[i]((collab between RoadRash and Igraine))[/i]

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.

[i]Draugr.[/i] 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 [i]nowhere[/i] 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]I’ll cut his fucking heart out, and offer it to Odin, [/i] 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!” 

[i]”Umphfff… “[/i] 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 [i]at all[/i] 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 [i]and[/i] 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]I’m[/i] 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[i] glad[/i] 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.