collab between ConstableWalrus and idlehands

Mid morning, Trelleborg

Orran trudged through the snow on the ground; his shield upon his back and still clad in his armor; he grunted lightly to himself; Why would Anndrais insist he go for water? Send his protection away saying he would be fine. Orran stretched; the wooden bucket rattling as he walked towards the stream. The man was stubborn as he was; Orran mused with a grin, he knew full well the monk could take care of himself.

But it was orders, and you followed orders to the letter, Orran looked at the bucket the smile leaving for a scowl. He did not like doing menial work, but every time Anndrais insisted, said it would teach him patience, that the work of a laborer was the work of God. He shook the thoughts out of his head; He already had enough to deal with, current situation aside.

As he reached the stream he knelt down in the snow, and brought the bucket to the edge; he set it down lightly to tug at his scabbard so his sword would keep tight to him encase he needed it. He grumbled to himself lightly as he watched the stream "A village full of violent heathens and he sends me to get water."

Moire could feel the cold through the thin leather of her shoes, she would need to stuff more straw inside them as an insulator. Sedge grass worked the best but she was trapped in the fort like everyone else so the nearby salt marsh might have been across the sea. Her woolen dress was old and worn, patched over many times, a hand me down from another female slave. She carried two buckets for water, keeping her head down as she passed by a few of her master's men that had stayed behind to guard his longhouse. Her thick chestnut hair had been cut when she was taken to show her thrall status, it was growing out, just enough to let the shaggy bangs hide her face from their leers. The Gaelic girl sidestepped one of them making a half hearted grab for her, leaving them to their harsh mocking laughter. Murmuring gratitude to God that they left her alone, she made her way down to the where the stream ran through the fort.

It was still early, Trelleborg was just stirring to life as people woke and began their chores for the day. Moire liked to get the water early, before her master Harald woke. He enjoyed his baths and he had to wait someone would be punished. Her body ached in several places and her full lips were still swollen from where one of his warriors had hit her for being insolent. Such was her life as a slave. Her slender neck bore a heavy leather collar, marked with runes to indicate Harald's ownership. As she approached the water, she paused, noticing a man doing the same.

He certainly was no slave, and the familiarity of his clothing and armor made her heart leap and ache with homesickness. Moire clenched her fists and resisted the urge to call out. The man was a Pict, the tattoos and the panes of his face spoke that louder than any voice. She herself was a child of a Pict and Gael union, her small build and reddish brown hair and light spattering of freckles bespoke her heritage.

Moire spoke up in their shared tongue, taking the chance even though her mouth ached to speak, "Christian, you come to this hell without a collar? How is that possible?"

Orran was so lost in thought, that he had not noticed the woman get near him, to deep in thoughts of slight frustration at the turn of the current events, and the need to do daily work. And as he heard her speak to him his head shot up, it was not a voice he recognized, a womans voice, and he stood quickly knocking over the bucket and turned; to grasp the hilt of his blade.

As of late Orran had been having quite the bout of home sickness, he hated this land, mostly for the people within, but the land itself threw it's hate back. And as he laid eyes on the woman, his body relaxed; and his dark eyes were wide, watching her slowly seeing the matted hair, the painful collar, the bruises. It took a moment to sink in the sight; and the surprise faded to a rage.

It hit in the pit of his stomach and hate fired in him; damn these monsters, he thought to himself trying to keep calm outwardly but he doubted himself that he could hide the large scowl on his face. He took a deep breath closing his eyes and finally opened them and looked at her, speaking loud in Gaelic and trying to calm his words, remembering Anndrais who he knew was better at words.

"We come to end the suffering of our people." He said, and breathed out lightly remembering something Anndrais had said on the boat ride here, about why they were here, why would they bother consorting with these monsters that had the indecency to call themselves men. And he finally spoke again to the woman "I come because the Spirit of the Lord is on me, because he has anointed me to preach good news to the poor. He has sent me to proclaim freedom for the prisoners and recovery of sight for the blind, to release the oppressed." Ment in more figurative terms by Anndrais, he was sent to bring light to this hell of darkness.

His eyes lingered on her for a moment as he stood there silently.Moire set down the bucket, "You speak bold words for a stranger in a strange land, Pict. No doubt the Lord must be with you if you are allowed to walk around armed and free."

She crouched down to fill the bucket from the stream, dipping it in the icy water. "You are from Alba. I was, too. I travelled with my father to the coast to trade at the monastery there. He feared leaving me on the farm alone...in case of bandits."

Her eyes flickered with dark humor and she set the dripping bucket down, looking back up at him with eyes that were an indiscernible stone color. Moire rubbed her red hands against the wool to warm them up.

Orran rolled his jaw; and watched the woman carefully meeting her gaze; he still wore a scowl the anger at the situation still in his gullet. He stirred as he met her eyes for a moment holding his gaze there before he turned slightly not wanting to meet her stony eyes any more.

"Yes... Alba." He said slowly, and he cursed himself slightly, he was awful at this, and he wished Anndrais was here to speak and give comfort; he sighed and walked near her squatting down next to her at the stream. "Our Lord has not abandoned anyone cast in this place of monsters who wear the skin of men..." He stretched slightly and grunted "I am sorry, I do not like seeing one of my own with those damned collars on."

Orran started to slowly lose his control on his anger, Anndrais would comfort and rise them up. But Orran? How could he. The thought crossed his mind and he balled his fists tightly.

Moire touched the swollen part of her lip and then chuckled hollowly, continuing as if he had not spoken. “They came...these Northmen, out of the fog from the sea. Burned the monks huts and looted the chapel. I hid...my father bid me to hide in a stable. They killed him for fighting back. He had a pitchfork. I was taken...”

She trailed off, her eyes distant until she blinked and turned back to Orran, “If only we had men like you, with armor and swords. But...the monastery was supposed to be protected by God.”

Orran’s jaw tightened; as he watched her, telling her tale and as she turned back to him he looked at the stream of water and let out a sigh “That is why God made soldiers… I hope for a time where girls are not taken, when my land can be safe.”

He rolled his shoulders and glanced back at her “I am sorry… For not being there.” He eyed her, focusing on the collar, wanting nothing more than to rip it from her neck. stomp it into the ground, and find a way to send whatever monster that brought her to this place straight to hell.

“God has not forgotten you.” he said softly and looked at her, feeling rage and pity what horrors has this girl gone though, he could not imagine, at least not for very long.

The Gaelic girl put the second bucket into the water, watching the water fill and staring at it as it overflowed the rim. “God has forsaken all of us. Those monsters...the draugr as the Northmen call them, they are demons from Hell. Dragging us back...”

Her fingers felt numb from the cold yet she kept her hand in the water, “I was supposed to get married next spring. My father had arranged it...he was a man with a farm of his own, I liked him. He worked hard but had a gentle smile. Now, even if I returned, I’m ruined, He would not have me now. I’m full of sin that nothing can wash away.”

Moire pulled her hand out of the water, lifting the bucket awkwardly to set it on the ground. “Don’t tell me that God will forgive, He might but people won’t.”

She touched her stomach, feeling a cramp again. Whether it was hunger or from abuse or something else. Something she feared and did not want to give thought to. Moire looked at Orran and saw the anger in his face.

“And you won’t make them change either,” she said, rubbing her hands to ease the stiffness. “Don’t look like that. If I could take up a blade with you, I would. But it’s useless. We’re trapped.”
“I agree.” He said slowly. “That we cannot make these people change, I mean… If it were up to me, I would have culled these dogs, shown them the same kindness they have shown you.” Orran spoke with a growl in his voice, the anger deep and he sighed.

“But there is a monk with me, a kindly man, like you have never seen, and truly he believes he can get to someone here, get through to them. And that gives me hope.” He glanced over her “I will not lie and say that people will not understand, but none of this was your fault. You did not ask for this nor deserve it.”

Orran scowled, the lines in his face contorting as he heard her words “Take faith, we will leave no Christian here. If we must leave, we will either take you with us, or die trying to free you from this hell, and that is a promise… But for now we must wait, there may come a time very soon, where we outnumber them.”

He took a fur gloved hand out and took hers “I am Orran, and I swear by the end of this, I will see you out of that collar… But you have to trust me. We will not leave without you. Or with any. Have faith.”

He gripped her hand gently and stood “I will not leave a kinsmen to these dogs, We will show them the power of God, when all they see in their final moments is fire and ruin.” He looked down at her intently, trying to raise spirits was not one of his strong suits, but he would try.

He looked down at her worn face; if it were not for the bruises, he had supposed she was very pretty, and that struck him hard, he snarled. His dark eyes alight, If the plan Anndrais held failed, he would enjoy cutting down these monsters.

“In the end, there will be no Hell they could run towards to escape me.”

Moire bent to pick up the buckets, feeling the strain in her back, "I almost believe you, Orran. You have a fierce look...you wear the cross but you have the look of the warriors of old. My father's markings have faded but he once bore the tribal paint as you do. Or he did. He's dead though he sent one of those heathens to Hell before he was cut down."

She paused, not wanting to return to the longhouse with the greedy, cruel men with rough hands and hard words. The two slaves that had given her some hope of resistance were gone now and all that was left were the broken ones. Seeing them was the worst because she knew one day she would have no fire left. Moire bit her lip slightly, turning toward Orran.

It was impossible but the idea would not lie down once it rose in her mind. If she could shelter with the monk and the Christian warrior, would Harald try to kill them? Would he demand payment? Most certainly he would kill her if she was given back or worse. She shook her head, her short chestnut hair flying around. It was death or going back to be a drudge until she had been used up and was a husk of a person that she once was.

"I want to come with you," she said slowly, looking him in the eye. "I want this collar off, no matter what the cost."

It was insanity, a runaway slave with nowhere to run but the desperation clawed at her as the cramping increased in her lower abdomen.

Orran looked over the woman and brought a hand up to stroke his chin; Anndrais did want to free all who were bound here, both in spirit and body, but he also downplayed it until he could get a foothold, and in the situation would likely say that the woman go back to not arouse suspicion. But this was not Anndrais.

Orran drew his sword from it’s seathe “If you are serious about this then, let’s get that ugly thing off…” He waved her to him quickly “And drop the buckets… You will be doing none of that sort, and especially not for whomever claims that one can own another.”

He eyed the woman, and felt pride and admiration. that she was one of his kin, that the fire in her eyes had not dimmed from this hellish place. Only the strong hills of Alba could produce such a strong woman in turn; and he smiled for the first time in their meeting.

Moire shot a look over her shoulder, back towards the longhouse. Her hand went to the collar, dropping the bucket, spilling the water onto the snow. The punishment for running away was harsh, either sacrifice or branding and sold to the worst sort of owner. She was certain none could be worse than Harald and if she died a sacrifice to a pagan god then she would perhaps be a martyr. She turned back to Orran, looking at his face and the dark fierce eyes and dropped the other bucket.

She moved to him and stood before him, reaching up to pull the collar out as far as she could.

“Cut it from me,” she said breathlessly.

Orran nodded; bringing the blade up, he was lucky he kept it so sharp and it was a thin blade. He brought it across the collar sliding the blade carefully along it; his face very close to hers as he concentrated intently on the collar.

After a few passes it frayed and finally fell apart; her grip the only thing holding it from dropping to the ground; and he pulled the blade away sheathing it. and glanced at her; he put his hand on her chin turning her head to look at him and met her eyes.

“Who are you?” He asked.

Moire’s stone blue eyes held his dark gaze and she stood still as he cut her free with the fine Pict blade. When the thick leather strap fell away, she rubbed the red mark on her pale throat, then kicked the collar into the stream.

“I am Moire Nic Dhomhnuill, from highlands near Loch Etive,” she said, “And you, warrior?”

Orran looked upon the woman, unable to glance away from those stone blue eyes. He managed to pull it from her and set it to his side; and listened to her speak her name, a proud name.

“That is a very proud name, daughter of Alba…” He said, his smile still on his face as he looked at her “I am Orran, I lived just north of the great glen, in the highlands, I know of Loch Etive. It is very beautiful.”

He reached out a hand and placed it on her shoulder “We will both see it again…” He gazed at her lingering a moment before pulling his hand away; and turning to the buckets she had brought and he kicked them into the stream as well, “Damned be his water…”

He smiled, “A pleasure to see you Moire. To truly see you.” he brought his hand to his chin stroking his dark stubble “We have a shelter set for us, away from the main central part of the town, privacy… Do not worry about the one I travel with, Anndrais is a monk, and a kindly man.”

Moire nodded, “I’ll need to remain hidden...Harald may have many slaves but he is not a man that takes a slight easily. I’ve seen him kill his own men over a perceived insult.”

She was about to ask where she could go when she looked over his shoulder. Moire could see black smoke billowing up and she gasped, “Fire!”

Orran smiled at her “Then we will just have to be careful won’t we?”

As she said fire he turned and saw the smoke; cursing loudly and grit his teeth, always at the worst possible time. He turned back to her.

“You must go, hide in our home…” He explained quickly the directions to get to the small place the two were staying at; and he glanced her over. “Quickly, I will see you there, if someone tries to enter by force, there are plenty of blades there… Do what you must.”

He said looking at Moire and giving her a small smile “I look forward to speaking more with you.”

She tensed, “I have to tell you, Harald took his men out...in that direction. He’s up to some devilment. Who is in charge here?”

He furrowed his brow “Someone named, Loker. up in the large house.” He said gesturing to the area “But don’t you worry about that, just get to where I told you, so that you can be out of sight for the time being…”

“Okay?” He asked looking at her eyes.

Moire nodded, “I’ll do as you say...whatever comes of it, I owe you my life, Orran of the Highlands.”

She reached out and gripped his forearm, feeling his strength, and turned to run the way he told her to go. Luckily, she had spent the better part of yesterday carrying things to Harald’s longhouse that she had found the paths that ran through the back of the fort. Moire ran as fast as she could, keeping away from where the free men and women of Trelleborg would be doing their morning chores. She slipped through a pen of goats who looked up at her curiously and barely escaped the ram taking exception to her being among them.

Moire was huffing and the cramps increased in her belly. She made it past a few villagers none who bothered to look up at a thrall running to do her master’s bidding. She found the longhouse, it was small, nearly a hut and was in need of repair. No wonder none begrudged the Christians their shelter. Moire pushed open the door and slipped into the house, barring it from the inside.

Orran watched the girl sprint off; he hoped she would get there alright; and the smile he had faded lightly, as he turned to look at the smoke; that blank face returning as he sighed; tempted to go towards the flames.

The layout of the city was still off to him, having been here for such a short time, and only with the excursions with Anndrais he did not leave their longhouse much. He grit his teeth thinking hard. If he went to the burning there would be plenty there, but if that monster’s men was on the move he’d need backup.

He laughed suddenly, asking help from the Danes? He doubted the Ragnarssons would spare any aid. But maybe the one called Loker would He had some pull; he looked towards the hall and fastened his armor making sure it was taught on him before he sprinted off towards the main hall.

He heard the men yelling and the flames as he went around trying his best to stay unseen, Lord help him if he was to be ambushed in such tight alleyways; and he made his way quickly to the main hall.

Reaching the hall he looked at the large doors; expecting more men outside was odd, but maybe the man wished to consolidate forces he strode up the stairs quickly and threw open the large doors. Expecting to see men, villagers maybe food, but it was dark. The only thing he eyed was a woman, fiery hair.

He could not mistake his eyes, it was the wife of Ragnarsson, none had hair as fiery; but she was not idle, a spear in her hands as she tried to fend off attacking draugr; He shut the door behind him; pulling out the shield and sword and sprinted towards her; with aim of crashing into the side of the approaching draugr trying to lop it’s head from it’s shoulders.

Sigrid’s spear was a whir of motion, whipping around to slam the butt against the face of one draugr and then back again to drive the spear point into flesh. Her red hair clung to the sweat of her face as she backed up, keeping the four draugr out of biting range, trying to find a fatal point on the creatures. She shouted a curse when one slipped behind her and made a grab for her skirts, it’s teeth clamping down on them.

The spear was too unwieldy to turn and use against it and she took it on one hand, making a sweep at the others who still pressed and she snatched her knife from her belt, stabbing downward into the draugr’s neck. It clung to her, she could feel the strength in it’s grip as she slashed at the tendons, the stench of the rotting black blood rising to her nose.

The draugr reared back with a roar, grabbing for her arm to bite down and she screamed in horror and rage.

Orran came swiftly pushing the dead away with his small shield. The draugr was about to sink it’s gnarled teeth into her arm and he butted it away from her as it snarled; turning slightly towards him with dead eyes long enough for the blade to come through the soft rotted flesh and through the beast's skull.

It shifted, and Orran pulled the blade out quickly as the beast dropped lifeless once more to the ground; he brought himself beside Sigrid and glanced over “What is it with you and your family that just draws me to saving you?”

Collab between Constablewarlus and Idlehands

He smiled, in truth he was less humor and more anger at the moment, as he had expected Loker to be here with men, not a single woman. But he would take the help bringing a shield up towards a draugr that came close and smashing it in the face with the blunt edge sending it backing away.

Sigrid jumped away as Orran barrelled into the draugr at her arm, looking up with surprise and no small amount of relief. With her spear she drove back the other two draugr, shooting him a glare at his comment. Now that odds were evened up she attacked and went on the offensive. She did not want to get close to the draugr and the one on her right lunged, she blocked it with the shaft and stabbed into it’s eye with her longknife, feeling it slip all the way in to the hilt.

“Perhaps Odin sent you,” she grunted, her knife lodged in the skull and she let go. Both hands on her spear she whirled around, her skirts flying and beads clattering together. Sigrid braced herself, her heart pounding and she panted with exertion. “Ravens flew this morning...”

The last draugr was in front of her as Orran’s blade took care of the other. With a war cry she gathered her strength and with two hands stabbed the spear forward into the gaping mouth of the draugr. Her thrust took the long steel spike through it’s gullet and out the back of it’s rotting skull. She leaned against the butt of the spear catching her breath, looking up with flashing green eyes at Orran, her hair hanging in her face.

“Or perhaps you just can’t stay away,” she grinned fiercely at him and yanked her spear from the dead draugr, shaking it free of the dark blood.

Sigrid approached him, eyeing the painted man, “You have my thanks again, Christian. Once this is all settled, I will see you are rewarded for your service.”

She looked him over and then at her arm, but the sleeve was in tact. Leaning the spear on her shoulder she looked at her hip and saw the rip in the wool dress. A cold wash of fear went over her.

Orran having stabbed the draugr; left the blade in as he slammed the cornered shield into it’s skull, until a sickening crack could be heard; he stepped off the Draugr kicking it in the ribs out of spite, and unlodged his blade.

He turned to Sigrid “Perhaps, I simply hunt you like a wolf.” He chuckled and wiped the blade off on his trousers; looking at the woman again “Twice it is now, by the end of the week you will be owing me thrice over at this rate…”

Orran cast a glance at her face as it seemed all color drained from it; he followed her gaze to the dress, and the large rip. He stepped towards her and knelt “Don’t act like you have just seen Christ himself, i’ll check it.” He said jokingly knowing that if Anndrais were here that would be a smack across the head with a large book.

Sigrid cut a glance at him, his stylized wolves painted on his face gave him a fearsome appearance and she smiled thinly. “Hunt me like a wolf you might not like it if you catch me.”

She tapped the bloody spear on the ground, looking at her hip where the rent in the fabric was.

“I would not fear your Christ,” she replied as she pulled at the tear, trying to see if her skin was broken.

“Turn around, Orran,” she ordered, tossing her hair back.

Orran glared up at her for a moment “You are lucky I am not like your people Sigrid… And that I simply dissuade from asking a reward from you.” His eyes tried to meet hers “Instead of taking what I think is good enough payment.”

He kept the scowl as he insulted Christ, he had no urge to debate with this woman, already she tried on his patience, and as she ordered him he stood “Why should I take any orders from you? You have no pull here.”

The meeting with the slave today really had him riled up and he was not going to take orders from a woman who owed him the life of her, and earlier her family. “You could ask, if I could turn around, or you could just swallow your pride and let me check so we could get this over with. But I do not take orders from you.”

Orran scowled at her and bit his tongue, He wanted to tell her to think, where had her husband been when her and her children were under attack, on both accounts. And what is the worth of a man, if he is not there to defend his family. But he bit back this comment though hardly, as he grunted in his throat.

Sigrid flushed with anger, seeing the look in his dark eyes, “You assume you could take your reward for me without point of my spear through your gut. I might owe you thanks but I would not pay for it by disgracing my husband.”

She took a step toward him, “I have pull here, you know who my husband is and he will be sitting in that chair very soon.”

Sigrid gestured to the Jarl’s chair that still sat next to the hearth. “I can check myself.”

Ignoring him she quickly hiked up her skirt along her right leg to check her hip. Her gratefulness for his rescue was tempered with the anger simmering from his refusal to do as she asked. As fast as she could, she looked at the where the draugr had bit her hip, a bead of sweat trickling down the back of her neck. There was two crescent marks already bruising her milky skin but no blood.

Breathing a sigh of relief, she touched them to make sure there was no breaking of the skin. “So close,” she closed her eyes briefly, letting her skirt fall back down.

Orran heard her words, and the coil snapped; he growled out, as she gestured to the chair. “You have no pull, twice today I have saved everything you care about, twice… And all you care about is that fucking chair?!” He yelled at her.

He gestured to it “You want to know what I think of your husband in that chair? A man who can’t even defend his own children? That a stranger from a land that I’m sure that monster has left plenty of children dead and burned trapped inside buildings. Oh, you deserve every last piece of hell coming to you Sigid, you and that husband of yours.”

Orran growled out loudly rolling his shoulders “Let us see how well received you are, when the only thing that kept your children alive less than a day ago, was me.” And he went to grip her spear wresting it from her grip and tossed it across the room “I will never understand why Anndrais wants to save you monsters… Too much heart and not enough sense.”

He pointed at the chair “If that is all you desire in this world, past everything that you were given…” He pointed at the Draugr “Then you deserve to be with the corpses… Enjoy your children while you have them, you will get no assistance from me anymore.” He spat at her feet, and turned to move away.

Sigrid was smoothing her skirt down when he snapped at her and before she could respond he was snatching the spear from her hand. She was not expecting it and it was out of her grip before she could tighten her fingers. Gawking at Orran as he exploded, his words making her temper rise as her face flushed pink. When he turned to walk away she reacted, storming after him, her eyes blazing green fire.

“How dare you! I’ve told you I am thankful, I’ve offered you reward but you would not take coin,” she caught up with him and got in his path. “What do you want? For me to grovel on my knees...you have my gratitude and I would reward you with nearly anything you wished for the lives of my children. You said you did not need anything but you do. You do need something, we all need it.”

She stepped closer to him, she was not much shorter than him so her eyes met his dark gaze directly. “We need to survive the winter and how long do you think we would last with Harald on that chair. If you think Ragnar is bloodthirsty and cruel, you’re in for an unpleasant surprise.”

She looked over him fiercely, her breathing was heavy from her exertion and anger. “We are not in your lands, things are different here. Our lands are harsh and unforgiving and so must we be to live here. But that is not always true.”

Sigrid bit her lower lip for a brief moment, “I love my children and I do not want to see more people die from draugr or from war. Ragnar would bring stability but not with Harald in the picture. You say your God is a god of peace? Would he not want this?”

Orran growled as she approached; and looked down at the woman with a scowl “What I want is some respect, But you mistake me, you make the mistake that I give a damn who sits in that fucking chair.”

He chuckled mostly in anger, “You think I care who pretends to lead everything here, you’re petty bickering and political scrounging for control like rats on a carcass.” He pulled from her and started to pace lightly “Oh, your husband is not a cruel man? He would bring stability?”

Orran glared at her “Stability so your… Husband, and your people…” His fists tightened and he roared at her “CAN GO BURN, KILL, AND MAIM MY PEOPLE! I WOULD RATHER SEE ALL OF THIS BURNED TO THE GROUND MYSELF WITH IT THAN TO HAVE ANYONE OF YOU SET FOOT ON MY LAND AGAIN!”

Orran growled and pointed his finger in her face “You husband is a murderer, a thief, and a rapist!” He snapped out at her “If you think I will ever forgive any of you for the pain you have caused so many? And for what? some fucking gold and some more slaves? You people make me sick… So that is what I think of your husband.”

“You can get back to me about who is cruel, when my people come to this land, steal from you, and take you on a ship chain you up, and let the men aboard have at you Sigrid.” He spit on her shoes and snarled at her “You think you know cruelty? Go fuck yourself.”

Sigrid stared at him, her lips parted slightly in shock as he shouted at her. She looked away from him when he pointed in her face, she could imagine all too well what would become of her if raiders were to sweep through. The same thing that would happen if Harald took control. She felt a cold anger rush through her veins and a small trace of shame. It was a world where the strongest survived, where men took what the wanted if they could and it left little room for sentiment but Sigrid was not so cold hearted as Orran might think. She had not wanted to think of the people that were the cost of her beads and her silver. Her fingers went to the gold bead that had come from a bishop’s rosary. She glared down at the spit on her shoes and bit back her anger.

“I do not ask for your forgiveness,” she said slowly, “But you are right...you do deserve respect. I’ve not given you the proper respect a warrior of your standing deserves because of the cross you wear. And that was wrong.”

Sigrid swallowed her bruised pride, “You hate us and I understand. If I were from your lands I would hate and fear the Northmen. It is the way of things, the Gods give to those that are strong and willing to take. But hear me, Orran and trust to this. You do not want to see Harald in that chair, even if you do not wish to see Ragnar there.”

“Please,” she said quietly. “For now, set your hatred aside and join us. You and Anndrais both, for we need allies against Harald. The Saxon has promised to aid us, though he is just a slave he looks like a man who can fight. We are few and Harald has many...”

She shook her head, brushing back her long red locks that had fallen loose, a moment of doubt and fear flickered on her fair face. Sigrid stepped toward him cautiously, keeping an eye on his blade.

“If you really feel that way why did you run in here and save me?”

Orran let her speak and looked at her hard; you would think this is the first time the woman ever had to apologise to someone and he rolled his shoulders as she stepped closer “We will join nobody, we are not on anyone’s side, because nobody is on our side…”

He growled out lightly, but as she said please he grunted “I came and saved you… Because unlike your men, I care if a child loses their mother… There is already enough of that suffering in my lands.” He eyed her carefully “ I did not do it for you, but for your children… Remember that Sigrid. While I might hate your husband, hate that you wear stolen gold and jewels, hate how everything you have gained came at the blood of innocent people… I can not hate your children.”

“Whether you take insult or comfort in that is your own dealings… But I am done, sides may change, or not. But I will have no part in either of your little war going on here. If you are that desperate for the help of a Christian, ask Anndrais. Unless he beckons me so, I will not aid you against Harald.”

He looked at her for a moment longer, lingering on the look of fear at her face “Know that if it ever comes to a point, where your children, or any of the little ones are put in danger, I will die for them. That is the only guarantee I can give, other than that. I give no allegiances to either of you.”

Sigrid nodded, her hands on her hips, taking a deep breath as she listened to him. “Fair enough. Well, they are in the other room with that huntsman. I remained here to keep the draugr away from them. So, once again, Orran you have saved mine and Hallerna’s children.”

She went over to the draugr and yanked out her knife, twisting and pulling it until it came free. Sigrid wiped it off and sheathed it, feeling her hands trembling from the adrenaline. She was quiet for a moment, not looking at him as she passed Orran to fetch her spear.

Finally she looked at him, “Thank you and I’m sorry. We would be enemies anywhere else but if you are willing to at least stand for the children, I can be grateful for it.”

She looked at the Jarl’s bedroom door where the children and Einnar hid. “Before I get them I have to ask you this. You will include Svlala and Hallerna in your defense as well? You saw what Harald did to Tora...he would do worse to any woman who has stood against him.”

Sigrid left out herself, knowing how angry the Christian warrior was at her and she would not beg his help for her personal protection. As long as Ragnar drew breath, she would ask for no other to defend her.

Orran’s face visibly softened when she mentioned the children were in the other room; and he eyed the door that held them safely inside “I…. I did not know.” He said, and as she crossed before him; he watched her slowly.

The anger was still in his features, but every moment the children were brought up it softened just a tad bit. “I protect them because I grow tired of seeing orphans, of children without mothers, who were taken aboard longboats, and never seen again.”

“You forget Sigrid, that the children who grow now, will seek terrible vengeance, twice that of the anger I feel, I can only pray God stays their hand when they seek to return the favor your people brought upon them.” He sighed out; and he raised an eyebrow “So we speak of women now, do you wish to include yourself in that list as well? Or would you not classify yourself as a mother to children? The only reason I came and protected you today with not knowing of the children behind those doors.”

He pointed at the doorway “Was because I do not wish to see any more harm come to those who are innocent, their only crime being born in a world so violent.” Orran sighed for a moment looking towards the door again, “But do not try to guilt me into anything, I gave you my only promise… But you fall under that list of women that has stood against him, remember that.”

He looked towards the door, before turning and making his way out; he did not wish to argue or talk with her anymore, every word out of her mouth he felt was trying to manipulate him, he would not fight for anyone save for those that could not fight for themselves.

Sigrid cocked her eyebrow, her lips pressing down in a line for a moment, "Of course I am a mother to children and it pains me to see those orphans or ones who lose their children. I am also a Thane's wife and that might not mean anything to you but it means that I am responsible for more than just my own get. In case you're wondering where Ragnar and Loker and the men are they are down at the healing house. The children warned us that draugr are there as they are here...they're in the village. We did not know the draugr were in the Hall when the men left."

Gritting her teeth she glared at him, trying to force herself to calm down and think. How would a man from the lands that are raided understand a Norseman's honor? She took a deep breath, Orran's words had sunk in and it was true. Their wealth came from blood and no matter how glorious battle was for a warrior as Ragnar was it did not take away the fact that it left tragedy in it's wake. It was convenient for her not to think of those things because it could so easily be done to her and her own. Vikings did not always raid the British Isles and more often than not would raid each other. How many times had she defended or hid herself and her children from marauders when Ragnar was away. Now the undead draugr were popping all over, turning people with deadly speed she knew too well. It was not a time for fighting amongst themselves.

"Orran, wait," she said after reigning in her temper and she approached him. "Look...we are much the same, you and I. We have hot blood and are stubborn...we believe in our gods and our ways. Much you say is true, about what happens...but we cannot dwell on that, it is greater than both of us. Right now, we must repel these draugr otherwise we will not need to worry about who is Jarl or surviving the winter."

Her stern lovely face softened and she rubbed her hand against her mouth. "I would not try to guilt you into anything, I am sure you have your own reasons and it is good of you to defend those that are defenseless."

Unexpected tears sprang to her eyes when she thought of how Harald's men, bidden or not, had tried to murder her children and those of Hallerna. And how her gentle slave had been taken and used, the abuse Tora had endured by that horrible man all to make a point against her and her husband that it would be Sigrid in her place if he took charge. Harald's cruelty had gone unchecked for lack of strength behind Ragnar but now he had Loker and his men. A warrior like Orran would be welcomed. She blinked them back and blew out a breath, looking at the Pict's dark eyes.

"I'll fetch the children, would you be so good as to escort us?...Please," she asked, glancing at the heavy door, unable to look any longer at the angry face of the painted man. Sigrid was a proud woman, as fiery as the color of her hair and she could be stiffnecked to a fault but she was not stupid. They needed every sword and Orran was worth at least two, Christian or not, against both Harald and the draugr..

Orran tightened his jaw as he walked away; not wanting to hear any more of what she had to say until she called out behind him; and he did not know why, but the desperation in her voice bid him to sigh and he turned to face the woman. as she explained herself, but he would not be dissuaded from his anger; and he stood scowling at her; looking into her eyes as she tried to avoid his.

"I want you to understand one thing about me Sigrid, about Anndrais... We do not do the things we do, for riches and wealth in this world, but for the change to enter the kingdom that comes in the next." He said softly; and as he stared into her eyes he saw the tears start to form. His scowl was unwavering but he could not feel too much anger as the woman fought with tears, what she was thinking about he did not know, but it was disarming to see a woman cry.

He grunted slightly; and sighed looking at her. Orran glanced over at the heavy door and then turned his gaze back to her; his face softened immensely when she mentioned the children. "You need not ask, of course I will escort you wherever you need to go." He glanced towards the door again "I am sure you understand the beauty in children, it is pure innocence, unbridled, they are like stars in the darkness to me. So much death, we get so many orphans Sigrid, and some how most of them find a way to smile through the grief."

He paused for a moment and swallowed "Go ahead and get them ready I will be out here waiting."

Collab Between IdleHands and RoadRash

Ragnar stood silent as Harald finished his rant and turned to leave. As much as it vexed him to let the goblin’s words go unanswered, he knew them for what they were; the people here had seen what had happened. They knew that Harald was only trying to make himself look virtuous, and solidify his right to rule in the eyes of his own men. The ravings of a false Thegn weren’t worth responding to, and it would do more for his cause to let the man talk and then take care of what needed to be done.

As Harald’s warriors left the burning hall, Haakon stepped forward out of the shield wall. The bloodied warrior stopped a few yards away from his Thegn and began to rhythmically beat his sword against the iron rim of his shield. A few of Harald’s warriors turned, and Haakon scanned their faces until he recognized the man who’d bashed him with the axe handle and then held a seax to his throat.

Grinning at the warrior through his crimson mask, Haakon raised his sword until it pointed directly at the man, holding it there until he turned to follow after Harald.

Ragnar turned to the task at hand.

“Loker, we need to contain this fire,” he called, his voice carrying over the flames. “This hall is too far gone to save, but we can keep it from spreading. Vigi, look over the wounded.”

As soon as the immediate threat of battle had passed, Loker yanked off his helm, the aventail jingling and shouted orders to his men to grab buckets, rags, whatever could be had to douse and smother the licking flames. There was a scramble to run for water and the housekarl stalked over to Ragnar and some of the survivors.

“This is a fool’s work,” he said, his wrath barely concealed, “Setting fire in this place is a death wish. If the damned draugr don’t finish us winter will without the longhouses. Harald’s crossed the line this time, I know for certain he gave the order.”

He cast a dark look at the black plume of smoke, his eyes narrowing in thought. What would Jarl Helge have done with an upstart like Harald? Loker chewed his lower lip, his beard bristling out and sighed. He would have killed him.

No one could claim the Jarl’s throne without a fight, Ragnar and Harald both had a right to it by sheer force. Nothing was God given among the Vikings, it was always paid for in blood. What mattered now was which sword would prevail. Ragnar was a true thegn, one who had good standing with the old Jarl but he lacked men. Harald had the men but he was also a liar and proving to be unnecessarily cruel and selfish, and burning the healing house was the last straw for Loker. Now his men, the Jarl’s men, would be for Ragnar and any others who could bear arms against the mad dwarf.

“Harald will be dealt with,” Ragnar growled, patting Loker on the shoulder with a heavy hand. “Handle this, I need to get to my family. Regroup at the Jarl’s hall when you’re finished. Ivarr, with me. Haakon, stay here. You’ve done enough for today.”

Turning, Ragnar took off at a sprint back towards the main hall, moving with the speed of rage and desperation.

((collab between RoadRash and Igraine))

Svala’s seax had made quick work of her mother’s shift, the small frown on the young woman’s face disapproving though she remained obedient nonetheless, recognizing the expediency of the moment for what it was. Hallerna nodded, a faint approving smile for her daughter as she turned silently, taking the strips-turned-bandages from Svala. There was no room for stewing over Harald’s lies, the ones he told and the ones he continued to vomit up as she wrapped the little girl’s burns so carefully. She would need fresh water as soon as they could find it, to get into Una as well as to wash her wounds. Burns made a body so thirsty - and the greater the burn, the greater the thirst.

Hallerna made to tuck her arms beneath Una, to try to pick her up and cradle the child on her unburned side, when Svala’s gasp ripped her attentions upward to her daughter’s face in an instant. All the blood drained from the young woman’s already pale cheeks, deep blue eyes wide with horror as her fingers swiftly pulled Hallerna’s attentions upward and toward that hateful little dwarf of a man, and to the thralls who were making their reports.

Draugr. There were draugr at the Hall - where she’d sent Eyja to retrieve Loker and his men.

Hallerna groaned softly in the back of her throat, her eyes shut tightly for a moment as she stood with Una in her arms, teeth bared in a helpless grimace of pain. She took a breath then, a long breath that she let out slowly, as if by this act alone she could somehow release that gut-deep thrill of terror that gripped at her now. From danger to danger to danger, from their farm to Trelleborg to the Jarl’s very own damned Hall - was there nowhere in this gods-blasted land to find even a moment’s respite?

She cursed softly, just under her breath as she pulled Una just a little closer, the small, brave girl whimpering softly. When Hallerna opened her eyes a moment later, she met her daughter’s steady gaze with her own. “Go on Svala,” she said, the two women knowing without a single word between them exactly what had to be done. Hallerna nodded toward the axe her daughter kept at her belt, and then in the direction Eyja had sprinted toward the Hall - exactly the same direction as Ragnar and his men had run a second before. But the thegn would have his own priorities, his own family to care for - all these three women had left in their world, was each other. If they did not care for their own, there was no one left in this world who would.

“Do what you have to do. Draugr or man - you get to your sister.”

Haakon grumbled as Ragnar and Ivarr took off away from the burning hall, squinting his eyes against the morning sun. His head throbbed with every beat of his heart, but it was nothing compared to the frustration he felt. The entire situation infuriated him; he’d been beaten over the head, then kicked like a dog. That, combined with his current useless state, was enough to enrage the normally stoic warrior.

I’ll cut his fucking heart out, and offer it to Odin, he thought with a grimace, slamming his sword back into its sheath. He watched Svala as she helped her mother with the bandages, the saw her sprint away after the two warriors, headed towards the Jarl’s hall and her sister. Shifting uneasily on his feet, Haakon glanced over and caught Loker’s eye, then jerked his head questioningly towards the retreating woman.

Loker looked at him a moment, then shook his head. “Go on, lad, I’ll handle this.”

With a grateful grin, Haakon shouldered his shield, then turned and ran after Svala, quickly overtaking her with his long strides. As he reached her he slowed, falling in beside her, his hand on his sword hilt to keep it from bouncing in the scabbard.

Svala heard the now-familiar jingling of armor coming up on her from behind at a swift clip, and those deep blue eyes narrowed with a rising fury. She had seen Harald and his men leave the burning healing house, heard his “offer to help” cleanse Trellesborg but felt the true threat in those words. No matter his public dismissal, Svala knew her Madir had enraged that evil, twisted dwarf of a man, and though she’d suffered nothing like poor Tora, the young woman had her own taste of what he and his men were capable of - and she’d have it no more. Draugr or man, Madir had said.

The fingers she had wrapped around the haft of her hard-won bearded axe clenched just a little tighter and, when she realized the man was on her, the young woman stopped in her tracks and whirled about with a growl. The razor edge of the axe’s blade glinted even in this wan morning light as her arm descended in a wide, swift strike.

As Haakon caught the glimmer of sharpened steel, he reacted instinctively. His reflexes had been honed by years of battle, and he ducked inwards, catching the haft of the axe on his shoulder with a grunt. Cursing, his legs scrambled briefly for purchase in the snowy muck before he plowed headlong into Svala, bringing both of them to the ground.

Recovering swiftly, Haakon reached up and grasped the hand holding the axe, pinning it firmly to the ground.

“Svala! Easy! It’s me!”

”Umphfff… “ Or some other graceless sound rather like it blew past her lips, squashed as she was beneath the weight of a fully-outfitted Danish raider. Svala’s gaze went a bit unfocused as her head smacked into snowy, mud ground. She blinked quickly, her ears picking up on the startled reassurance in that voice before she recognized the bearded, bloodied face hovering inches above her own.

The bitter cold of the frigid muck she was now embedded in began to seep through her skirts in seconds, and she shivered and blinked again. That shiver had nothing at all to do with the unexpectedly close distance of Haakon’s face just above her own.

“Thought you were… Not you… “ she managed to wheeze out, quite unnecessarily. “Gods… Did I hit you?”

Haakon rolled off of her and hauled himself to his feet with a grunt, chuckling.

“I’m harder to kill than that, Svala,” he told her, reaching down and hooking his hands under her arms and lifting her to her feet before looking her over, concern showing on his face. He’d tackled men in battle before, and been tackled himself; a warrior in mail was no light burden to have crashing into one’s chest at a run. “My apologies...I didn’t mean to scare you. Are you alright?”

Her first instinct was to deny she’d been scared at all. But that would have been both silly-sounding and an enormous lie, and Svala let it go as easily as Haakon set her back to her feet, lightly as a babe just learning to walk might be by his Madir’s hands. She did not miss the oddly gentle humor and concern that, strangely enough, did not seem so out of place on his poor, already beaten and bruised face. Svala could not help the wide smile and the small, warm laugh that bubbled up.

“Oh no, I’m fine,” Svala spoke quick reassurance, though she took a deep breath nonetheless. No, no ribs broken she could tell, probably just a lasting bruise or two. She’d survive.

“And I’m sorry for trying to bury an axe in you! But what are you doing here Haakon?”

Shrugging, Haakon adjusted the shield hanging on his back and gestured vaguely in the direction of the Jarl’s hall.

“Ragnar needs me, regardless of what happened outside the healing house. I’m sore, not dead. Besides, I couldn’t have you running around alone, axe or no axe. Harald’s men are scum, and I guarantee they aren’t going to be too particular about telling innocent people from draugr.”

He crossed his arms, giving her an approving look. “Nice strike, though. We can work on your form a bit, but if I’d been one of Harald’s rabble you’d have split my head like a melon.”

Svala’s now mud-spattered face beamed far brighter than the listless morning light at Haakon’s praise, qualified as it was. “Well this might be the first time in my life, I’m glad my form was imperfect,” she quipped, the little half-tilt at the corner of one lip speaking to the jest in her words.

But her gaze followed Haakon’s gesture toward the Hall, and the sudden cloud of worry dimmed the playful light in her deep blue eyes. “We should hurry,” Svala said through the sudden lump in her throat. Thoughts of the draugr and the threat of Harald’s men around every turn between here and the seat of the Jarl sent a shiver of dread down the young woman’s spine. Svala wrapped her arms about herself, steadying and warm against her troubled heart and the frigid wet cold of her muddied clothing.

“Thank you Haakon,” she said softly, turning to look up to his sincere face. “Thank you for coming after Ragnar - and thank you for coming after me too.”

Haakon’s eyes narrowed, and he nodded once, bending to retrieve Svala’s axe. He flipped it once in his hand, admiring the weight and balance of the weapon, then spun it and offered it to her, butt-first.

“You’re welcome, Svala. I’d have it no other way. Come on, let’s go. I’m right behind you.”

“Better than on top of me,” Svala teased just loud enough for the raider beside her to hear as she took the offered axe, and began to sprint again toward the Hall.

Cradling the child Una in her arms, Hallerna watched her eldest daughter sprint after the path of her youngest. Only those deep blue eyes reflected her troubled depths as she stood, straight and strong before she turned away. Her gaze flickered toward Loker, his helm and aventail removed now as he ordered his men to attend to the fires. He spoke with one of Ragnar's warriors, the one who Svala had spoken with before everything went straight to Hel; the one who'd been beaten bloody by a pack of Harald's curs, nearly having his throat slit for his troubles trying to save little Una.

Hallerna's breath caught, an incredulous little smile on her lips as she watched the young raider sprint after Svala himself, battered and bruised and hurting as he had to have been. She let loose a breath she hadn't even known she was holding as he dashed after her eldest daughter. The tempest of worry and fury and despair raging in her gut was almost instantly tempered with a thankfulness that nearly undid all her hard-won self-control. Right there, in the middle of a muddy, bloodied dirt path in Trelleborg, with the fires of the healing house still burning and the threat of a vicious, ambitious man and his paid hordes still lurking about every corner, Hallerna very nearly burst into tearful sobs of gratitude that one man this sad, smoke-filled morning would take the time to watch over her daughter.

But she did not. Could not. This was neither time nor place for self-indulgent tears, and Hallerna simply blinked quickly until the pinprick pains passed, and she took a deep breath. Her eyes sought out Loker where he stood, knowing now that it was his assent that sent the young raider after Svala. And whether he saw her or not, Hallerna smiled her gratitude to him, wide and genuine and bright as the sun that simply refused to shine through the dark, dreary clouds this morning.

Though the thegn Ragnar did not give her a specific order about what needed doing at the moment, Hallerna truly did not need one. She knew where her skills were more urgently needed for the moment, at least. She turned from the men scrambling with their buckets and rags to the seidrmadr, who was busy tending to the wounds of the others who escaped the healing house and the draugr. Hallerna gently kissed Una on the unburned skin of her forehead, a soft reassurance as she strode toward Vigi.

"Hello again, seidrmadr," she said softly over his shoulder. "It seems the gods enjoy throwing us together at the very worst of times - one day I should like to simply sit with you for a supper, or even a cup of mead. Do you think you might divine the coming of that beautiful day, Vigi?"

Hallerna laughed softly, though there was precious little true humor in the sound. "The girl's been tended to," she said, hugging Una tenderly for a moment longer, "And if you've no objections, I will take her with me and the girls when all of this... "

Hallerna's gaze encompassed all the unthinkable, senseless destruction that had been wrought this morning. "Has died down. I can set her down for a moment though, and help you with the rest of the wounded. I'm afraid though, I've no bandages at all but what Svala made with my shift for little Una, and precious little else as well."

She could not help but turn her gaze again toward the crisping shell of the healing house, knowing very well the incalculable loss in healing supplies that had gone up in a haze of black smoke, along with the draugr. The cost of this folly seemed endless, particularly for the seidrmadr - the healing house was not only a place of rest and succor, but Vigi's home as well. And the beating he'd taken had to have drained him as well after only just returning from beyond the walls, searching for the young Jarl.

"Where can I help best? Only just say the word, Vigi."

(Collaboration between ConstableWalrus and KuroTenshi)

Healing house, Trellenborg

It was when Harald left that the adrenaline started to fade from his system, even with the threat of Draugr in the fort. For one brief moment he had thought the troll was going to be the reason for his death, but it appeared he was wrong.

Never before had he been so happy to have misread a vision.

But as the threat and adrenaline faded he became aware of every ache and pain in his battered, cold and tired body. He resisted the urge to wrap his arms around himself for warmth now that he didn’t have his cloak and ignoring the pounding headache behind his heavy, scratchy eyes nodded to Ragnar’s order.

Though he had no supplies to do more than look over the injuries and take note of them. He couldn’t even bind them with bandage.

Vigi turned his gaze toward the burning healing house and felt pure rage crash through him like a wave against a cliff. All of their medicinal supplies, all that they had for the winter. Gone. Because of the foolishness of a madman, they were doomed to a winter of illness. He knew that the Great Hall must have some healing supplies, but it hadn’t been as well stocked as the burning building before him.

Harald would pay. He would not allow that man to continue his reign of terror on their lives.

Turning away from the fire he forced himself to move and see to those that escaped the healing house. It was not good for the sick and wounded to be forced out into the cold after such an ordeal.

The first woman he approach looked at him with wide eyes and recoiled from him, making him pause in surprise. “I am fine.” She said before covering her mouth when she began to cough vigorously.

“You do not sound fine.” Vigi responded, frowning down at her. He could see she was flushed with a fever but it didn’t seem like anything too serious. “Get away from the smoke and find somewhere warm to take shelter and rest.”

She nodded slowly and Vigi moved on to the next person, but the man outright told him to stay away.

Vigi gritted his teeth and hoped that he was being turned away because of the draugr blood staining him and not for what Harald had said.

He jerked when Hallerna spoke to him, momentarily lost in his frustrated thoughts. “Unless you’ve a hidden stock of medicinal supplies there is precious little that can be done.” Vigi snapped at the woman, gritting his teeth when his gaze once again landed on the burning healing house. He clenched his hands into fists and let out a heavy breath through his nose to try to calm down. “I’m sorry Hallerna.” He muttered, pressing a black stained hand to his forehead and rubbing it to try and soothe his bounding head. “Just...speak with the survivors of this,” he waved to the fire. “Latest bout of madness. See what ails them at the least because they will not speak with me. I’ll go see if I can help elsewhere.” He turned to face the burning building and wrapped an arm around his torso to try to ease the pain in his ribs as he walked.

Loker’s men were getting the fire under control so his assistance was not needed and there was no way for him to fight draugr as he was. Standing briefly in the frigid winter air he felt his anger drain and exhaustion start to take hold. There was nothing he could do but get out of other’s way and tend to his own injuries.

His eyes landed on the red haired slave sprawled in the snow and sighed before approaching Anndrais. “I know you care little for our ways,” He began and nodded his head to Robbie. “He will not survive for long in this cold with that head injury. He may be safer at your housing. I can help you take him there if you need it and if you have any medicine or herbs I would like to see them.”

Anndrais sat in the snow still panting lightly; he felt tired, oh did he feel tired, he just wished to go and lie down somewhere and sleep. But he knew he could not, and he rose up and grunted slightly as he stood and looked about; Tora was taken care of as was the little girl, and he wiped his brow trusting The Priest to do that for him.

He looked around for Orran and mused slightly to where he was but he paid it no mind. The pict could take care of himself and he slowly walked over to where his bow lay still on the ground with the small sized quiver; and he leaned over to pick it up.

Vigi frowned when he was ignored and raised his voice to get the man’s attention, “Monk!”

Anndrais looked up sharply; the large bags under his eyes noticeable as he glanced over at Vigi “Terribly sorry… My mind is scrambled at the moment.” He sighed gripping the bow tightly and glanced at Robbie.

“I cannot do much, I am sure the Ragnarssons, would not wish the slave to be taken away from their care, maybe they’ll just rub stones on him.” He rolled his eyes “I can do little without upsetting them, and I cannot risk it. Not right now… Unless we drag him to their home, and I can do what I can.”

He did not wish Robbie any harm, but he could not bring him to the small longhouse Orran and Anndrais shared; not only was it too dangerous for the pict there, but he was sure it would upset Ragnar, and at the moment he wished little to do with any of them. His first instinct was to help, but he could not openly help; He knew that he had to play the situation carefully.

“They view him as property if I were to take him, even into my care, they would demand him back, and I can only move him once. It would be even worse to move him a second time.”

The Christian look as tired as Vigi felt and he resisted the urge to rub his eyes because of the dry, cursed blood on his hands. “You are correct that you taking him may incur their wrath.” Vigi raised both of his eyebrows and tried for a grin. “However I am placing him under my care, after all Ragnar asked of me to look after the injured.” He waved his hand in the direction he walked from. “However they will have nothing to do with me at the moment and he would appreciate a man such as myself looking after his property.” He looked back over to the slave. “I am in no better shape than you though at the moment, so whichever is closer that is where we should take him. I’ve no clue where the Ragnarson household is though just as I don’t know where you are staying.”

Anndrais sighed heavily and rubbed his chin “I cannot take him in, in your care or no, it causes too many problems… And I do not know where the Ragnarsson’s live.” He bit back a curse, he hated having to do this but he could not risk having anyone but Orran in the home.

Even having another Christian was dangerous, the less people came and went through the small broken Longhouse the better. He paced slightly, he was tired, oh by heaven was he tired. and he glanced over at Robbie and rolled his jaw “I do not know what to do, I cannot hold him, I have no space, and it is far too dangerous to move him twice incase they change their minds.”

“Nor can we simply leave him in the snow…” Anndrais clenched his jaw, slowly grinding his teeth as he thought; and paced lightly “The only way I see is the Ragnarsson claim to own this man, then he should be treated in their home.”

“Neither of us know where that is though.” Vigi felt his earlier anger and frustration returning as he watched Anndrais pace. “Curse my softness for slaves.” Vigi muttered under his breath, running a hand over his jaw and feeling the sharp bristle of stubble against his fingers. “With the fort crawling with Draugr we can not simply stumble about looking for the correct longhouse.” He sighed and rolled his neck. “Seems the best that can be done is borrow some blankets and furs from neighboring homes and wrap him in warmth but leave him where he is until someone comes to claim him. I can watch over him until then.” He was useless for anything else.

Anndrais ran his palm over his head; shaking out some of the ash that was on his face; and he sighed walking back and forth. Rubbing his temple, and gritting his teeth, He could not be at the longhouse the entire time; there was no way he could stay and watch the man and get stuff done.

“Then what of the other wounded then? Are they all to be stored in the space I have?” He snapped a bit frustrated at the situation and being put on the spot. “I cannot look after the man all day and night… He would need a full time caregiver.” Anndrais kept up his swift pacing; frustrated, he never did like it when things were thrown into his plans. And this was not expected nor wanted, he just wished to keep low, if they needed to play he wanted to have ears and eyes turned away from the shelter, not draped over it like it was ablaze.

Anndrais sighed again, and stopped looking out at the Buildings before back to Vigi “Orran knows where the Ragnarsson’s are… We find Orran, he can take us to the longhouse, and we can treat Robbie there.”

“Anywhere else is too much of a hazard for him, and for myself and Orran… I do not trust the Ragnarssons to be civil if they find the man they claim is property missing.” He rubbed his forehead harshly and his pacing starting up again. He did not know what to do, the careful planning was nothing if they did not have someplace private, but to many eyes, to many ears would be upon him and Orran if they did this.

(Collaboration between ConstableWalrus and KuroTenshi)

Healing house, Trellenborg

Vigi blinked and moved in front of Anndrais to stop his pacing, holding up a calming hand. “You are exhausted. You did not hear me clearly, also you are rambling.” He motioned to himself. “I said that I would stay here and look after him. I understand that you do not wish to get involved in our politics and I apologize for nearly dragging you into it. You do not need to do anything if you don’t wish to. I only wanted your help to move him, but if there is no where to move him to then I do not need your assistance. As I said I will look after him until someone comes back to claim him. You needn’t do anything, except perhaps try to rest. I know that seems impossible but you should try.”

Anndrais rubbed his head and sighed; and simply listened to Vigi as he spoke; and he replied “I am not saying I do not wish to help; simply that I can’t keep him in our shelter… I will be helping you treat him Vigi. And I will also be helping you move him…”

He went to Robbie and leaned down looking over him “We lift him; start moving down the way, and start asking anyone where the Ragnarson hold is, We don’t stop until we find it, someone in this damned place must know where they live.”

“If the doors locked, we break in, simple as that…” He said and waved him over “Now comon, lets get him up… Careful of the wound.”

Vigi furrowed his brow and moved over to join Anndrais on Robbie’s other side. “You are a good man, monk, if a bit stubborn.” He said, his lips ghosting into a bit of a smile. “But such is the way of man.” He shrugged and winced when it pulled at his ribs. At least one of his ribs was cracked it felt like. Thankfully he could pull one of Robbie’s arm over his shoulders and not have him bare his weight down on his injured side. He did so, trying his best to not jostle the slaves head too much.

Anndrais hefted, and he mused silently thanking himself for keeping in good shape and that Robbie was lighter than Wilfred. He had one arm over his shoulder the other wrapped about Robbie’s waist keeping him up.

“Okay… Let’s head down the hill, ask anyone you see where the Ragnarsson longhouse is, the quicker we can find it and get in the better. Hopefully get the fire started, and i’m sure they have something we can use as bandages.” He huffed slightly as they walked as quick as they could manage without slipping down the slight hill.

“Get water on a boil once we get inside, did you have any supplies in your home? Or am I going to make a run for my medicines?” He said harshly “I don’t want any stones rubbed on him or anything of that sort, we will treat him quick and easy, give him something for the pain and stop the bleeding. Then we hope he wakes up with half a mind left.”

He glanced at Vigi “Understand?” He knew his tone was harsh but he could not help it, he had not wanted to be rude but he was sure it came off that way, he grunted making sure he had a strong grip on Robbie, trying to take most of his weight. He would say sorry once Robbie was safe somewhere.

“This experience will go a lot smoother if you did not treat me as though I am your enemy monk.” Vigi grunted, the walking and carrying putting more strain on his battered body than he had originally thought it would. “Also my home is currently on fire as are a large portion of my supplies.” He snapped back at Anndrais. “I’ve something on me that should help though.” He muttered, turning to focus on the ground as they walked so he wouldn’t fall.

Anndrais rolled his eyes “You are not my enemy, I am just carrying most of him, trying to find a damn home in the middle of this Cursed place…” He grunted out moving and keeping his footing steady “As for your home, sorry. I am sure someone will take you in.” He hissed out, lightly in retort.

“What? actual medicine? Or some remedy from your gods? Because if it isn't medicine I care little what is in your pockets.” he snapped out, he was simply frustrated and when Robbie was down and settled he would apologise, but the frustration had settled in with the entire business.

“But it matters not, we have to be almost there…” he said as the ground leveled beneath them, making it easier to hold Robbie.

Vigi laughed bitterly. “Yes, I’m sure many will be jumping at the chance to give me shelter after today.” He muttered. “Also do not doubt the power of my gods and I shall not doubt the power of yours.”

His attention quickly shifted when he saw a man sprinting toward the smoke of the healing house. “You!” Vigi shouted, making him stop. “Do you know where the Ragnarsson’s longhouse is?” He barked out, the question coming out more as a demand.

The man blinked and Vigi could see that he seemed to be in a daze of sorts, most likely shock from whatever he was running from. He pointed down another path and mumbled out directions that Vigi could barely hear. Vigi nodded. “Thank you.”

He nodded numbly and continued running. Vigi briefly wondered what the man had seen to put him into such a state and he hoped that he didn’t see it himself. “Let’s go.”

Anndrais watched as the man ran off; he cared little but for the one in his arms “We have little time, we must hurry, I pray the door is open.” He tightened his grip and quickened his pace a tad bit enough to make more of a rush, but to not let Robbie’s head swing.

His arms ached, he was sure Vigi was in much more pain after the beatings he took, he would have a look at him once robbie was settled, and he kept up the pace eventually reaching the Ragnarsson longhouse.

“Come, lets get inside quickly.”

Vigi nodded, a bit uneasy with breaking into the longhouse of such a strong, high ranking man but hopefully they would be understanding. He released Robbie and moved to the door, the cold seeping into him as he fumbled with the lock until he could get the door open. “You lay him down and cover him, I’ll get a fire started.” Vigi said, stepping into the dark longhouse and making a beeline to the smoldering fire pit in the center.

Anndrais dragged Robbie into the room; and laid him down on the floor. He rushed towards the sleeping benches and started to grab the furs and throw them upon the ground before moving Robbie once more onto the furs and wrapped him in them.

He looked up and eyed Vigi “Get that fire started quick… He’s wrapped.” He said looking around, and saw the privacy curtain, and went to it, tearing some of the cloth from the bottom, and started to rewrap the bloody wound “This will work for right now until I can get something better… Hows that fire coming Vigi?”

“It’s going.” Vigi grunted after sparking a small fire into the kindling. “I’ll start boiling some water for cleaning.” He started to push himself up the movement caused a sharp stab of pain to rip through his side. He hissed sharply and fell back onto his knees, breathing heavily through his gritted teeth and wrapping his arm around his side. Vigi shut his eyes tight and tried to push past the pain, embarrassment burning through him at displaying such weakness in front of a stranger.

Anndrais looked up at the man and grit his teeth “Just hold it together for a few more moments Vigi, and i’ll treat you… Just last another minute.” He said and stood making sure that Robbie’s head was slightly elevated and he went to Vigi and looked him over for a moment.

“Is it in your ribs? Go lie down, now I’ll take care of the boiling, there has to be some medical supplies in this house we could borrow…” He looked at the bloody man kneeling before him “Now go, Lie down, i’ll get the hot water ready and you can wash that blood off you.”

Vigi sucked in a deep breath and lifted his head to look up at the Christian. “I’m fine.” He grunted, slowly forcing himself to uncurl from the floor and he grabbed onto a sleeping bench to help him stand. “You needn’t worry about me.” He said, eyes hard with stubbornness as he gingerly kept one arm around his torso.

Anndrais rolled his eyes “Curse you and your stubborn pride, As someone who knows medicine, please go lie down, and i’ll finish this.” He pointed to the bench “Or at least sit down, if you tumble and make yourself worse then i’m out of help to heal him.” And he drew his finger to Robbie, “Now sit down and i’ll get everything ready.”

Vigi opened his mouth to protest but stopped himself. As much as he loathed to admit it, Anndrais was right. “Very well.” He relented with a heavy breath and slowly sat down on one of the benches. He ran his hand through his hair and began the tedious task of removing all the decorative beads woven into the pale strands. Some of which were stained black from Dragur blood.

Anndrais nodded “Good, now i’ll set this to boil, we’ll clean him up, then yourself and i’ll make a run to get supplies, or search this place… Again you best do the explaining if they happen to come home.” and he hauled the pot over the fire setting it to boil.

Vigi nodded in agreement, carefully setting his beads to the side so he wouldn’t lose any. “I agree, surprisingly enough.”

(Collaboration between ConstableWalrus and KuroTenshi)

Ragnarsson Household, Trellenborg

Vigi finished removing his beads and placed them into the pouch that also held his coins. He glanced over to Anndrais starting to boil water, the Christian was far larger than him and seemed on edge. He didn’t know much about the man, including whether or not he’d attack him if he felt threatened.

However the two of them were completely alone and there were questions he needed answer.

He gripped onto a beam and used it to hoist himself up then he made his way over to the door. Opening it he cautiously stuck his head outside and looked around. There was not a soul in sight, no chances of them being overheard.

Vigi slowly shut the door, but stayed there a moment to collect his resolve for this conversation. “What do you know of seidr, monk?” He asked, turning around and heading back to the sleeping bench to sit down. “What do you know of people like me? Of our powers?”

Anndrais looked up from tending to Robbie, watching him walk to the door and he frowned, he should be sitting down not looking outside. He grumbled to himself “Fool…” And when he actually spoke to him he glanced up.

He could hardly hide the smile “You are a healer, you have mentioned that your kind have visions, you are like the Druids that used to be prevalent in my land before the conversion to Christianity, save not running nude into the glens chanting madly saying that you are possessed by the spirit of an animal.”

He chuckled, and he snorted slightly at the mention of powers “Powers? Vigi, if I thought you had any actual power, I would be worried for your soul… But I doubt you have anything past a rudimentary knowledge of the native plants and some healing techniques.” He glanced over at him “No offence of course.”

Vigi pressed his lips together and rolled his eyes. “I can’t even feel insulted by you. I know far less of your god and his magic, at least you have somewhat of an understanding of mine.” He arched an eyebrow. “Even though you chose to believe it does not exist.”

“I do have visions though. Sometimes it is visions of the future…” He trailed off for a moment before slowly leaning forward, bracing his elbows on his knees and looking Anndrais straight in the eye. “Other times it is of the past. When I was outside the walls searching for the young Jarl, Odin, our Alfather graced me with a vision of the origin of this curse.” He paused to let that sink in and study Anndrais’s face. He hoped he would not be scoffed at. “Monk, Anndrais. This curse is the doing of your people, of the Christians.” He gingerly leaned back and held up his hand. “Please do not think I am accusing you or your people of such evil purposefully. After all it was my people’s bullheaded raiders that brought the damned curse to our land.”

He shook his head, trying to dispel the slaughter he had witnessed. “Let me explain what I was shown. I saw raiders pillaging a church, a Christian church and when they moved to the basement...Inside of a heavily locked room was the ancient remains of a draugr, dressed as one of your holy men. The raiders broke open the door and one of them was bitten before the draugr was killed. We now know that when a man is bitten, the curse moves to him. Obviously the raiders did not know this and brought the man back and then this,” He waved his hand toward the walls of the longhouse. “Happened.”

“I will keep this information to myself, only one other man knows this and he has agreed to hold his tongue. He isn’t a raider and he does not appear to hate your people.” He frowned slightly as his mind strayed to the dark haired hunter, Einnar. He’d been a great source of comfort when he’d awoken from his nightmarish vision, acting as an anchor to keep him grounded in reality. He hoped the man was well. “I just wish for answers Anndrais. Do you know anything of this? I spoke to that giant slave, Wilfred I believe, and he said he was a priest but he claimed that this magic that brings the dead to life is not of your religion. Was he lying to me or did he simply not know?”

Anndrais sighed and he grit his teeth, the constant explanation of this was going to drive him mad; and he looked up at Vigi “I should be used to that comment by now, Vigi Christians hold no magic, no power, save faith, and the entrance into God’s grace once we pass from the world. There is no magic, no spells or curses.”

When he spoke that Christians were to blame he frowned his brow narrowed “You dare accuse Christians of bringing this upon you? Absurd!” He said and stood up “If anything your people brought this upon yourselves. This is dark magic, evil in the purest form.”

His voice was rising Anndrais could not help it, but he had begun to shout “This is nothing of God, whatever breed this is evil, there is no soul left in these husks… They are just walking boxes, only hunger dwells in those eyes now, any humanity or soul there was departed once they passed from the world.”

He glared at Vigi “So no, it did not come from Christians you are very mistaken… and if it did, how has this never happened before? Rome would have known about it, it would have been everywhere! News travels throughout the world not just where you lay your head Vigi.”

He grit his teeth, and rolled his jaw “There is nothing in our scripture or text, that involves raising the dead, only one could do something like that and that is God on high, and he never did evil, and he did not reanimate a husk, to eat and gnaw and gnash, whatever plague befalls you is not of our God.”

He spit at the mans feet, and sat back down to care for robbie again not wanting to see Vigi’s face, for fear he’d strike him.

Vigi had known the monk would be outraged with the information, and he couldn’t stop himself from flinching when Anndrais stood, sure that a fist would be coming toward his head. Thankfully no such thing happened and he had to remind himself to stay calm as the man ranted and raved. Having them both angry and shouting at each other’s throats would solve nothing.

“I did not wish to anger you.” He said after letting silence stretch for a long while. “I do not want to blame you or your god of anything to merely make myself feel better. When Odin showed me that vision I was relieved because I thought that you would have the answer to how this could happen and how it can be stopped.” He hung his head slightly and shut his eyes. “Because in our legends, the only way a draugr can be stopped is to be defeated by mighty warriors in battle. No magic can work on them, no charms or spells can be cast to make them truly dead. I thought that because this originated with another religion that some magic could be used against them to break this curse. But if you speak the truth, and I know you are, then it seems we’ve only that option. To fight them.”

He opened his eyes and looked down at the rivers of dried black blood running down his hands. “I will try my magic, see if anything can be done. I will speak to the gods themselves if I must.” He lifted his head to look at Anndrais again. “I apologize, truly I do. I did not mean to offend you or anger you. I promise to keep this information to myself, I will take it to my grave.”

Anndrais sighed and rubbed his brow he suddenly felt really tired, the entire day starting to sink in and he let out a large sigh “Nothing can stop them save a blow to the head… We’ve learned that by now. And thats better than anything…”

He didn’t think he had ever felt this exhausted, emotionally or physically he just wanted to sleep but he knew that was not possible, and he rolled his shoulders “I do not wish to fight with you, but I have never heard of such a thing. If it is the work of someone it’s the work of Evil, not of my God.”

And he leaned back, to tired to argue about charms or spells or magic. and he let out another sigh “Christian’s do no possess magic, or spells… We do not curse others and even if we had the power to we would not, as easy as that would solve many problems with your people, this is no work of any Christian.”

He sighed and again rubbed the bridge of his nose “Anyway, sit down. Get some rest, I’ll bring you some water and a cloth and you can wash that blood off.” He looked up to eye Vigi “Our God is one of peace, love, forgiveness… Whomever caused this to happen. He was no true Christian, but a monster as much as these things are.”

“That we can agree upon.” Vigi nodded, leaning against a post and shutting his eyes as he waited for the water to boil.

When it was done he carefully pulled off his blood soaked tunic and tossed it to the side, wanting the tainted cloth as far from him as possible. After snooping around he found the soap easy enough and began scrubbing as hard as he could, hoping he was in no danger of becoming cursed himself.

“You should sit and rest yourself Anndrais.” He said before splashing water onto his face to rinse it off. “You ran into a burning building after all. I can give you a thorough check up in a minute. My rib is bruised or cracked, but not broken. There is not much that can be done with it save let it heal with time and take something for the pain.” Washing his hair was a bit of a feat but he managed it and when he was finally clean he picked up the bucket filled with the cursed water and carried it outside to dump into the snow.

He left it out there and hoped again Ragnar did not take their heads for what they were doing. Luckily if he was angry, Vigi had a way to placate the warrior.

Still not wanting to push his luck he borrowed one of the slave’s tunics to cover himself and turned to Anndrais, feeling a bit better in mood now that he was clean. “So have you any injuries yourself?” He asked, motioning for him to sit on one of the benches before taking a seat himself.

Anndrais waved him off “I am perfectly fine, and I can take care of myself… I know Medicine you know, I am fine.” He breathed out a sigh “Thank you though, i’m just exhausted, and can’t wait to get back to the longhouse, and fall asleep on my books.”

(Collaboration between ConstableWalrus and KuroTenshi)

Ragnarsson Household, Trelleborg

He took a cloth from the boiling water; before Vigi could take it, and he started to clean the wound around Robbie’s head, pulling off the bloodied dressing and giving him a fresh one; he rolled his shoulders and sighed “Not much more we can do, other that hopefully if he does wake up he’ll be all there upstairs…”

He ground his teeth together slightly, looking over Robbie before glancing at Vigi “I will be fine, no injuries, just tired and sore, By morning i’ll be good enough.” Having laid Robbie’s head down lightly he stood again and rolled his shoulders cold in the thin undershirt “I hope Tora is alright, at least she will be warm, she has my robe.” He shuddered lightly and went towards the fire.

“The only thing keeping my eyes open is my own bullheaded stubbornness.” Vigi smirked, watching Anndrais critically. After all he had attempted to brush aside his own injuries. He understood, there was always a bit of embarrassment for a healer when they were hurt and were the ones that needed caring. “And fear Ragnar will be less than happy with discovering us here.”

He watched Anndrais roll his shoulders for what must’ve been the hundredth time and stood up. “I can help with the soreness.” He offered, approaching him and resting his hands on his shoulders. “I’ve no stones but hands work just as well to ease sore muscles.” He joked, rubbing his thumbs where he felt a giant knot in Anndrais’s shoulders.

Anndrais sighed “Of course, but there is little we could do he leaned forward slightly warming up near the fire wishing he had his robe, and he thought of Tora, hoping she was alright. And wishing he had her here was well, not that he did not trust Wilfred, but he simply wanted his patient nearby.

That thought was soon interrupted by the feeling of Vigi’s hands on his shoulders his thumbs pressing into the knot’s on his shoulders and Anndrais immediately shook him off and turned holding his hands up “I said i’m good… Please don’t touch me. No offense and all, but I don’t quite feel comfortable having you rub my shoulders.”

“Just a bit awkward, where I come from that usually is what a woman does for a man, so if you would, please don’t It makes me feel terribly awkward.” He said looking at the mans very feminine features and grimacing as if someone struck him with an awful thought.

He turned again towards the fire “Again no offense, but i’ll feel better when I start reading… You need to sit, you might have something broken the way you were limping.” He sighed glad of not having the man’s hands on him.

He made a face like he had an awful taste in his mouth; reminded him to much of the Greek’s. and he shuddered at the thought. he lifted his head and turned “Now lie down or sit down, no more of it.” He said turning to look down at Vigi trying not to laugh “Simple misunderstanding of culture I assume… You know if you all practice that you do remind me of the Greek’s, most are now gone, but the tomes on how they used to live? Very… Interesting to say the least.”

Vigi blinked watching the larger man ramble and grow all flustered over one touch. He bit his lip to keep him grinning or laughing. He put his hand on his hip, drumming his fingers against his waist. “Usually it’s a woman that performs seidr as well.” He said. “We believe that women have a special connection with our gods and magic. On rare occasions though a man such as myself takes the role if we have the same talent as they do.” He leaned back against a post and watched Anndrais’s back with a smile curling on his lips.

He’d had enough of life and death tension hanging over his head. Time for a bit of fun.

“It’s also rare for a man because some spells require a vigorous bout of sex to perform with the seidrmadr taking the traditional place of the seidkona.” He stated bluntly.

Anndrais nodded “Then you were gifted with an odd profession then…” He said, and watched him as he leaned against the post and as vigi similed he raised an eyebrow “what is so funny?” And as he spoke Anndrais’s eyes went wide.

“That is…” He caught awkwardly, wishing suddenly he was somewhere else “Interesting I guess” He shifted slightly and looked away really not wanting to make eye contact with the man “Well, good for you I guess.”
He chuckled awkwardly “Well, you should still sit, your rib must be killing you, and I should go grab that medicine… You know, for the patient and all.” And Anndrais slowly made his way to the door.

Vigi wanted to burst out laughing after seeing the look on the Christian’s face. Keeping in his laughter hurt his rib but he didn’t care. “Wait.” Vigi called out to stop him reaching behind him for a large fur pelt and a blanket from the sleeping benches. “You shouldn’t go outside without some covering.” He said moving to stand in front of Anndrais so he could drape the blanket and then the pelt over his shoulders. “Wouldn’t want you to freeze to death.” He smiled, looking up at him from under his pale eyelashes.

“I hope you don’t judge us too harshly for that particular tradition. But some of the greatest power in the world comes to you when you give up complete control and let things grow...wild.” His voice dropped down a couple of octaves and he ran a hand briefly down Anndrais’s chest as though he were smoothing the folds in the blanket before he stepped away.

Anndrais, looked back “Listen I don’t need the blankets, the land I come from is just as cold and harsh, it’s a short walk from here…” And as Vigi kept putting on the blankets and furs Anndrais grit his teeth “Enough Vigi.”

He was about to speak how he did not judge him for whatever they must do, when he felt the hand roll down his chest and him speak of things growling wild. Anndrais immediatly shrugged off the blankets and furs tossing them to Vigi.

“Please, do not do that…” He shuddered “That is awkward, and I think you are messing with me, God only hopes you are. This is just to awkward, go sit down and rest your rib this is the last time I will say it. I will be back shortly with the medicine.”

He pushed him aside roughly and opened the door the chill coming in and he turned back “And next time, I would warn you to not do that jest with Orran, he would have really messed up your face for that hand down the chest…” Anndrais gestured to his own bearded face and made a snapping motion at the nose. “Blood would have been everywhere, you are lucky I am more even tempered.” And with that he made his way to walk out.

Vigi allowed his face to split into a grin when Anndrais turned his back to him. He was pushing his luck, but this was way too much fun. He would not deny that when he felt like it he could be as mischievous as Loki himself. “My, my you sound awfully defensive. Are you hiding something dear monk?” He asked, sitting down and crossing his legs casually, still grinning like a satisfied trickster. “I did nothing more than tell you about my occupation and offer you something to keep you warm. You seem to be balking a lot over nothing.”

Anndrais stopped and he growled out “You are lucky again, I have a good temperament, but it has it’s limits… Just please, get some rest i’ll be back.” and he glanced back “Perhaps you could share that little bit of information with Ragnar hmm? I do not think you’d survive after pulling that stunt Vigi. I would urge you caution.”

He sighed and stepped out into the cold and shuddered closing the door behind him and rolled his eyes, that was just plain weird he mused, and trudged off to his and Orran’s temporary shelter where he kept the supplies.

Vigi could not keep in his laughter anymore and he let it ring out, laying back on the benches and wrapping an arm around his torso. Oh it hurt to laugh. It really did but he didn’t care. He hadn’t laughed like this in a while and it felt good even if it hurt and it was pretty damn rotten of him.

Of course he wouldn’t have tried something like that with a warrior, especially one with a bad temper. Normally he wouldn’t have done something like that at all with someone like Anndrais who probably capable of picking him up and throwing him. But the Christian’s face had been priceless and watching him sputter and get all flustered was hilarious. Plus he could tell Anndrais wasn’t as volatile as his partner probably was, so he knew it safe to push the man a bit.

He finally had to force himself to calm down his laughter when it really started to get too painful. “I’m such a git.” He chuckled to himself.

((collaboration with Idlehands and Igraine))

Hallerna's eyes went wide with surprise when the seidrmadr snapped at her, but only for a moment. Vigi's apology came quickly on the heels of his irritation, of course - she knew she had done nothing to earn his ire. But men were often irritable when they were hurt, quick to bark and growl, and the way the seidrmadr held his ribs did not escape her notice, any more than the manner in which some of Trelleborg’s citizens shunned him now. The woman required no apology, nor was she made of crystallized honey, that she should melt beneath a rainstorm.

Rather, she would do exactly as the speaker for the gods had asked her, to triage whoever might be in need of bandaging and splinting or comfort, with what precious little she still had on her person. That any of these people should shun the seidrmadr rankled Hallerna to no end - how many of them truly knew all that Vigi had done and sacrificed in even the space of these past couple days? Precious few, far too few if she had to guess, but there was no help for it, and if Hallerna was a single thing in this world, it was pragmatic.

She moved to a nearby longhouse, still carrying Una with one arm, stooping to snatch up one of the satchels that she and Svala had dropped during this insane ruckus. She leaned the sack against one of the walls, opposite the drift of the smoke, and carefully set the young girl atop it. Hallerna’s strong, well-calloused hands were as gentle as a fawn’s as she knelt for a moment in the icy muck, her fingers cupping Una’s smoke- and dirt-grimed face and holding her gaze with the softest smile. “You heard the seidrmadr, Una. You just stay here, and I’ll be back for you when I’ve finished.”

But Una’s lower lip began to quiver softly, her small chin dimpling and eyes shining as her unburnt hand reached to take Hallerna’s arm. ”Please don’t go… “

“Oh sweet girl, I’ll not be far. I’m only going to see to a few people, and - AH!” Hallerna leapt to her feet, deep blue eyes wide as something dark and heavy landed with a *whoomp* on her shoulder, near to knocking her off balance. She reached for the old axe secured at her belt, with a snarl -

And then let out a long, frustrated sigh, scowling as the enormous, black and grey tabby kitten began rubbing his head contentedly against her calves, circling her with a rumbling purr she could feel all the way through her skirts.

“Tore! You useless piece of dung!” Hallerna growled, though with the softest light in her eyes as she lifted the cat, the lazy thing immediately going boneless and limp as he settled into Hallerna’s arms. The woman nuzzled at the cat’s neck for a moment, murmuring more of her completely useless threats into his ruff. “I ought to have skinned your worthless hide and made a fine hat of you long ago! “

She laughed softly as she kissed the top of Tore’s head, and then looked to Una, her dark eyes wide with fascinated delight. Hallerna smiled. “Una, this is Tore the kitten. And Tore, this is the lovely lady Una. Now I must warn you, Tore is useless and lazy and not worth much more than his body heat and a bit of companionship. But I could leave him here with you if you like, to keep you company while I finish up here. Then we - all three of us - can catch up with my daughters. What do you say, sweet girl?”

Una did not need much more convincing, nodding her head happily as, in short order, a large puddle of happy, purring grey tabby was poured into her lap, his large gangly paws drooping limply over the girl’s slender legs and arms and shoulders alike.

Hallerna ran her fingers affectionately over Una’s dark brown hair, refusing to allow the sudden, icy thrill of fear hold sway, visions of Eyja cradling this kitten in her mind’s eye. She took a deep breath, forcing the knowledge to the fore that Ragnar and his men would be there imminently, and Svala and the young raider who followed after her. All would be well. Gods be kind - all must be well.

Hallerna let loose that breath as she turned to survey the remnants of the once completely chaotic scene, now turned only slightly less. Loker’s men and the slaves who remained still rushed to extinguish the fires, while the majority of the walking wounded had already moved toward shelter. Hallerna availed herself to the few who remained, weakly leaning against walls or posts that were not set ablaze.

She found little regard in the eyes of those she tried to help, at least as little as the seidrmadr, considering - she supposed - she was the mad woman who hurled mortal insults at a powerful man whilst surrounded by his armed and armored soldiers. But these were the few too injured to move on their own and, with the seidrmadr and the monk gone, there was precious little choice left to them, whether they would take her help or not.

Faolan watched it all unfold, his dark green eyes catching the fire light and they flickered with animosity as Harald foolishly set fire to the healing house. The draugr had been routed, killed as much as they could be, there was no reason to do such a thing. Including throwing the little girl back in. He could do it and get away with it, that was enough reason for a man like him. Perhaps not for long, he thought.

The Irish thrall melted into the shadows as chaos erupted, all but forgotten as his master showed up and confronted Harald. He thought for sure the two sides would finally clash, in a way he hoped they would to ease the tension the fort felt as the two strong men barked at each other. Then they were gone and the fire was raging, the monk dashing into the flames as if to confront Satan himself and emerging with two living souls. Well, one anyway as he watched the crying child handed off to Hallerna's capable hands and the body of the Pict slave dragged out. Stupid bastard, he grimaced, he should have never ran in. What did they owe these people? He snorted and pushed back the thought he would have likely done the same for Dagny. She was just a child, like this girl, and who sired her was not her fault.

He emerged from the shadows, helping Tora to where Hallerna waited with the injured girl, and grabbed a bucket as Loker barked orders, it was the least he could do if he was not allowed to put an arrow through Harald's neck. Faolan jogged back and forth, fighting not to slip in the icey slush around the stream. At one pass, his sharp eyes spotted small footprints intermingled with larger ones, wearing heavy soled boots rather than the softer Viking leathers. He took a moment to look it over, why it struck him as odd he was not sure but it had occurred recently as the footprints were not marred by the running men or by the new snow that was starting to fall. He noted the smaller prints ran off in the direction of the rear of the fort, close to where he knew the Christians were staying. He eyed it thoughtfully and glanced up at the thick smoke, snatching the bucket to run back.

Loker had left his aventail helm behind in the snow and was sweating as he grabbed up bucket after bucket brought by slaves and warriors. His long reach helped douse the higher flames and he ignored the thick smoke that enveloped him. The housekarl was grateful when he saw the snowflakes spinning down, hissing as they touched the smoldering wood. Thor was with them, he thought as he set down the last bucket, the flames finally dead. He stared at the blackened carcass of the longhouse before turning to Hallerna. He went to her, watching her handle the little girl who had been so callously treated.

"I made an oath to a little redhead that I aim to fulfill," he said, his voice coarse and gravelly from the smoke and he smothered a cough. "Hallerna, you've done well here, thank you for staying. Even if these thick headed folk cannot see what good you and Vigi have done, I am grateful."

He stood close to her, his face tired and lined with worry but he managed a brief smile for Una who stared up at him with fear. His big hand pet the kitten and then brushed her soft dark hair in a calm reassurance but said nothing more. The girl had been through enough and the sight of another warrior was likely to make her more nervous than anything else.

Loker called his second in command and coughed until he was hoarse, the simple shout had taken the wind from him. He grimaced and coughed up black tinged phlegm. He ordered the man to see everyone that could walk brought up to the Hall, they would be treated there and inspected for bite wounds. The rest of his men he dispatched to check the village for wounded or any stray draugr.

He wanted to take assessment of where the people stood, both in health and politically. Most of the people were residents of Trelleborg and would likely follow Loker but many were refugees of outlying villages and farms. They were the ones that were the unknown element.

The housekarl rubbed his beard as the man left to do his bidding, the iron and copper rings jingled softly and his gaze once more found Hallerna who was still there. His eyes moved over her solemn face, she was a strong and fine looking woman. Her golden hair was darkened with soot and her eyes filled with more care and worry than he wished to see there. Loker found himself walking back to her and his big hand cupped her cheek without thinking and he wiped away a particularly dark smudge.

"I heard you speak out against Harald," he said quietly, his hand staying on her face unless she would move it, "That was dangerous, foolish… And completely justified. The man will not live out the winter, I can promise you that."

He surprised himself as he spoke, perhaps it was the strain or weariness, Loker had always been circumspect with his words. But the thought of that mad dwarf bringing this woman and her girls any grief made him burn with anger and blood rage. His normal calm demeanor rankled at the thought and though he knew Ragnar itched to put a blade in the man's guts, Loker would have happily done it himself.

Loker sighed and looked towards the wounded, the seidmadr and the monk leaving with the slave who would likely be dead by morning. His dark blue eyes turned back to Hallerna and his hand slipped to her shoulder, "Take the girl and go to the Hall, be with Svala and Eyja. We will finish sorting out things here. Gods be good, Ragnar will have things in hand up there with the draugr."

Hallerna started slightly when Loker unexpectedly lay his hand to her cheek, the pad of his thumb brushing her skin tenderly. Yet the touch of the auburn-haired man felt so familiar, comfortable and surprisingly gentle, no matter the hard calluses of his palm that spoke to many years wrapped about the hilt of a sword. And though she knew she must look a sight, bedraggled and worn, there was a blessed breath of warm, calm reassurance in Loker’s touch. Hallerna did not push his hand away.

Her own deep blue eyes searched Loker’s face as he spoke, surprised - yet pleased - by his approval for her words at Harald, and comforted by his promise that vile little man would not live to see another Spring. The smile that had begun to bloom when Loker pet Tore the kitten, and affectionately caressed little Una, grew wider still, a small spot of sunshine in this gloomy morning.

Yet with every choking, hacking cough, Hallerna’s brow furrowed deeper with concern for the auburn-haired giant of a man. Loker had been at the front of the fires alongside his men and the thralls, obviously breathing in great, thick gouts of black smoke from Harald’s fires - as if she needed yet another reason to despise that foul, cruel dwarf of a man! But in this moment, her worry for Loker easily smothered the fires of her rage, his weariness etched into a face far better suited to smiles and laughter.

“Well then, you will have to tell me this promise you made to Eyja, when we get back to the Hall,” she said quietly, gently, with just enough emphasis to make her intent plain. “Or perhaps you can share that tale along the way?”

“Some of these people already think me fool and worse for my words with Harald, but I will defy the Jarl’s housekarl himself when he sounds as you do now Loker. You have breathed far too much smoke and, in this dry winter air, that can do you no good. You need to fill your lungs with steam, steeped with herbs I know Freya has on hand, before the smoke settles to a cough you cannot shake.” Hallerna reached to her shoulder, her hand resting lightly over Loker’s with warm reassurance.

“Yes, Ragnar will have things in hand, without a doubt,” Hallerna continued, praying to all the gods in her heart that this confidence would be truth. “And Svala and Ragnar’s young warrior will be there at the Hall too, well and sound together, and gather up Eyja. But as you said before, the more ‘thick-headed folk’ will not accept my help. Surely you would not be one of them?”

She laughed softly, giving the fingers of Loker’s hand a gentle squeeze before she let her own fall to her side once more. “Una and I will return to the Hall with you when you go. She will be content with Eyja’s worthless kitten for a time, and I may keep a watchful eye on one of the precious few people in this fort who might allow me to tend to his injuries.”

Loker smiled down at her, the years lifting for a moment as he did, “I will be heading to the Hall soon, though I have to make a detour first. And yes, if you have a remedy to rid a chest of the smoke, I would be a fool to refuse it.”

His brow furrowed for a moment as he cast a look down the village, toward the far left of the Hall. His son and his in laws were holed up in their home and he hoped they had stayed there. He needed to check on them, the urge to make sure his child was safe was strong and he could not wait any longer. He put a hand on Hallerna’s arm and met her eyes.

“I have to go...” Loker looked back up as his men spoke with the wounded and cajoled or threatened them to go up to the Hall. “But I am also needed there. Hallerna I must ask you to do me a great favor.”

He bit his lower lip, his auburn beard bristling out for a moment, “I have a son, he is about a few years older than Eyja. He stays with his grandparents, my late wife’s parents. I cannot have him in the Hall...for reasons. I am concerned for their safety with the outbreak of draugr. Tell Ragnar I will be there as soon as I can, I must check in on them.”

Tora rested against the building, leaning on it to stay still, every movement was fire on her back and between her legs. The little girl stood close to her and stared up at her injured face with unabashed curiosity. The slave smiled through split lips though it pained her, Una looked down at the kitten, petting his soft fur. If she had not been so trapped by her own pain she would have gladly shared the wonderful little creature with the woman with the sad eyes and ugly bruises.

Faolan perked up, catching the conversation between them and his eyes rested on the little girl with the tabby kitten. She was a small, dark haired thing and the woman Hallerna had called her Una. That was a Gaelic name for sure and perhaps the little one was Irish. A slave? Or the daughter of a freedman? He moved closer while the two spoke and hunkered down, his hands resting on his knees.

“Sin piscín deas agat, cad é a ainm?” Faolan asked after the kitten’s name in Irish, his usual flat hard tone softening with the lyrical language and the fact he was speaking to a little girl, perhaps of his own kin.

The girl stared at him with huge eyes, squeezing Tore the kitten tighter. Tears welled up and she sputtered in Norse, turning away to hide against Hallerna’s skirts. Faolan’s jaw dropped open slightly and he looked sheepishly away. So she did not speak Irish, maybe the Northmen used that name as well. He stood up and sighed through his nose, both glad she was not another Irish slave and regretful at the same time. Faolan’s face slipped back into the stoic slave’s mask and he waited for an order from Loker in place of Ragnar who had gone up to the Hall, leaving his slave to aid the housekarl.

Hallerna’s listened intently, all her attentions for Loker the instant he held both her arms in urgent hands. The obvious anxiety in those dark blue eyes, the gravity in his voice when he asked his favor were undeniable. Not that she should have known such a thing of course, but hearing the housekarl had a son, a boy of his own only a few years older than her Eyja - yet one who did not live with him at the Hall? Seeing for herself the great man’s heart for children with her own eyes, this knowledge was truly a shock.

Yet for all her understanding of Loker’s desire to see to his kin, he was still the Jarl’s housekarl, and Hallerna wondered that he should leave his men now, even to see to his son and his late wife’s family. Hallerna’s mind raced for a moment before she resignedly settled herself to what seemed best, even if she must put off reuniting with her daughters just a while longer. That was all it would be of course, just a while longer, because Hallerna simply could not allow herself even a moment’s doubt, that Svala and Eyja were fine, safe and whole and simply waiting for their Madir to arrive in their new home at the Hall.

“No Loker, you tell Ragnar yourself. That is where you belong. I will go see that your son and family What is your his name, and that of your in-laws’? And where will I find - “

”What are you saying!? Hallerna? What… What is he… !?” Hallerna’s head snapped toward the sound of Una’s panicked voice, feeling the press against her leg where the little girl sat perched on her bag. One small fist was wrapped desperately in her skirts as wide, dark eyes watched the thrall rise to his feet.

“Shhh… Hush sweet girl… “ Hallerna lay one hand against Loker’s chest, a wordless plea for a moment of time. She turned to from his hold to wrap one arm about Una’s shoulders, steady reassurance for the hurting, frightened child still clutching the enormous kitten that continued to peacefully doze in her arms, perfectly contented.

Hallerna looked to the thrall beside Una, knowing him for Ragnar and Sigrid’s own. Not for a moment did she imagine he intended to scare the girl - she had watched him with the Ragnarsson children, and could see no cruelty in him. “His name is Faolan, Una,” she said gently, nodding to the thrall with a gentle smile. “He is not a Dane, but speaks the language of the land from which he came.” Hallerna truly did not know Faolan’s homeland, but there was one thing about the thrall of which she was sure. “He will not hurt you Una. I promise… There now… “

She rubbed the little girl’s back lightly for a moment before her gaze returned to Loker expectantly, one hand still lying lightly on his chest. “I’m sorry Loker. As I asked, your son and family? Where may I find them?”

Faolan gave the girl a faltering smile as if his face was unused to using those muscles and Tora reached out for his arm, her hand gripping his tunic sleeve. He turned to look at her, a wave of renewed anger at the monsters that abused her. He put his hand over hers and murmured.

“Una’s an Irish name, I thought...”

“It is a Norse name as well,” she replied, her grey eyes full of sympathy for the homesick slave. Even after all his years his heart beat for Ireland.

Faolan nodded and pressed his lips together, half listening to the Danes speaking to each other. “I’ll take you home, cailín. Unless you wish to go to the hall.”

Tora leaned against him, wincing as she stepped, “I want to go back to the longhouse. I think the mistress will understand.”

He took her arm and put it over his shoulders, hefting her up into his arms. While he was not as big or strong as the Gaelic monk or Saxon priest, he could manage her slight weight. He felt a shiver of recognition, a remembrance of another slender woman who fit so snugly in his arms. The Irishman swallowed hard and blinked, forcing his emotion back down. At least Tora was a warm living burden, one that would be healed and made whole again. Not like his Bright One whose life was dimmed far too soon and whom he carried to give her a Christian burial rather than let the heathens leave her body in the rubbish heap for the stray dogs to gnaw at. Tora was fair and gentle, much like Niamh but she was not her and he could not pretend she was. She was his friend though, and she needed all his strength to help her through the nightmare that their lives had become.

Faolan went to Loker, his head slightly downcast in respect, “Sir, I’m taking her to the Ragnarsson’s place, where she can rest.”

Loker glanced away from Hallerna and nodded to Ragnar’s slaves, “Do that, I’ll let him know where you are, lad.”

When the thralls departed, his attention went back to Hallerna, “My son is called Bardr and he stays with my late wife’s parents, in a long house to the west of the Hall, close to the back. I must check in on them.”

Loker paused and set his hand again on her arm. She deserved to know before being surprised by the boy who most people felt uncomfortable around. He blushed with embarrassment under his beard, a redness rising in his cheeks, “Bardr...he is my flesh and blood but he is not a son I should be proud to call mine, if you catch my meaning? He is...touched in the head some would say.”

Hallerna’s eyes narrowed for a moment as she regarded Loker for several long moments, undaunted by either the man’s height or size, and unmoved by the redness rising in his cheeks. She let his words roll through her thoughts for a few moments, compared them to what he intended to see done.

Action always spoke louder than words - it was an old cliche, but true nonetheless. Of course there was good reason the boy was not taken to live with Loker at the Hall, but in these past hectic moments, Hallerna had not had time to dwell on the man’s reasons. ‘Touched in the head… ‘ Some would consider this a curse of the gods, Hallerna knew very well, and shun the boy as they might a man who lost an arm or a leg. This was simply the way of things, and there was no help for it among the Danes - and particularly for a housekarl residing in his Jarl’s Hall.

But Hallerna heard what Loker said and, just as easily, what he left unsaid, and nodded her head slowly. A slight shrug of her shoulders was all the estimation she could be bothered to give, for the thoughts of superstitious men who believed the gods resided in every last happenstance and misfortune, as if they’d not enough to keep them occupied simply by the running of the world.

“You should not be proud of Bardr, you say - and yet you are, and I think you the greater man for that. Why, there are probably not a few now who would say you ought not talk so closely with a madwoman, daft and utterly without the sense Frig should have seen fit to give her - and yet here you stay.” Hallerna smiled gently, and began to laugh. It felt surprisingly good, lightening the tightness in her chest no matter how out of place it might seem in the midst of smoke and death, and she did not stop herself.

But she did take a breath at last, still smiling. “I am glad you are not a man overly concerned with appearances then - or at least not so much, that you let expectations rule you. So no more of this, I will go find your Bardr - to the west of the Hall, toward the back, yes? And return to the Hall with news soon enough.”

Loker rubbed his beard, the rings jangling softly and shrugged, “He’s my boy, what the gods decided to do with him I could not change. His mother...she was looking forward to having a child. When she died...they told me the boy might not live. He was born blue, the cord around his neck and the gods had not given him breath. I was supposed to take him and and set him in the snow.”

He gazed at her, the falling flakes catching in her tousled blonde hair, “I set him down...and the lad started to cry. His color came back and I thought perhaps Odin gave me a gift.”

Loker chuckled bitterly, “And like so many of the gifts of the Wise One, it was double edged.”

His hand slipped down her arm and he held her hand briefly, feeling the warm slender strength in her nimble fingers and he looked her in the eyes. “I wouldn’t let you go alone, you’ve got this little one to look after. I’ll go but if you wish to come with me. I would appreciate it, it would put my mind at ease to not worry that you had come across trouble on your way to the Hall.”

Loker’s eyes fell on her axe snugged against her waist and gave her a brief grin, “Not that you could not handle it.”

In the rush, Wilfred had fallen far behind the Norse warriors even without any armour weighing down his steps. Months on little food to sustain himself while being cramped behind an oar or tied down to a deck had drained him of all his God-given stamina, at least where jogging was concerned it would seem. It was only as he slowed to a stop, looking around for any sign of where he would be best placed to help, that he felt the pain from Harald's last gift. Now that the Healing House was nothing but charred timbers and ashes recovery would come ever more slowly for his injuries. Images of Robbie's wound flooded his memory but the huge Saxon pushed them out of his mind; he could hear the sounds of Draugr and their victims all around him and pining after a damned Pict would only get him killed.

Hefting his woodcutter's axe, Wilfred stood in the centre of the pathway, well away from any shadows where one of the satan-spawn might creep up on him. Slow crunching in the snow close by had him whirl around, axe poised for a crushing blow, and if it were not for the stabbing pain in his back he may have swung the weapon before he even saw those approaching. The girl he recognised instantly with a flash of fury, leaning on one he remembered as another of the Ragnars' slaves.

"It's not Christian to sneak up on an injured man like that." Wilfred muttered as he approached them, axe lowered enough to not be threatening. "Where are you headed? An extra blade might be of use to you, what with these creatures seemingly in every damn shadow." He grestured to where a corpse lay still near a pile of barrels, a spear still stuck fast through the left eye socket to pin the entire creature against the wall. Whether it was actually dead for good or not was something Wilfred had no intention of finding out; if it was stuck in place then dead or alive it was no threat to them.

"I can take her if it will speed our passing, you look to be in better shape to be fighting these beasts anyway, if we come upon any."

---

Harald watched with disdain as his men dragged corpses out from another infested house, some of them half torn to pieces by the Draugr. He nodded and two of his largest men wielding blacksmith hammers set about crushing the corpses' heads, just to be sure. One of the corpses moved slightly but was swiftly held down by nearby men.

"I'm not Draugr! Please, believe me! Thegn Harald, please, let me prove I am not bitten." Harald waved his hand in boredom and the two men cut short the man's pleas with a succession of blows to his cranium. Other armed men were beheading nearby corpses, moving from house to house and removing all inside, none of the few and fortunate survivors making it past the entrance to their own homes. The street was littered with bodies but Harald's slaves were moving most of the corpses from the organised piles back into homes, especially the mauled ones, to disguise the slaughter being inflicted.

"This house has no dead or wounded, my Thegn." Harald turned and gestured wide with his arms to the nervous family herded before him. He greeted them with a wide smile, intended as a comfort.

"You are lucky to have survived this ordeal. The Gods must favour you. Come, my men will show you to my longhouse where it is safe until this is all past us. Make sure they have something warm to sustain them until they can return." He ordered one of the slaves who bowed, scuttling back towards the longhouse ahead of the fortunate family. Harald turned away from them, his false mask dropping back into a scowl as he returned to the grueling work of overseeing the sorting of those who were safe to live, and those who were not.