the longhouse, close to her bedchamber.
Liulfr was behind Ceolbert’s leg, the aetheling holding his longsword out in defense against a towering Dane, stance unwavering despite his clear disadvantage.
The man raised his battleaxe, but before he could follow through, Eivor lunged forward, piercing her hidden blade through his spine. Once he fell to his knees, she struck his temple, and he fell with a muted thump. She ran over to Ulf and scooped him up with one arm, tucking him onto her shoulder.
“Leave, Ceolbert,” Eivor commanded, carrying Liulfr to the door in a run. Ceolbert followed, fleeing with the other villagers.
Outside the longhouse, they were greeted by thick smoke cast in a dark glow, the air almost too dense to breathe. Eivor’s ears rang as the roar of battle raged on: steel clanged, village buildings burned against the flames. She took a deep, ragged breath in attempt to calm her racing heart, the battle-focus she relied on evading her.
Ulf, silent in fear, hid his face in her shoulder and sniffed, clasping at her cloak tightly.
Searching frantically for refuge for the child, Eivor made a break for the stables, only to be stopped short by arrow fire, crouching down and shielding Ulf with herself, barely registering the feeling of an arrow piercing her shoulder. Once the barrage was over, she turned and made for Svend and Tove’s home, the nearest building in sight.
To her relief, only a few Danes were near the house. Eivor sent her axe flying at one of the men before ramming into the other, slamming him against the building and bludgeoning him until he could no longer fight back.
An enraged cry from a familiar voice came from the longhouse and Eivor paused briefly at the sound, but she could not risk turning back. By the time she made it to the building, another Dane was on her heels, sword pointed toward the boy on her shoulder. In one movement, Eivor set Ulf down and immediately caught the man’s sword with her bracer. She kicked his knee in and whipped her axe upward into his neck, sending him to his gods before he could cry out.
Standing up straight again, breath heaving and ears buzzing, Eivor scanned the settlement for her companions among the corpses of the intruders. Mercifully, she could not see a single Raven amongst the dead, though many sported an array of injuries. The roar of battle was gone; the only sound present was the worried voices of the villagers and the crackling of burning wood.
The consolation did nothing to slow her breathing, and she immediately scooped up the boy behind her and checked him over.
“Are you hurt, Ulf?” she asked, voice trembling, and sighed in relief when he shook his head. She scanned him for injuries anyway, then held him close. “You’re alright, my boy.”
Another shout rang out from the village, and Eivor scanned the smoke to find its source, the thick air stinging her eyes. Only when it came closer did she hear who it was.
“Liulfr!” Randvi cried out breathlessly. “Liulfr Sigurdsson!”
Eivor jogged toward the voice, Ulf tucked close. “He is with me, Randvi,” she called out, her throat sore from the smoke.
Randvi’s figure cut through the haze, sprinting toward Eivor’s voice. She was covered in ash and blood, eyes wild, but seemed unharmed.
She all but crashed into them, grasping at Liulfr, who was still in Eivor’s hold. “Are you alright?” she asked him, frantic, before turning to Eivor. “Is he harmed?”
“Not a cut,” Eivor reassured, using her free hand to clasp Randvi’s shoulder. Randvi pressed her forehead against Ulf’s, sagging in relief, and Eivor followed her as she dropped to a kneel, letting go of Ulf so Randvi could hold the boy fully.
“I’m so sorry I couldn’t find you. I’m so sorry,” Randvi repeated, running her fingers through her son’s hair.
Ulf held her close, sniffing again as Randvi tightly embraced him and kissed his head. With her free hand, she reached out and grabbed Eivor’s wrist tightly, and Eivor only now realized she was shaking.
“That’s the last of them,” a voice sounded out, and Eivor looked up to see Sunniva jogging over. “The rivers are clear. By their colors and markings, I believe they come from Geatland.”
Reluctantly, Eivor stood. Randvi soon followed, heaving a breath, Liulfr tucked to her chest.
Eivor looked to Sunniva, brows furrowed. “With none left alive to spill their secrets, we may never know why.”
“Here is one!” Dag called out, dragging a man over by the back of his neck and throwing him onto the ground before Eivor. “This vermin was crawling to the river, hoping to float away.”
“Have mercy, friend, and you may find an ally with us,” the man stated quietly, avoiding eye contact.
Rage burned inside of Eivor’s chest at the sight of the man, but she maintained her composure. “Mercy is earned by the quickness of your tongue. Where do you come from and what is your quarrel with us?”
“We are settled in East Anglia,” he groveled, “Newly arrived and hungry for silver.”
“You drifted off course,” Eivor said through gritted teeth, “This is Merica.”
“As we were ordered,” the Geat replied.
“By whom?” She demanded, her rage threatening to boil over.
The man scowled then, looking up at her with disdain. “You bore me,” he spat.
Dag hit him sharply then, frustrated. “Useless hound, scratching your ass in search of silver,” He turned to Eivor. “Put an end to this one.”
“Your silence earns you no kindness, Geat,” Eivor warned, “so I will ask once more. Who sent you?”
“The wind sent us,” he answered snidely, “And the rivers will take us home.”
Dag swore. “He begs for death, Eivor! Give it to him.”
Eivor was prepared to do just that until Randvi put a hand on her shoulder. “Or,” she interjected, “send him home with a warning.”
Eivor eyed Randvi, who was now fully composed with her son in her arms, in disbelief. In response, Randvi flicked her eyes to Sunniva and Norvid before looking back to Eivor. “Let him tell his people what death awaits them, should they sail this way again.”
Eivor heaved a sigh, allowing her rage to melt away at the sight of Randvi. If anyone else had asked for such restraint, Eivor was certain she would not have been able to comply. She turned to the man. “Go. And do not return.”
Dag swore again, infuriated, and the Dane mumbled a half-hearted thank you.
Eivor glowered at the intruder, quieting the rage boiling in her again. “This is not mercy, it is death deferred. Whoever sent you, warn them of the slaughter that awaits should any return.”
Nodding, the Geat slunk away carefully, and Eivor leaned toward Randvi, speaking in a hushed voice. “Send one of your scouts to follow him. We will find–”
The sharp snap of the Dane’s spine breaking cut Eivor off mid-sentence, and she and Randvi turned just in time to see Dag pull his axe out of the man’s back. “To show mercy would endanger us!” Dag shouted. “Soil our reputation as cowards! This was the only end possible.”
“We could have learned something by tracking him,” Eivor argued. “Now we know nothing.”
“Sigurd would have acted as I did,” Dag insisted. “That is all the justification I need.”
“Sigurd is not here to make such a call! But I am,” she asserted, stepping into Dag’s space. “And if you cross me again, he will know about it.”
Dag backed away, shaking his head. “I see you Eivor, and I know what you are.”
And with that, he made his way to the docks, leaving Eivor fuming and Randvi stiff with outrage. Ulf was much more calm at his mother’s side, though he still hid against her at the sight of the remaining fires.
“Put no stock in what Dag says,” Randvi sighed. “His bluster may be loud, but it blows softly.”
Eivor huffed, shaking her head. “Get this cleaned up,” she called to the raiders, who nodded and began the work. Turning to Randvi, Eivor gazed at Ulf, and said softly, “then we will talk of next steps.”
Eivor hissed in pain as Randvi fully dislodged the arrow, gripping the underside of the longhouse table. She watched Randvi place the arrow to the side and inspect the wound for any bits of the bodkin. The wound felt shallow: bleeding slowly enough for Randvi to clean it before bandaging it. She touched Eivor’s other shoulder, as if in silent apology, before dipping a cloth into a bowl of saltwater beside them, allowing it to soak into the wound.
Eivor tightened her jaw and grimaced. Randvi placed her hand over Eivor‘s, and she met Randvi’s eyes for a brief moment before she looked away and reached for the wound dressing.
“Thank you,” Randvi said softly as she began wrapping the dressing around Eivor’s shoulder, “for protecting him.”
Eivor looked at Randvi then, surprised. She cleared her throat, feeling a stinging in her eyes. “You do not need to thank me.”
Eivor still found herself shaken: on edge, after the night’s events. Battle had never distressed her to this extent, despite all she had seen in her years.
In her search for refuge for Liulfr, Eivor could not help but think of the way she had been carried by her own mother through the flames. Closing her eyes, she could not differentiate between the sight of the burning rooftops of Ravensthorpe and those of Heillboer. She thought of the last time she'd seen her mother's face before one of Kjotve's men had thrown an axe in her back; Eivor felt the anguish she'd seen there, etched into her mother's eyes and in the lines around her mouth.
“I know,” Randvi replied simply, finishing the dressing, eyes glistening as she placed her hand again on Eivor’s. “But thank you all the same. We would be faring much worse without you.”
Eivor didn’t answer, carefully turning her hand to hold Randvi’s.
The two sat together a while longer, occasionally directing clean-up efforts until the settlement grew quiet, their clansmen retiring one by one as fires were ceased and debris was cleared.
In the following days, Ravensthorpe made good progress in patching its wounds. Randvi had spent most of her waking hours taking inventory, delegating tasks, and securing additional supplies from their allies to allow the settlement to rebuild itself. Fortunately, injuries were minimal, and the food stores were virtually untouched.
Eivor and the other raiders had set to work repairing the roofs of burned houses, and Gudrun, Gudmund, and Merton had efficiently replaced the ruined docks. The other clansmen shared with those who had been robbed, comforted and cared for each other, and united in a way that made Randvi puff with pride as the settlement pieced itself back together.
Once restorations were finished, Eivor set about finishing the fowl and cattle farm, and following that began the construction of the wheat farm so that, come spring, they could begin a crop. Eivor had kept herself busy in the past weeks, organizing more patrols and scouts throughout the village and in the surrounding area, herself included.
If Randvi was happy that Eivor was home, Ulf was absolutely elated. The two often spent the day together when Eivor was not building or patrolling. She would take Liulfr in the morning, leaving Randvi time to work uninterrupted. Randvi often caught sight of the two walking around the village, Eivor pointing out birds and squirrels for the boy to watch.
Eivor would often tell him stories while Randvi tucked him into bed for the night; he absorbed every detail with wide eyes as she described geese-dressed Saxon women fighting their way across a river, or a peculiar man with an even stranger wallop.
After he was asleep, Eivor would excuse herself to patrol the settlement and check the surrounding woods. Even during the day, she would be surveying the area for anything out of place and making sure she knew Liulfr’s whereabouts, posting more guards around the perimeter than usual.
Randvi remained wary as well, reluctant to leave her son with anyone but Eivor. When he did spend the occasional afternoon with Gunnar or Svend, she would frequently check in throughout.
She spent many late evenings watching the rise and fall of Ulf’s breathing, the sting of helplessness from that night still clutching her chest. When she managed a few hours of sleep, her dreams were plagued by the smell of ash, the pounding of her heart in her ears as she ran through the burning village, the sting of smoke in her eyes as she searched frantically for her son in the debris.
As the weeks passed, the imminent threat of vikingr raiders became less apparent, and the clan began to calm. Their defenses, per Eivor and Randvi’s orders, were still primed and emboldened, however there was no longer a sense of fear when a breeze pushed the smell of woodfire through the air.
As her fear waned due to the clan’s vigilance, guilt ridden dreams still plagued Randvi, each the same: a fruitless attempt at recovering her son. She would wake in a panic, the sight of Liulfr the only thing able to bring her back to calm.
Despite her lack of sleep, there was still work to be done. Randvi pushed through the heaviness in her eyes and pain in her head, handling her never-ending list of tasks. The recent weeks had additionally brought more information on East Anglia, and as her scouts supplied more intelligence, Randvi’s heart would sink with the knowledge that her drengr would need to depart sooner than she would wish.
Under the dusky lights of the alliance chamber, Randvi unsealed another letter from one of her scouts; Eivor worked quietly beside her, consolidating the supply requests into a long list.
After scanning the letter, Randvi cleared her throat. “Sunniva has sent more information from East Anglia. The Dane invaders serve a man called Rued,” she reported. Eivor looked up, interested.
“He seems to be sowing discord among Saxons and friendly Danes alike,” Randvi continued. “Years ago, the Sons of Ragnar hoped to pacify the land. They appointed a steward named Finnr to find a suitable Saxon king,” she read through the correspondence again, brows furrowed.
“The kingdom has fallen to ruin since. There is no king, and violent raiders ravage what little peace remains. I suggest you make for East Anglia and find out what this steward is doing wrong.”
Eivor nodded, but frowned, looking from Randvi to Ulf. “It may be too soon since the raid,” she offered, jaw tight.
“It has been longer than a moon, Eivor,” Randvi reassured, swallowing her own reservations. “We are remaining vigilant and have extra hands on guard.”
Eivor contemplated, fidgeting with the paper in her hands before meeting Randvi’s eyes again. “I worry that something could happen in my absence.”
Randvi sighed, the fear in Eivor’s eyes sending an ache through her chest. “I suppose once East Anglia is settled, we will not need to worry about Rued’s invaders appearing again. I think you should go.”
Eivor held her gaze for another moment before relenting, looking instead at Liulfr. “Very well. We will rid England of them. I will have the raiders prepare the longship to leave in a day.”
“A good plan,” Randvi replied, holding Eivor’s gaze for a brief moment. “Fight well and stay on guard.”
“Of course,” Eivor answered, rising from her seat and nodding warmly before heading to the barracks.
It was in the early hours of the morning when Randvi awoke to footsteps in the longhouse. She was curled in bed, Liulfr tucked close.
The sound was unmistakable; Eivor strode about, collecting the last of her weapons and armor from her chambers before leaving for East Anglia. Randvi could even hear her occasional comment to Dwolfg or Sýnin about the early hour.
The footsteps came closer, but Randvi could tell that Eivor was taking considerable care to soften the noise. The footsteps stopped in the map room, near where the door to her chambers was.
Before Randvi could raise her head in acknowledgement, Eivor sighed softly and made her way back into the main hall, gathering her things and making for the longship.
Valka stirred the odd-colored concoction over the fire. Randvi sat at her table, Ulf at her feet. The boy placed various herbs and sticks into the bowl Valka had supplied him, brows furrowed as he focused.
“Your dreams still trouble you?” the seer asked, setting aside her stirring rod and taking a seat across from Randvi.
Randvi nodded minutely. “I was just hoping for more tea leaves for tonight.”
“What may help more,” Valka offered, “is speaking about it.”
Sighing, Randvi rested her head in her hand, eyes watching her son as he went about his business. “It is much of what I told you before. There is nothing more to say.”
Valka hummed, and they fell into a spell of quiet as the seer thought. Liulfr rose, eyeing his work, and decidedly stepped outside to gather more plants. The women watched him forage, the boy taking great care in what he plucked from the soil.
“I think you may need time, and rest,” Valka said, looking back at Randvi, “You have done nothing but work since the attack. Take time to breathe.”
Rest . The word had felt forbidden. But once Valka had spoken it aloud, Randvi could feel the weight she had carried for weeks lift slightly.
“I will try,” she relented, though she knew that neither she nor Valka were convinced. Valka supplied her with a bag of tea leaves, and after a brief goodbye, Randvi and Ulf made their leave.
Ulf bounded around her as they walked to the end of Valka’s trail. Once they made it back to the main path, he took her hand and looked to the longhouse expectantly.
Randvi was looking at the longhouse too, but with much more abhorrence. The thought of returning to her small, stuffy war room made her stomach turn sharply.
“We’re going for a ride,” she decided.
Ulf gasped. “On a horse?”
Smiling, Randvi nodded, and the boy beamed, running past her toward the stables.
As they neared Rowan’s, Randvi notified a passing Eydis of her stepping out, ensuring that the Ravens would not deem them missing.
Ulf was already reaching for their horse’s saddle at the gate as she greeted Rowan. He bounced in place when Randvi saddled up, and exclaimed excitedly when Rowan lifted him up, handing him to Randvi after she sat on her horse.
With a reminder to Ulf to hold on tight to Randvi, they were off. Ulf sat in front of Randvi, who held him securely with her arm, her other hand holding the reins.
They made their way through the woods next to the settlement, surrounded by lavender and dappled sunlight. It had been so long since Randvi had explored. It smelled of flowers and vegetation. The sun that peeked through the canopy warmed her skin, and she could almost feel the wind blowing the dust off of her.
Ulf chatted joyfully as they went, pointing out plants that he knew. “All the purple - that’s lavender, móð. And the short green ones! Those are ferns. And the yellow are…” he paused and thought for a moment. “Dandelions. You can eat them!”
“You know your flora, young man,” Randvi remarked, kissing the top of his head.
“Frændi showed me,” he answered proudly, and her heart ached at Eivor’s absence.
Her yearning was short lived, however, as exploration brought too much joy to ignore. She steered the horse toward Ragnarrson lookout, the mare snorting as their direction changed.
Randvi let Ulf hold the reins, providing a simple lesson in steering. The boy took great care not to pull too hard, voicing concern for hurting the horse once Randvi explained how the reins worked. He was growing into a thoughtful fellow, she noticed, taking great care in his actions. Together, they gently steered the horse up the hill, the tower of Ragnarrson lookout soon coming into view as they climbed.
“We’re high up!” Ulf exclaimed as they arrived at the peak. Randvi chuckled at his wonder. As they passed the lookout, they waved up to Revna and Fyl at their stations.
The view, as Eivor had told her moons ago, was wonderful. One could see the river, towns to the east, and the monastery to the west.
Ulf, eyes wide in awe, seemed to be taking in everything he could see. Randvi smiled and leaned back, letting him take his time, admiring their surroundings.
“Is that home?”
Randvi followed his gesture to the sight of their settlement, nestled in the trees. Small pillars of smoke rose where villagers had fires going. Further south, one could see fishing boats on the river, small silhouettes against the bright water.
The longhouse towered over all, its own smoke pillar raising into the sky. In the warm, late afternoon light, it looked much less foreboding than it had earlier. Every so often, Randvi caught a glimpse of villagers entering and leaving the structure, their small figures peeking through the cover of the trees. The heart of their village, it was.
“Yes,” she sighed, “that is home.”
Ulf dozed quietly in her lap as Randvi revised some of the clan’s ledgers in the alliance chamber, seated on a wooden chair pulled up to the table.
She could have easily put him to bed, but a part of her was beginning to miss all the time she had spent holding him in months past. He was nearing three winters now, and the days he’d fall asleep in her arms were nearly bygone, now.
She brushed some honey-coloured hair out of his eyes. If he was like most other children, one day he’d scarcely want to be cuddled like this at all, and she knew that day would come too fast.
A soft knock at the door frame drew Randvi’s attention up, and she smiled as she met Eivor’s tired eyes, hair still unkempt from the longship.
“Welcome home,” Randvi said, voice just above a whisper.
Eivor’s smile quickly fell as she eyed Ulf’s bandaged leg, her posture stiffening. She took a long step towards them. “He’s injured,” she said, voice quiet and clipped.
Eivor’s eyes were wide: wild almost, like she’d just woken from a nightmare. The colour had drained from her face, and her hands shook as she gripped the table. “Were we attacked?”
“No, Eivor,” Randvi said. Eivor simply stared at the table, hands still shaking.
Randvi shuffled her chair backwards as she gently slung Ulf over her shoulder and stood up. “I’ll be back in a moment,” she said, squeezing Eivor’s shoulder. Eivor scarcely reacted to the contact, and a spark of worry rose up in Randvi’s chest before she left for her bedroom. She set the sleeping boy on the bed; thankfully, he did not stir. She covered him with a blanket before returning to the alliance chamber.
Randvi stood in front of Eivor and took her hands gently. Eivor eyed her for a moment before pulling her into a tight hug. She could feel Eivor’s shallow breathing begin to deepen, and she tucked her chin into Eivor’s shoulder. “All is well,” Randvi said.
When Eivor pulled away, the colour had returned to her face, and that wild look in her eyes had been replaced by something like shame. “I don’t know what came over me,” she said. “I apologize.”
“No need,” Randvi said. “Ulf took a tumble this afternoon and scraped his leg up. The bandage is only a precaution.”
“Glad to hear,” Eivor said, nodding slowly. She heaved a sigh. “Perhaps I need rest.”
“It may help. It is getting late.”
“Before I go — East Anglia is with us. Their King Oswald has pledged his loyalty to us.”
“Well done,” Randvi said. She smiled. “That warrants a day of rest in celebration.”
Eivor hummed in agreement. “Is Ceolbert still with us?”
Randvi shook her head. “King Ceolwulf has sent him to Sciropescire. He hopes to install him as ealdorman there.”
“Good for him. He should do well, considering all he has learned from you.”
“I only had time to give him a taste of my knowledge,” Randvi sighed. “The rest, it seems, he will need to find out for himself.”
Eivor nodded, lingering for a moment. “You should rest soon, yourself.”
Randvi nodded absently, glancing back toward the ledgers, only to realize Eivor was looking at her expectantly.
“I will,” she surrendered, huffing when Eivor raised a skeptical brow. “Do I seem so exhausted?” she quipped.
“I only mean it’s late, Randvi.”
She looked at Eivor for a moment: at her slightly tangled hair, her wind-rumpled clothes: the weariness in her eyes. “I will retire as soon as you do.”
Eivor stood for another moment, voice soft. “I will hold you to that.”
Before Eivor left the chamber, she stopped for a moment in the doorway. “Rest well, Randvi,” she said in a tone that fell across Randvi warmly, much like their brief embrace.
“The same to you,” she breathed, and Eivor disappeared into the longhouse.