Wilfred was distracted from his prayer by the arrival of the Irishman who pulled the hood of his cloak down to shield himself from the rain. He sighed at his greeting words, looking back at the mound he had constructed.

"His soul will still burn in hell but I have no intention of catching a disease left as a memento of his rotting body." Wilfred grunted, pushing himself to his feet. "And unless someone was willing to go outside to find a ditch I don't think much else would happen." They had both been on the foray into the wilds earlier that day, although it felt like an age since then now, and the big Saxon knew Faolan would understand his meaning.

"Besides, it can only be good for my soul if I look after the corpse of such a cretin. God teaches us to forgive and forget... after they're dead, doesn't he?" There was a note of amusement in his tone as he walked forwards. The cold water drumming down onto his bare back and soaking the bandages had numbed the pain. It was almost so pleasant he was reluctant to return to the inside where the warmth and the lice would make his back itch as it healed.

"They do not seem to be fond of Christians but that is to be expected. Anything will be better than that dwarf's enslavement. I can work for someone who has some form of moral compass, pagan or not." He muttered as he fell into step next to the Irishman. "Not that we have much choice, do we? Nevertheless, God will protect us. That and having a good head on your shoulders." He clapped one massive hand on Faolan's shoulder as he passed, his exertions from earlier making him feel his strength for the first time in a good while.

"Let's get this over with so I can get a good night's rest. I can't be one of the injured forever."

Her arm still wrapped about Svala, Hallerna allowed a respectful distance between herself and her daughter, and the two men in all Trellesborg for whom she held a genuine debt of gratitude. Loker had said he wished words with Orran, and she pulled Svala into her cloak like she was not much more than a little girl anymore, savoring the warmth of her eldest daughter for a few moments more while she still could.

Hallerna had not missed the lingering eyes of Ragnar's two young raiders. One seemed little more than a boy to her eyes, no older than her son Tore had been, with his laughing eyes and his easy smile. The elder did not let his eyes linger though, respect - she could only hope - curbing any leering gazes. Her husband Sven had indulged her and, in another world, another life, would have indulged her further still, keeping Svala with them for yet another couple years at the least until just the perfect husband came for their incomparable Little Swallow. They were well enough off that there was no need for the dowry Svala's nuptials would have brought.

And Sven would deny his Hallerna nothing at all, no least thing at all if it were in his power to give.

But that indulgence of her whims had cost Svala a vital measure of safety. This night, it could have very well cost her life. Hallerna shivered once more, wrapping her arms tighter still about Svala a moment longer, closing her eyes with the subtle pain of seeing her own brash, selfish foolishness in such keen, intimate detail.

And Svala only laughed, and hugged her mother tighter still in response. "Madir, I can't breathe," she whispered. Hallerna's eyes widened in surprise as she stepped back, and began to chuckle warmly herself. Lost some moments to her own thoughts, Hallerna looked up to realize Orran and Loker had shared what words they would, and the housekarl had turned into the healing house.

"Orran?" Hallerna called, walking to the painted man with Svala alongside her. "Orran - oh, you must collect your things, but tonight? It would be an honor to offer you dinner this evening. I cannot promise anything near to some grand feast, but it will be hot and good and filling. And Svala has even made the bread herself - I hear tell it is very, very good."

Hallerna winked playfully at her daughter, before she nodded quickly toward the healing house. "And Anndrais too of course - though I doubt anything would pry him from Tora at all, much less sustenance. But you could bring him something to eat if you would - even he must be exhausted by now. And for Tora as well if you will, if the poor girl can down a bit of food at all, it would only do her unending good."

"Please, when you collect your things of course. It would be a pleasure to break bread with you tonight, and share what fare our small home has to offer, in thanks."

*****

"Loker!" Eyja beamed brightly at the auburn-haired giant she recognized from this very morning, the very man who so wisely recognized all her undeniable skill at bearing his ale without a single drop spilt! She had only just caught his eye when he'd glanced her way while she played their made-up game with Dagny. But once she had his gaze, she was reluctant to let it go so quickly.

Besides, something seemed just a little... Off.

Dagny's small hand still in her own, Eyja strode with all the purpose an eight-year old girl can possibly muster to the housekarl, fiery red curls bouncing all about her shoulders where they escaped the confines of her long-loosened braid. She only released Dagny's hand long enough to wrap her arms tightly about Loker's waist, hugging him with all her small strength, for no better reason at all that he seemed heavy, weighted down by... By... She knew not what really, some sadness. And it simply didn't suit him at all.

"Come here," she said almost imperiously, as if an eight-year old little girl had any right way in the world to demand a single thing of a grown man, a freeborn Dane, a seasoned raider and the housekarl of the Jarl of this fort.

"No silly, down here. C'mon, a little further - don't worry Loker. I won't hurt you or nothin'." That list of accomplishments and titles seemed to matter little to Eyja as she waved him closer, and closer still, until he might finally bend to the little girl's height.

The tips of her small fingers wiped furiously at the worry lines that creased the housekarl's forehead, between his brows and the suddenly grim set of his mouth. And where good ale had once dribbled through that heavy beard, Eyja pushed gently at the corners of his mouth, forcing them upward time and again, her own little brow furrowed in concentration.

"There now... Hold it. Just hold it right there... Perfect! See Dagny?" Eyja's face brightened like the summer sun at the sight. "Loker's face was meant for smiles. Not frowns. See?"

Eyja folded her arms over her chest in perfect satisfaction, setting back just a little to admire the results of all her 'hard work.'

Loker could not help but smile at the girl and when she finished, he tousled her red curls gently with his big sword calloused hand. The bright eyed child had a way about her that caused even the grimmest among them to soften. He would protect her as he would her brave mother and sister, for what good was a housekarl if he could not see that the people under his Jarl's care were not harmed? He kept the smile on his face even as the nagging thoughts of the search party rose in his mind. The sleet had stopped but it was very cold and scent of snow was in the air. Brushing her hair once more he stood up, his eyes finding Hallerna who was speaking with the Pict.

He watched them for a moment before looking down at Eyja, "I will see you and your family at the hall tomorrow. Freya was very happy with your help and I've never had a better ale bearer."

Loker winked at her, "And bring that kitten of yours, there are mice aplenty in the cupboards that need killing."

He gathered his men and spoke with them quietly before they left to return to the Hall. One of his men glanced back at the healing house, lit by torches now. "I had my wife sacrifice to Odin for the Jarl's return, perhaps we should do the same. A slave maybe? Since we will be hard pressed to spare meat."

Loker shook his head, "I cannot sanction that, only Bjorn or Vigi since he is the only seidr now. If the Allfather sees it in Bjorn's fate that he will return, then he will. There is nothing more for us to do but wait. You all may do as you wish, I will offer to the Gods in private."

The older warrior opened his mouth to protest but changed his mind, nodding with respect to Loker as he turned away from the group to head to his own home. The housekarl broke apart from them as they returned the spears to the weapon rack and he headed toward his room. Freya watched him, holding back her questions as she put out the last of the candles in the main hall. The fire burned low in the large hearth, casting shadows on her care worn face.

His room was small and spare, nothing more than a sleeping bench with wool blankets and furs, a brazier, a wooden trunk, and a shield hung on the wall. Loker stirred the coals and added some wood to the fire before stepping over to a shelf built into the wall. A small stone carving of a one eyed bearded man stood among others at his shrine. Normally he would pray to his patron God, Thor, rather than the notoriously fickle Odin but he did watch over the Jarls and so he picked it up.

"Odin," he said, "What wisdom do you have for me?"

The heavy silence was broken only by the crackle of fire and he set down the figure on the trunk. He knelt before it and murmured in his deep voice a plead to Odin, the Allfather. Loker removed his long knife from the scabbard that hung across his midsection, the polished steel glinting in the low light.

"Odin, far wanderer, grant me wisdom, courage, and victory; Friend Thor grant me your strength. And both be with me," he spoke in a hushed tone, hating the desperation he felt. The Gods did not grant wishes, they merely did things at their whims, when it suited them and if they took interest. Loker drew the knife across his arm, deep red welling up at the fine gash and he stood, stepping to the brazier.

"I give my blood as sacrifice," he said, flexing his hand so it ran freely, sizzling as it hit the hot coals. "If Bjorn is meant for your halls, Allfather, then it is so. But if he can be spared, please return him to us."

He watched the blood run and he sighed, looking at the stone figures on the alter.

---

Faolan led Wilfred back to the healing house and before they approached the door, he barked out a laugh and said dryly, "Oh, a moral compass? Ragnar the Priest Killer...and a Saxon priest. This should be amusing. Keep in mind, the master doesn't like Christian 'magic'. That includes prayers, Bibles, and crosses. So unless you want to sleep out in the cold or to be offered up for a sacrifice, I suggest keeping all that to yourself. At least in his presence."

They entered the healing house, where people were stirring to leave and he spotted Sigrid speaking with Tora with Ragnar and his two warriors standing off to the side. He approached, his eyes on Tora's poor face. He felt another surge of impotent anger and he turned away from her, unable to bear the sight.

Tora saw him turn away, she knew why and held no resentment. She shifted slightly and winced at the pain in her back where Harald had beat her with the metal studded belt. She looked at Wilfred, tall, strong, and proud still despite his slave status. A Christian holy man like Anndrais but he did not radiate peace, he seemed to simmer with his god's fire within him. Sigrid sat with her awhile and she was grateful for her mistress' presence and that Ragnar was nearby. She felt safe here at the healing house, surrounded by those that would not harm her and would protect her from the dogs returning.

Collaboration between Idle and Kuro

Night time, outside of Trelleborg

Einnar sat still, his cloak around him and his eyes gazing out into the blackness of the forest, the only movement was the white steam that rose from the shadow of his hood. The trappers slept together, huddled and the two strangers sat close, their heads hung down against the cold. They had been quiet, keeping to themselves and their eyes spoke of their exhaustion and hunger. Why Loker had bothered recruiting them was beyond him but they were still alive and that was something.

He fought off memories that crept forward, of his mother's wild fits when the gods would seize her. How she would foam at the mouth and shake, piss herself and they would have to jam a stick between her worn teeth to keep her from choking. It had reminded him of how his father would spit and gnash his teeth, bite his shield and roar with fury at his opponent as he was touched by Odin himself. Einnar had decided early on it was worth avoiding the attention of the gods for it made people mad, insane with power that was beyond their ken.

The huntsman watched the fire, the cold wind making it flare up now and then. His father's dark snarling, scarred visage sneering at him, flickering in the low flames and he saw him open his mouth to speak, a black maw that screamed at him a wordless shriek. Einnar snapped awake, unsure if he had dozed off and dreamed or had truly seen a vision. It took a moment to register it had been Vigi that had shouted and he felt foolish for thinking it could have been his father trying to reach him from Hel.

The hunter leaned over, grabbing Vigi's shoulder and whispered harshly, "What is it, seidrmadr?"

Vigi gasped and jerked violently away from the touch. He moved away from it as quickly as possible on his hands and knees until he was halted by a tree he had not seen. His wide eyes snapped around wildly at his surroundings, expecting to see a tall, broad warrior ready to slay him.

He saw none however, just the outlines of the search party. His racing mind began to calm enough to remember that this was the waking world and there was no one here who was going to kill him. Even rationally knowing this his body would not stop trembling with fear.

Einnar watched him scramble away, letting him go in case he would strike out in fear of whatever vision was holding him. Once he seemed to realize he was not in danger, he approached, squatting down to peer at the delicate fair face of the shaman. He looked even paler than usual, his nearly white hair in a disarray against the bark of the pine tree.

He offered his hand to help him up, "That was quite a dream."

Vigi looked up at the solemn face of the dark haired hunter and slowly shook his head. "It was no dream." He whispered, his voice straining to be heard as his throat was clenched tight with fear still.

He shakily grasped onto Einnar's hand, glad for the assistance back to his less than steady feet. He ran his hand over the right side of his face and patted his chest just to make sure he really wasn't injured. He could still feel the ghostly wisps of pain from his dream.

He shot a look around camp relieved that his terror had not woken the others. It was shameful enough to have one man witness his fear. "Odin...Odin himself delivered a vision to me." Vigi whispered to Einnar, his voice less strained than before. "I think I know the origins of this curse and...and my time on this world will not be for much longer."

Einnar studied his reaction and kept the hand on Vigi's shoulder to steady him. He listened and cocked his eyebrow at what the seidrmadr told him. The intensity in the man's voice was worrisome as was the direness of his message. The hunter felt a chill down his spine, as if a drop of ice had snaked its way down the back of his tunic.

"Sit and tell me if you wish," Einnar said, bending to pick up Vigi's fallen cloak. "Why do you think your time is short? What did the old Wanderer show you?"

Usually he scoffed at the portents and signs but in the back of his mind he knew that some could not be ignored and the will of the gods could not be denied. He readied himself for Vigi's tale, surely to be one of dark horror by the look on the young man's face. If it had not been for the emergence of the draugr, the walking corpses that reeked of rot and the sea with their clawing insatiable hunger he would have not bothered. The truth was, despite his cynicism, he knew that what drove the dead to walk alive again was not anything of their realm, it had to be the work of the dark magic.

Vigi gladly accepted his cloak and pulled it around his shoulders as the chill of the night started to seep in. He looked over at the rest of the search party and motioned for Einnar to move just a little bit away so they could avoid being over heard. What he was shown was sensitive information and he did not want to risk the wrong ears hearing it. He was only telling Einnar because, despite being a bit of a drunk, he was the trusted huntsman of the Jarl and he was possibly the only person in the fort to understand what he had experienced.

When they were away enough that he felt comfortable speaking, but was still able to hear and see the others Vigi sat down on the ground and took in a deep breath. "Odin showed me a raid of a Christian church." He began softly, twitching a bit as the goriness of the mass slaughter flashed before his eyes again. "In a locked room, in the church there was a very, very withered remains of a draugr." He said, wrapping his arms around himself. "It was dressed like one of the priests, leading me to believe that it was, in a way, one of them. The raiders broke down the door to the room and attacked it, only one of them was injured by it though. I assume it was killed shortly after, but somehow they must've disturbed some kind of powerful magic for the curse of that man to move to us."

Einnar crouched down, his hands on his knees and listened intently. He was sobered up enough, though still groggy from exhaustion and a lingering hangover, he understood his words and dread filled him. He glanced up at the boughs of the pines, dark spines against the cloud laden night sky. What had been unearthed in the Christian holy house by the men going aviking. He wondered at it, and looked at Vigi, "What black magic to the Christians practice that could lead to this? Nothing our gods could do could compare."

He rubbed the stubble on his chin and moved to sit next to Vigi, quite for a moment, listening to the sounds of the wind in the trees and of the occasional skitter in the underbrush. It was utterly lightless, no stars or moon to be seen, the deep darkness broken by the meager flicker of their campfire. "I regret the Christians not coming, one of them is a holy man I hear, he must be questioned. If they are the cause, perhaps they know how to kill them so they stay dead. And you said, Odin showed you all this...and what about you Vigi, what of your fate?"

"I plan to go to the Christians myself to see if I can learn anything from them. I ask that for now you keep this information to yourself. If word gets to others they may attack and kill the Christians in rage and we will learn nothing." He said, thinking back to his conversation with the slave Wilfred. He had said these demons were not of their faiths origin, did he truly not know they were or had he been lying?

Vigi tensed at the question about his fate. "I have never been hurt in a vision before." He began in a murmur. "This vision though...when the man attacked me I could feel the coldness of his blade and the pain it caused...I have never experienced such a thing." He said a bit brokenly as his mind flashed back to that moment in his vision. "I believe I will be murdered by a warrior. I don't know why or who, but with the rising tension at the fort...it may be soon."

"Of course, I won't say anything," he replied.

This was beyond him and despite what he knew of the gods and the other worlds gleaned from his mother's madness he was no eager to pursue what magic would be powerful enough to turn entire villages into draugr or whatever they were. Vigi was on his own, save for perhaps the help of the Christian holy man, with his venture into the dark power that created the madness.

When he spoke of feeling the wound in his vision and his belief he would be killed, Einnar clenched his jaw. If raiders had brought the curse back with them, perhaps they were among the survivors who had fled to Trelleborg. Someone desperate enough or perhaps someone driven mad by the horror outside the walls might lash out at the man who spoke with the gods.

"Death by a warrior is not too uncommon for often they are quicker with their blade than their mind," he said, masking his worry. "You will need protection if you really fear the truth of what you saw. I'll ask Loker to find you a place at the Hall and his men guard the doors. I can even keep an eye on you if you don't mind that it is sometimes bloodshot."

Einnar grinned a little, trying to lighten the heaviness of the atmosphere around them that Vigi's revelation had brought on. To cover his own fear and worry and to see if he could ease the trouble on that fair face. He blinked and coughed, spitting to the side and looking away into the woods toward the camp.

Despite the gravity of the conversation topic Vigi found himself smiling and let out a soft chuckle. "Thank you but I'm cautious to accept such help, it could potentially be what leads to my death. One often meets their fate on the path they take to try to avoid it. I've heard enough legends to know this very well." He leaned his head back against the tree behind him and let out a heavy breath from his nose as he thought of his options.

"Hmph, maybe it's best to die young. I won't have to worry about having no one to take care of me in my old age." He said with a slightly bitter chuckle because it was true.

The hunter tilted his head, "Perhaps, as they say, you cannot undo what the Norns have spun, their threads are binding. But again, Odin is not always so clear with his messages. At least that is what I was told, only Loki is more of a trickster than he."

Einnar furrowed his brow at his last statement, "If you want no wife, just buy a couple of slaves. One to do the heavy work and one to cook for you. You would treat them well enough, probably too good. I would not tell them you will free them when you die or risk them hurrying you along."

He gave Vigi a closed mouth smile, "That's my plan anyway. No good woman would marry me because I have little to offer in terms of property and being the son of mad parents does not sweeten the pot. I haven't got time for some slattern who would keep company with other men while I am gone hunting and for me to waste time raising her bastards. No, I'll probably find a docile little slave to tend me when I'm older. Right now I can look out for myself, as always, since I do not know what will become of any of us who worked for the Jarl."

Einnar touched the broken spearhead tucked into his belt and glanced at Vigi, "That's planning far ahead though, who knows if we will make it through the winter."

Vigi arched an eyebrow before snorting. "Want no wife? Einnar my friend that is ALL I want. I dream and fantasize of having a wife that loves me and a house full of children to fuss over and raise. But look at me," he held out his arms and motioned to himself. "No father would allow this into his family, it'd be too shameful to marry his daughter off not only to someone that can't provide but that looks like a woman himself. And no woman would wish to marry for the same reasons." He shook his head slowly. "You chose to be alone Einnar, I do not judge you for wanting to be...but I am not of the same sentiment."

The huntsman looked at him bemused, "Surely you could seek out Freya's favor? If anyone could you could. Though to be fair, it would be hard to find a woman who would want a husband prettier than she is. But seidr do not often marry, whether male or female, and for good reason. My parents were never actually married you know. No one cared if my father tupped the witch in the woods and what became of their spawn. Most are too busy with their duties to provide for and raise a family."

He paused and stayed quiet for a moment, "Though, that being said, you are unusal for a man of seidr. No matter what you look like."

Einnar sat up, "You manage to make me into a chattering magpie."

Vigi chuckled, wringing his hands slightly because his vision was still weighing down heavily in him. However he gladly accepted the distraction their conversation offered. "Now I'm strange even for other men if seird? Odin should be proud, I'm a proper outcast then." He said with another chuckle. "You say that as though it's a bad thing though, to talk to others. Maybe if you spoke more with people you would not feel so inclined to drink. At least not do it alone in the depths if the forest. I will say though, you must be very skilled to get drunk here and yet still make your way back to the fort in one piece."

His eyelids lowered, his eyes taking a hooded look to them, "My woodsman skills know no bounds. Most people don't want to talk, you are a stranger here so you do not know better."

Einnar pulled his cloak closer and leaned his forearms against his thighs, his gaze directed at the sleeping men near the fire. He had spoken far too much, Vigi was a stranger, he did not know his reputation or that of his family and he had managed to spill it out. He sighed to himself, once again thinking of how he should have gone out alone. It took only him shifting his leg to remind him of how deadly it would be if he did not have Vigi or the others to help him now that he was injured. The way back to the fort would be dangerous, the draugr would be around and now they had two wounded men.

Vigi blinked at the shift in Einnar's tone and frowned at himself. "I'm sorry, I spoke too hastily." He apologized softly. "I didn't mean to offend you." He wanted to kick himself for how he'd spoken. Was he that desperate for companionship he'd forget his manners?

Einnar waved him off, "Takes a lot more to offend me, Vigi. Don't worry yourself. Now since you're up, did you want to take your shift watching?"

He shifted his leg stiffly and looked back at the fire and the sleeping men around it. His body ached for rest though he had gone longer without sleep before, it was not a rare occurance in his line of work.

Vigi didn't believe him, he could sense that the tone of the conversation was ruined. "I'll take over watch." He agreed with a nod of his head, pushing himself up to his feet and offering his hand to help Einnar up. "Will we be moving out at first light?" He asked.

Einnar nodded and took the man's hand, grunting at the effort to rise and he picked up his crutch. "At first light, we're making for the fort. This hunt is over, I just want to get back, to get everyone back, to Trellborg's sturdy walls."

Vigi nodded in agreement, he looked forward to returning to the safety of the fort...But it would be with a heavy heart. The young Jarl was dead which meant that the position was open for the taking.

"When we return with the news...I don't know if we'll be any safer in the walls than we are outside." He muttered, not looking forward to playing witness to such volatile politics. "I know nothing of Thegan Ragnar...but I imagine Harald's tactics will involve some amount of blood shed."

The huntsman raised his eyebrows and smiled with a tight lipped expression, not looking over at the fair young man, "Men like those will always want blood for power to them is like mead to a drunk."

Collab between IdleHands and RoadRash
Healer's House

Sigrid spotted Faolan and the larger part of the duo she had just acquired, "Wilfred is it? You and the other slave will stay here for the night. Rest and get better because there is much work to be done and the snow will fall soon. Tora will stay as well, she needs care...but tomorrow you will all return to our home."

Her green grey eyes flickered from her thrall to the monk, "It is kind of you to stay with her, she will need the comfort.

Sigrid touched Tora's other hand, giving it a gentle squeeze before leaving them. She went to gather the children and Dagny toddled to her father, her small chubby hands outstretched to be lifted up. Sigrid smiled a little, their daughter was constantly indulged by Ragnar and she remembered wistfully their other little girl had been as well. The boys were still stoic despite the frightening ordeal and Ranulf had to be fetched away from Eyja's side. He looked back at her with longing in his grey eyes and Raudr scowled at him, smacking his shoulder.

His craggy features breaking into a grin, Ragnar stooped and swept his daughter into his big arms, holding her bottom in the crook of his left elbow. He leaned forward and tickled her neck briefly with his beard before planting a loud kiss on her forehead, chuckling as Dagny giggled and then threaded her chubby fingers in the coarse braids of his facial hair.

Turning to Haakon and Ivarr, he nodded and headed for the door. The two warriors fell in behind him, moving out to flank the family as they exited the healing house. As they crossed into the cold night, Ragnar turned and pointed towards his sons.

“Raudr, with Haakon. Ranulf, with Ivarr. Watch their flanks, help them see us safely home.”

His ice-blue eyes shone with quiet pride as the boys hurried to their positions, taking his orders as seriously as they always did. He loved his boys, and knew that one day they’d be great warriors in their own right. Ragnar the Younger was his heir, after all, and Ranulf would be establishing a household of his own. It was never too young to start training a son, in Ragnar the Elder’s eyes.

Sigrid moved closer to Ragnar, a smile on her face at the boys following direction and the obvious joy of their surviving daughter in her father’s arms. The fort was quiet, the sleet had stopped though the footing still muddy and slick. Her hand slipped out and found his, brushing her fingers against his.

“Thor watched over our household tonight,” she said, looking straight ahead, her lovely features like carved ivory. “We will offer our thanks to him as well as the Pict in due time. I’ll let Hallerna make her overture now. Ragnar...”

She paused, glancing at the children and men that walked ahead of her, “Nevermind, it’ll keep. Once we get home, I’ll set out food and we need to rest. Tomorrow promises to be as long as today.”

Ragnar nodded absently as they walked, his eyes scanning the shadows. Though Harald had claimed that the hostilities were at an end, at least for the night, he didn’t trust the dwarfish man. As the family approached their home, the Thegn’s eyes played over the blood still staining the ground from the attack on his children, revealed in the flickering light of the torches. His right hand tightened into a fist as anger flooded him anew, the tendons in his massive forearms creaking.

Shaking off his rage he opened the door, leading the way into the hall. Once inside Ragnar gave Dagny another kiss on the forehead, then handed her off to Sigrid.

“We can speak soon. We’ll sacrifice to Thor together, but first I have need of Tyr.”

Turning, he walked to the curtained off portion of their personal quarters that contained his private shrine to his patron god, leaving the family to go about their business.

Sigrid left him to it and carried Dagny to the small table setting her between her brothers and fetched some bread made earlier by Tora. She held it and her thoughts went to her poor slave, causing her jaw to clench and she blinked away the angry tears that threatened. She served the children and the two men bread and butter, then stoked the fire under the pot of leftover stew.

Once it was heated she served a dish and filled his horn with ale, stepping quietly to the curtained off portion that served as their bedroom, “Ragnar, if you’re ready.”

A few moments later Ragnar emerged, stretching his shoulders. He’d shed his mail and weapon belt before attending to his prayers, and now wore his usual linens. Hesitating, he returned to their room and took his hand axe, bringing it to the table and setting it beside his bowl before crossing to the basin of water they used for washing and scrubbing his hands clean. The water darkened as it sluiced off the blood of the man he’d killed earlier in the day, and when he had finished he returned to the table, seating himself.

“Thank you, Sigrid,” he rumbled, giving her a nod of gratitude for the food and drink. “Gods know a little food always helps make a bad day better.”

He patted his ample midsection with a chuckle before tucking in.

”And we were lucky that the former occupants stocked up so well,”she replied, smiling gently at the children who eating with gusto despite their brush with death. ”None know about what we’ve got stocked here, it’ll be better that way.”

Raudr finished first and looked up at his father who was still eating, ”Fadir, I want a real sword.”

Sigrid raised her eyebrow, ”Boy, you’re not big enough. You still have several winters before you’ll be wielding any real blade.”

Her voice held worry behind the no nonsense tone, her grey-green eyes meeting Ragnar’s deep blue. The boy was only eight, approaching nine seasons and a sturdy youngster but a boy still.

”But I needed one today and I didn’t have one,” he countered, ”Just the stupid wooden stick.”

”And what would you have done other than die too soon?” Sigrid snapped at her eldest son.

Ragnar the Elder remained silent throughout the argument, seemingly staring into space as he ate. When he’d finished his meal he stood without a word and walked back towards his and Sigrid’s bedroom. A few moments later he returned, a battered saex in his hand. Crossing to the table, he sat and held the blade, looking at it for a long moment.

“Before either of you were ever born, I led a raid on a Swedish village. Odin was with us, and we came on them out of a heavy fog; they barely had time to mount a defence before we were off the boats and cutting them down.”

Ragnar’s eyes grew distant as he told his tale, reliving the scene with pride. “Most of them didn’t have time to don their armor; some didn’t even have weapons. One of their warriors, though, he’d managed to get his sword belt and shield, and was trying to mount a defence. He faced us barechested, calling us to come and die, unafraid of the armored warriors advancing on him and his few men.”

The Thegn looked at his sons, holding up the saex. “He killed five of my men himself. Five armed and armored Danes, taken by a near-naked Swede who fought like Tyr himself guided his arm. When I went to face him myself, I shattered his shield and cut his sword arm to the bone, and he still came at me, with this very blade, defiant to the last. I still carry a scar where he pierced my mail with the tip before my axe split his skull. I have no doubt that when I reach Odin’s hall, that Swede and I will share a horn as brothers.”

Ragnar smiled at the memory, then leaned over and placed the saex before his eldest son. “Now, I’d intended to give this to you when you were older. But these are strange times, and I can’t have you unarmed. Remember though, that this is for you to defend yourself and your siblings, not the family honor. That job falls to myself and my men, and I’ll not have you drawn into a duel over some insult. You aren’t ready to face a grown warrior in an open fight; draw it only if you have no other choice, are we clear?” he said, his eyes boring into his son’s.

“And if you are forced to draw it, use it. Don’t dishonor the memory of that worthy enemy with cowardice.”

Raudr eagerly took the saex, his blue eyes wide with wonder and pride as he held the blade up, the honed edge catching the firelight of the hearth. Sigrid tightened her jaw, but said nothing until he was finished. Ranulf watched, feeling a twinge of envy at the honor his older brother was receiving but he kept his peace.

”You listen to your Fadir,” Sigrid said, ”Once you’re holding a weapon you’re responsible for your actions. It will not fall to us.”

The redheaded boy held the blade reverently thinking about the great Swede warrior who had once carried it to battle and was now in Valhalla. It was an honor but the warnings of his parents rang in his head, that he would be now responsible for what he did. He heard them but the excitement of owning the knife overrode his apprehension. He tied the sheath to his belt, letting it fall against his leg like a sword rather than across his midsection as the knife was usually worn.

”Thank you, Fadir, I will be careful,” he said quickly, his face flushed with pride. ”I won’t let anyone harm Dagny, Ranulf or Madir.”

Sigrid shook her head slightly, she was better equipped to defend herself and them but she let her son have his moment, ”Remember to offer to Tyr now that you carry a blade, as well as Thor.”

Ragnar eyed his eldest proudly for a moment before speaking again. “Heed my words, boy. You’re armed like a man, and you’ll be treated like one. No more childish tantrums, no more acting out. Remember your station, and act accordingly; if you dishonor this family, and the man I took that blade from, I’ll hang it back on my shrine and have you mending clothes with Tora until Hiemdall’s horn sounds.”

Raudr looked at his father and back at the blade on his hip, feeling the seriousness of the situation start to sink in. His brother eyed him with worry and promised himself to keep an eye on him, incase his mouth was bigger than his sword arm.

”I promise Fadir, I will honor you and the man who bore this blade along with the gods,” he said slowly, thinking about the weight of the words and he took a knee in front of Ragnar. ”I will swear it with my blood.”

He reached for the seax but Sigrid stood up, ”We believe you, Raudr and that is enough. Come, it is time for bed, look at Dagny she’s already asleep.”

The little girl had nodded off, laying her head in Ranulf’s lap. The blonde boy gently lifted her and handed her to Sigrid. The boys went to their corner to sleep and Sigrid laid Dagny with them since she did not have Tora to take the little girl. She would have kept her with her and Ragnar but they still had business to discuss.

She kiss them all on their foreheads, ”Keep warm and get some rest. Raudr, don’t stay up all night looking at that knife, it’ll be there in the morning, son.”

Haakon and Ivarr went to their benches on the far side of the long house, each with a curtain of motheaten wool hanging for privacy. Sigrid put away the dishes and covered the bread before retiring to their sleeping area. She removed her hair from the tight braid, combing it out with her ivory comb that Ragnar had brought her one summer. She undressed until she was in her linen shift, the house was warm enough to allow the comfort of sleeping without a bundle of clothing.

Ragnar followed, pausing only to remind his men to sleep with their weapons tonight. As he passed the curtains into his and Sigrid’s room, he sighed and stripped off his clothes before sitting on the furs that covered their bed. Rolling his head to work a kink out of his neck, he looked to his wife.

“So, you wanted to speak to me earlier..”

Sigrid stretched, testing the limits of the thin shift and yawned before dropping her arms, ”Yes. I want to say I’m sorry about earlier, I should have held my tongue around Harald but that...troll. I wish I could cut his throat myself for what he did to Tora and what his men tried to do to our children. My babies!”

She breathed out sharply, her hands gripped in fists showing her white knuckles, ”I could have run him through on my spear if I had it in my hands.”

”But I should have held back, and now...that man will find any soft spot to cut,” she sighed, sitting next to Ragnar, putting her hand in his. ”I made a mistake.”

Ragnar listened quietly, nodding. When she’d finished he wrapped her in his burly arms, holding her close.
“All is forgiven. I understand your anger, love, I do. And I promise you that as soon as it’s possible, I’ll bring you Harald’s head on a spear and plant it outside our hall. But I can’t move against him yet. If I do, I’ll be in the wrong.”

He kissed her cheek, his gruff voice gentle. “In the mean time, know that I’m not upset with you. What’s done is done, and I understand.”

She put her arm around him and leaned her head against his chest, pressing her face against him, ”I want him to die shamefully, I would pull his lungs through his back before you take his head. There is no place for him in Odin’s halls.”

Sigrid could hear the tremble in her voice and she hated it, the tears that threatened from the pent up fear and rage. She gripped his hand with her free one and turned her face up to look at him. Her expression changed, like the sun coming out from behind a cloud. ”I thank Freya everyday for her sending you to me, my love. My shield, my husband.”

She leaned up and kissed him, pressing her lips tightly against his to communicate all what words could not say. Her love, her pride, her relief that he was still whole and hale. That their family was still alive, their children sleeping in a warm pile rather than dead in cold graves. That the gods saw fit to keep them alive, she was grateful, even if the one who saved them would not understand this or accept their gratitude.

She prayed to the gods that it remain so, that her husband’s fate would lead him to a long life and he would be there to keep them safe from the many dangers that lurked in the darkening world. That their children would grow and marry and have their own babies. There was so much death now, even more than life in their rough world usually allowed for. She clung to him in a rare moment of needing his strength as she felt hers falter.

”Ragnar,” she whispered to him, tears making her eyes shimmer. She said no more but kissed him again, embracing him, feeling his comforting bulk against her body.

collaboration between Igraine and Constable Walrus

Trelleborg, night

Orran glanced at Hallerna with a smile, and he drew his gaze to Svala with a twinkle in his eyes “And a baker? Well, I will just have to try this bread then Svala.” He flashed a smile at her and drew his gaze to Anndrais who still knelt at the girls side. Orran let out a sigh “I know you are right, he will not leave that girls side for a second… I know he can handle himself, he’s got the big Saxon on his side.”

He turned his gaze back to Svala, and he drew an inspecting gaze over her. ‘She will become a damned good warrior if trained properly’ and Orran could not deny even to himself her beauty. He shook his head driving the thoughts away and looked at the family with a smile.

“So yes, I accept.” He said plainly, giving them another smile [/i]“Warm hearth, and food would do me good, thank you for the kindness.”[/b] He rolled his shoulders remembering his armour that lay in the mud.“I must recover my armour first, don’t want it to covered in mud.”

“The… Saxon?” Hallerna’s eyes turned toward the healing house, and then caught her breath with the realization. Oh of course - the thrall whose back she’d stitched, the slave now given over to the Ragnarrson household in ‘payment.’ “Oh yes, the one who cannot be beaten into stillness, you mean? Seems nothing will make that man stay abed for long, short of death I imagine,” she continued, a small, grudging smile on her face that reflected a genuine - if reluctant - appreciation for the man’s stamina.

Though the elder woman laughed softly, Svala’s own thoughts were entirely overwhelmed by all the unexpected and unprecedented compliments and attentions, and she could barely say a word at all for all the strangely discomfiting - if pleasant - feeling in her belly. Still, she stood straight by her mother, the hardwon bearded axe still clutched in her hand, smiling her quiet, genuine appreciation to Orran.

“We’re glad to have you Orran, but yes, please - retrieve your things,” Hallerna said with a nod of her head toward the mostly naked man, “We’ll have everything well and ready for dinner by the time you arrive. And… Did you promise Eyja, to teach her to draw - on paper? I would swear, she mentioned something of the sort… Oh! Never mind, go, go and bring your things, and then we’ll talk more, over a warm fire and hot food!”

Orran chuckled softly; looking at Hallerna with a smile “Excellent, I cannot wait.” His gaze drifted to Svala “And you, keep that axe with you…” His tone harsh but the smile on his face gave him away “It suits you… Though, in all honesty I see you as more of a blade person myself. But that is just me.”

He gathered his blades and hefted them to his belt and looked at Hallerna “And yes, I did promise the little one that… And I keep my promises. I will return shortly…” He smiled softly and turned, but not before glancing over Svala another time; She could be great. He thought to himself as he walked out of the healing house door and into the snow.

**********

Shared longhouse, night
“Sit down, Madir. Rest. You’ve done enough this day. I can finish here,” Svala said, softly but firmly, as she placed out the rough wooden plates - four tonight - and she was definitely ignoring Eyja’s insistence she set out an extra plate for Tore the kitten. The apparently boneless little creature was already ‘at home’ in his favorite spot from the moment the little red-headed girl had walked into the shared longhouse, curled over her folded arms legs and tail dangling all akimbo, and watching all the goings on about him with a decidedly self-satisfied feline smirk.

The younger woman went about preparing their small dinner with a quiet efficiency that promised much in the way for her future husband, Hallerna noted with just a touch of trepidation as she did exactly as she was bidden. She gratefully washed her face and hands in the large wooden bowl, tepid as the water was, and watched along the length of their small, makeshift piece of a home, toward the hide curtains that demarcated the hearths of the other small, sometimes broken families who also shared the roof over head.

And she tried very, very hard not to think too deeply, on how little this hospitality truly was from what she might have shown the man who saved her daughters’ lives, not even half a fortnight past. The food, the accommodations and comforts they’d shared in their grand farm longhouse with Sven’s brothers and their families… Hallerna sighed softly, rubbing her tired eyes with the tips of her fingers irritably, tossing the sudden bout of melancholy aside. It’d do her no good, and even if the fare wasn’t nearly what she wished it could have been, she’d ensure she was, at the very least, a more than acceptable hostess to their esteemed guest.

Orran had returned from gathering his armour, leaving the pieces with Anndrais to dry while he wore a small wool jerkin in placed and received the directions to the longhouse where Hallerna and her girls were staying with other family’s as he trudged through the sleet and the mud, up the hill towards the longhouse. The thought of the paper in the small pack he carried with him, and just the tiniest bit of ink; Anndrais never wished to part with his paper or ink easily, and he had argued, that is until Orran had mentioned Eyja’s insistence which finally made the monk relent and part with a small part of his supplies.

As Orran approached the door; he had rolled his shoulders and let out a sigh, this was the first time he had eaten with someone other than Anndrais in quite awhile, the long sail over was not kind to him finding his feet on the ground to be a more acceptable sense of travel. He leaned forward and rasped his fist against the door three times, and leaned back as it opened, a woman he did not recognise was taken aback at his appearance; her eyes shimmered with a hint of fright for the tattooed man before her, the swirling wolves on his face, and the swirls that came to his arms.

Orran held up his hands speaking slowly in the tongue of the danes “I am sorry, I did not mean to frighten you… Does Hallerna from the healing houses reside here?”He spoke softly as he could manage and the woman eyed him over and nodded; opening the door and pointed a finger towards the far-end of the longhouse.

Orran smiled lightly giving the woman thanks as he entered, following the path deeper into the longhouse; and he eyed it curiously, the different curtains and the many people and family’s eating and surviving another night with one another. It echoed to his people’s great homes, built strong over the water, to hold many family’s for great gatherings or in times of war and shelter.

He finally reached where the three sat down, and he caught a glimpse of Svala, rushing back and forth to set up the table, the small smile kept on his features; and he cleared his throat “I am here.” He said softly outside their curtain.

At the sight of the Pict, Hallerna’s smile and mood lifted immediately as she rose to her feet, crossing the small distance to the young man she owed so very much. “Please, come in Orran,” she said, waving him in, offering to take his cloak - a cloak that was once more covered in icy rain and sleet. “Here, let me take that for you, lay it by the fire. Gods be good, maybe this weather will lay off by the time you have to g- “

“ORRAN!” Eyja squealed happily, her face lighting as bright as the hearth’s fire as she looked up from the small game of chase and string she had been trying to tempt Tore to play with. The kitten still slung over one arm like a wrap, the little girl leapt to the Pict and hugged his waist, looking up at him with a wide grin. ”Did you remember?” she whispered, with all a child’s shameless assumption that not only would he know exactly what she was referring to, but that of course he would not so much as think of disappointing her!

After all, she really wanted to show [perhaps show off?] an honest picture of… well, something… On real paper to Ranulf tomorrow!

Hallerna laughed, and waved her youngest daughter back, to little real effect. The little girl’s enthusiasm was positively infectious, and Hallerna honestly didn’t try all too hard really. “Eyja, please at least let the man inside, would you?”

And Svala simply smiled as she began to ladle the hot stew into the turned bowls, cutting thick slices of the flat bread she’d baked only just this morning for the men of Trelleborg. Freya had been kind enough to let her bring some of the ‘fruits of her labor’ back home, to share with her mother and sister, and she was glad there was more than enough slipped in by the thoughtful woman, for her small family, and Orran, and certainly enough for Anndrais as well.

Orran smiled wide as he watched Hallerna stand and strode toward him “It is good to see you again Hallerna, and even more to see a smile on your face.” he shook his shoulders, getting his cloak unclasped and handed it to her “You are more than kind to let me share an evening with your family.”

And as Orran caught Eyja’s eyes and she sprung from her seat he laughed as she sprinted to hug around his waist; The small girl warmed his heart, the softness he shared with Anndrais he mused once, the thing that bound them together, so different but alike.

He leaned down and lifted Eyja in his arms and gave her a hug in return “It is good to see you to little one,” he said not hiding the mirth in his voice, “And Tore to…” As Eyja asked if he had forgotten he scoffed “Me? Forget a promise? Not to you, I’ve got the stuff in my small bag, I had to fight a big bald dragon to get it.” He winked at Eyja; setting her down lightly “But why don’t we save it for after dinner?” Orran asked with a large smiled upon his face.

He glanced up and caught Svala’s smile and gaze, meeting it for a moment “Want to eat while it’s hot, Svala and your mother must have worked very hard on it.” He stood up and rolled his shoulders and stepped inside the smile on his face uncontained, compared to when they first gazed at him, the stern look and darkness in his features vanished around the girls.

Orran chuckled looking at Svala and spoke “I am still interested in this bread you have made Svala.” He gave her a small wink as he walked fully inside towards the hearth.

“Oh no Orran,” Hallerna piped up over her shoulder as she gently shook out their guest’s cloak, laying it out closest to the heart so it might both heat and dry - without getting singed, of course. “This night? All the preparations are Svala’s - our little Swallow has done every last thing, from bread to stew to remembering the drink.“

Far from the songbird that was her namesake, Svala’s face only reddened in exact proportion to the widening of her sweet, sheepish smile. She was never so used to notice nor praise, only ever doing as she’d been raised, as she knew was right before her people and the gods of her fathers. But for all her sweet silence, there was precious little there to say that she didn’t enjoy the teasing of Orran or the praise of her mother immensely. The younger woman fairly shone as she finished readying the plates, and setting out that apparently famous bread of hers.

collaboration between Igraine and Constable Walrus Continued

As for Eyja? Well she was already fairly enthralled with the one grown man in the world, whose imagination seemed near so big as her own, who magically wore the aspects of Geri and Freki on his face, and could make pictures of labyrinths and whorls with his magically-talented hands. And if Orran said he fought some great bald dragon for their paper and ink tonight? Oh, she was more than ready to believe him, this magical man who as brave and skilled with a pen as with a sword, than any raider she’d ever seen!

Even Raudr and Ranulf’s Fadir! Well… Not that she’d ever tell them that, because it’d just be a great big fight - even if she was right. Still, better not to have hard words. Raudr really was pretty nice when he wasn’t trying so hard to be his Fadir. And Ranulf was actually a lot of fun to play with, and he really listened to Eyja, all her words, like he really did find her interesting - well, when he wasn’t busy worrying and thinking too hard on things like how to stop his brother from trying too hard to be like his Fadir again.

Besides, Tore liked him lots too.

The little girl had established earlier in the great Hall that she was a very good cup bearer, likely the very best in all of Trelleborg! Loker himself had given her his endorsement, and not a drop split! No, not a one! And she could work just as hard as her elder sister and mother - she was far more her mother’s daughter, than indolent little Tore the kitten after all. And so she lay the lazy creature tenderly, so lovingly by the fire and made to bring a wooden bowl - the best they had - to what would be Orran’s seat at their small table. She smiled up at him proudly, showing him that she too could earn her place in this family, and in Orran’s eyes as well.

Orran rose one of his dark eyebrows when Hallerna spoke of Svala and he looked towards the young woman who was blushing; and had the widest smile on her face. He matched the smile setting down his pack carefully before fully moving inside their small living space; He watched Svala for a moment and he grinded his teeth slightly in thought before speaking. “Is that so Svala? I mean ‘Sparrow’.”

He smiled wide, he might seem as if he gave the woman a hard time, but it meant he cared enough to secretly give her a hard time; and he sat down gently at the table and glanced up at Svala “So I’ll have much more to look forward too, and here I was thinking it stopped at bread,” he said with a smile; and leaned back slightly in his seat.

Impressed, was a word that hardly came from Orran’s thoughts when speaking of someone, he was very critical, especially when it came to combat. But impressed he was, more so now seeing more of her; and he had pinpointed the moment in memory when Svala got his attention. There she stood bloody and holding an axe, instead of just running, she wished to help him. Bravery and Honor he mused to himself as he gazed at Svala.

He turned his gaze from Svala; which in the line of thought he was in was no small feat, and brought it to Hallerna “I wanted to thank you again for offering a meal with you and your family Hallerna, I am honored.” He smiled warmly but his attention was suddenly caught by Eyja holding a bowl of mead in her hands bringing it to him.

He took the bowl gently and set it in front of him; and he turned back to her with a smile. “And not a single drop spilt!” he mused and gave Eyja a hug pulling back with a smile “Excellent, now I can see the entire picture,” and he gave her a gentle press on the nose with his finger.

He looked up at Hallerna. “You have a lovely family,” Orran spoke aloud with a smile

The elder woman’s smile widened slowly as she turned from the hearth, back to the table where her daughters busied themselves tending to their honored guest. “Yes, I do,” she agreed with a nod, not the least boast or immodesty on her lips. Hallerna herself gathered up the bowl of water, bringing it to Orran as he stood by the table, to offer him the opportunity to wash his face and hands if he would.

“And the honor is ours, completely, Orran. I will never forget that the reason I still have this ‘lovely family,’ is in large part because of you, and what you did this night. Please, come, sit with us here.”

Eyja crawled up into her own seat after setting a bowl of mead by her mother’s spot, a lighter version by Svala’s place and then, by her own, the drink that was far more water than mead of course - though she liked it just fine nonetheless. She felt almost a grown-up when she was allowed this on special occasions, like tonight, when they had Orran come to visit for dinner.

Svala moved exactly as she’d seen her mother almost every day of her life, serving her father, her brother and uncles and cousins with a dignified poise that was equal parts grace and long habit. The hot stew, and then the bread to eat it with, alongside the strongest mead they had to serve, first for Orran and then for their small family. The very best part of their first offerings had been given to Frig and Freya before the Christian arrived, in thanksgiving.

“Well, yes… I mean, it is so Orran. You know Madir had so much to do today,” she began softly, her voice gathering strength with every word past her lips. “She was with all of you men in the village today, and then on to the unloading the supplies found - and then to the healing house right thereafter. Well she’d have precious little time to eat, much less cook, and so… “ Svala shrugged, meeting Orran’s laughing gaze with her own deep blue eyes. “Well, we all do what we can, don’t we? For the ones we care for? Like you and Anndrais, I imagine, all these miles from your home.”

Orran sat; and he watched Svala carefully how she gracefully moved around the table, serving everyone he had nodded at no particular question or statement and suddenly said out loud “Yes, you’d definitely suit a sword…” He shook his head suddenly and chuckled, meeting Svala’s gaze with his dark eyes “Apologies, I was thinking of something very important.”

He shifted, and listening to Svala he nodded, placing his hands in the bowl to wash his face and hands gently; and he looked up at Hallerna “Thank you…” He turned to the rest of the family “All of you for making me seem so welcomed in your home.” And he breathed out a heavy breath and returned his gaze to Svala. “That is very kind of you for your mother Svala, not only a good head but a good heart it fits.” He stated promptly his dark eyes met her blue before he spoke again “Svala, at your words and actions I am more than impressed… And that is very true, but Anndrais came not for his own benefit, he came with the attempt to stop the violence.”

Orran leaned back and glanced around at the family before him. “Though that is a topic of another time, I am here, presented with good food and excellent company. Such dour talk is not for an hour such as this.” He stated and the smile returned to his features; and he drew his gaze to Hallerna. “You have a very strong daughter Hallerna, it echoes my own people very much. Strong are the women of my people, warriors as the men are.”

Orran straightened himself as he spoke “Svala has skill, I can see it… Raw potential,” he said softly and shot a sidelong glance at Svala before returning his gaze to Hallerna “As much as I joke about bread and food, and how lovely the ‘swallow’ is.” He smiled softly “She has so much potential to be even more.”

Hallerna eased herself into her chair, golden eyebrows knit curiously as she looked at Orran curiously as he spoke. “I don’t understand… What more should she be? Svala is already… Svala?” Her gaze turned from their guest to her eldest daughter, just finishing her serving and taking her seat. She was a beautiful girl, smart and hard-working, and if the lovingly crafted bearded axe leaning against the wall now beside her mother’s own well-worn blade was any indication? Oh, she was certainly brave as any ten men, courageous and steadfast. But she was a farmer’s daughter after all, and though Hallerna loved the girl with all she had, Orran’s words were simply impervious to her understanding.

Svala looked to Orran with a smile, perhaps a little less perplexed than her mother though she wondered nonetheless. She at least had seen him fight, defend the Ragnarsson children and Eyja and even herself, though they were none of his own. But he’d likely already witnessed her humiliating attempt, all off-balance and sent akimbo with Sigrid’s spear, the escape from that vile man that almost felt more luck than any natural skill of her own.

The young woman chewed her lip softly though she smiled still, a small, self-deprecating laugh escaping her. “Would you make a shieldmaiden of me, Orran?” she asked, realizing halfway through the words that some small part of the young woman genuinely, truly and desperately hoped that was exactly what he meant.

Orran looked at Hallerna carefully. “As in more skilled; she showed more courage and bravery in one look than I’ve seen in awhile.” He turned his gaze to Svala and spoke “She held that bearded axe in her hand, and was covered and blood…” He said softly keeping his gaze on her intently, “If I would have called you would have came to my aid, I knew you wished to help me, aid me… That act enough, to save a stranger, tells me plenty.”

He kept his eyes on Svala as she chewed her lip, and nodded “If this term means some sort of warrior woman, than yes… I would.” He glanced over at Hallerna the smile replace by his stern look “It is not base skill, or body type, or talent that makes a defender, a protector, it’s courage beyond measure the heart to defend the innocent. Those who need it the most.” And he rolled his shoulders and glanced at Hallerna. “So I ask to train your daughter, build her up, strengthen her. She has the heart and mind for it, she just needs training.”

And Orran glanced down at his food before drawing his gaze directly to Svala.

Svala met his dark gaze with her own steady, thoughtful eyes, gaining confidence with every word, a pleasure that didn’t raise the color to her cheeks or the child-like smile to her lips, but something deeper, older, a hint really, a small promise of the woman to rise in the years to come, should any one of them survive Trelleborg. Without a word, she nodded her assent to Orran, before turning to look to her mother who would, by all counts in their world, be the end all word for whether she would or no as the head of their small family.

Hallerna’s chin had come to rest in the palm of her hand, propped up on the table as Orran spoke, taking in every last word he said and weighing it as thoroughly and unsparingly, as only the wise wife of a farmer could ever do. The chaff from the grain, she sifted those words and, after her own careful consideration, finally gave voice to the thoughts in her head.

“You would teach my daughter to be a warrior Orran? Before today, I admit, I would have laughed in your face - but there is a great deal of this world I’d have long considered impossible that has come to pass, and the idea that today Svala would have to kill a man in the very streets of Trelleborg, in the shadow of the Jarl’s Hall? Oh, that would certainly be one of those ‘impossible things.’”

“But you should know, and I tell you nothing either of my girls don’t already know - we’ve no way to pay you for this, even if Svala does show an aptitude with a blade. Her brave heart is never a question - she’s got the very heart of a bear. But most everything we ever had, was left on our farm when the draugr came - what you see here, is all we’ve got.”

“And yes, I know… I saw Anndrais’ reaction when Sigrid tried to offer him coin in payment for what good he’d done poor Tora - I offer you no insult in the offering, Orran. You are foreign to us, and there is no disservice in saying we are a proud people - not beggars. I hope my meaning is clear?” Hallerna said with a genuine smile as she sat back in her chair, deep blue eyes still lit on Orran.

Orran listened to Hallerna intently, as much as he wished to train the girl, the mother had to at least approve; and when she spoke of Anndrais’ he finally spoke up “I seek nothing for the training of Svala, save her company during the training. As for Anndrais, you mistake him, the insult was not for the coin. But for the reason the coin was given, do not mistake that for a martyrdom of sorts. He is difficult for even myself to grasp at times.”

His gaze was kept on Hallerna’s blue eyes. “So I understand the world we live in, things change, and we adapt.” He glanced at Svala and smiled. “Heart of a bear? I can see that, or a wolf.” He smiled and turned back to Hallerna. [b]“So Hallerna, I do wish to train your daughter, and if you really must ask of me to take a payment for this service, then if you would welcome me back to your humble home, then I would enjoy that very much.”

He leaned back in his chair and eyed Eyja with a smile “Have to keep coming back to visit the little one.” And his eyes grew brighter, and his smile wider as he spoke. “I have a promise to keep. Isn't that right Eyja?”

Eyja’s head turned up to Orran, wide-eyed and a little startled at the sound of her name, both her hands firmly planted beneath the table, absolutely not holding Tore the kitten in her lap, giving him a surreptitious nibble of a piece of her stew meat while his raspy little tongue licked the stew broth from her fingers. “Yes you do, Orran,” she chirped in quickly, because Eyja was quick and clever, and even in her silent moments that mind of hers never stopped - and there was rarely ever a conversation that child’s ears couldn’t follow, whether she would or no.

And she really had been following as the older people spoke, and Eyja knew very well that little twinge in her belly was a pang of jealousy. Raudr and Ranulf both got to play with wooden swords - and someday they’d have real ones! But they were boys, one day men, and… Well, that was just the way of things, she supposed. But now Orran, her very own Wolf Man and slayer of bald dragons, the master of paper and ink and whorls and swirls, was going to teach Svala to be a warrior if Madir said she might?

Well, in truth - and Eyja was really a very good girl, and tried to be truthful in all matters - she envied Svala something fierce, the chance to fight like a boy. But as deep as the envy might go, the love for her older sister went further still, and Eyja knew she’d had treat enough, learning to write and draw on real paper, with real ink, with her painted man.

“Can I at least come watch? You teaching Svala all that fighting… Ummm… Stuff?” If sticks were good enough for drawing in the snow, well… There was nothing to say she could pretend, was there?

As intently as Hallerna had listened to Orran’s proposition in the first place, so too did she listen to his explanation, and finally nodded her approval. “As you will Orran - and of course, as Svala will as well, though that light in her eyes right now tells me all I’ll ever need to know of her answer to that question.” she added with a small, warm laugh, as much for Svala’s eagerness as for Eyja’s sweet, hopeful question.

“Though she’d best not forget that tomorrow morning we move on to the Jarl’s hall. We were invited by the housekarl, and I accepted - it seemed wise, and the offer genuine, and would take some of the worry from my heart, if I’m honest, after all that’s happened this day. But I’ll not forget you Orran, nor Anndrais - a deal is a deal after all. And Svala will absolutely have to finish her work before she begins practice - and I sent them to Freya in the first place because I know she’ll see them set to needful tasks!”

“Even so Svala, are these terms acceptable to you, sweetling?”

Svala needed no kind of pushing at all, for once the young, inward-turning girl’s voice leapt to the fore. “Yes! Please Orran yes - when can we start?”

Orran smiled warmly at Hallerna and nodded “I didn’t think you would…” He glanced over at Ejya “And that would be your mothers decision little one.” and he laughed gently as Svala burst out with her admission and he eyed the young woman.

“Good, I enjoy the enthusiasm, I say we can start in two days time or so, if that is good for you. I have to prepare some things for the training, but other than that we are set to go very soon.” He rolled his shoulders and nodded with a smile before settling back to eat some more of the stew and gazing at Svala for a moment before speaking again.

“In either case it would be an honor to train you Svala.” He turned his gaze to Hallerna. “I will take good care of her, and I am sure you will be as pleased as I am already with her skill, even under pressure.”

He brought his gaze back to Svala “Be ready Svala, I will not take training easy on you, because I know you can take it.” He smiled softly and gave her a wink.

Collaboration between RoadRash and idlehands

Ragnar rose before the sun, as was his habit, and sat at the edge of the sleeping bench, stretching for several minutes to work the kinks out of his sleep-tightened muscles. The years of life as a Viking had left him bulky and brutally strong, but they came with a price; his large, iron-hard muscles needed a good warm up every morning before he could move without pain. He knew that if he didn’t work the kinks out now, he’d move like an old man until midday.

Once he felt he could move freely, he ran a hand through his hair and tugged thoughtfully at the braids in his beard. A moment’s consideration and he nodded to himself, then began pulling loose his braids. They’d become frizzy and tangled since he last wove them, and he decided he’d have Sigrid redo the lot of them after she’d awoke. The Thegn pulled on his linens and boots, then stood and, with a glance of affection at his slumbering wife, walked out of the sleeping chamber. There were things to do.

Haakon was already awake when Ragnar left his room, pulling on his own clothes. Ragnar waved him over, and the warrior roused his comrade, Ivarr. Once dressed both of them approached to hear their Thegn’s orders for the morning.

“Go ahead and attend to your weapons,” he told them, stretching his broad chest as he spoke, his voice low to let the rest of the household sleep. “Ivarr, get Faolan and send him for fresh water. What we have will suffice for us, it’s too cold for a real bath, but I’d at least like everyone to wash their faces and hair. We should be presentable this morning, especially after last night’s fiasco. We don’t want to appear haggard when Harald finally rouses the drunken louts he calls warriors.”

After a brief pause, he added, “And go with him, Ivarr. Fully armed. I don’t expect them to be awake yet, but I’d rather not have another thrall accosted. Haakon, wake Raudr and show him how to attend to his weapon after he lights a few torches. Let the other children sleep. I need some time alone think on today.”

The two warriors nodded and set about their tasks. Ragnar himself went to the large basin of water near the table and dunked his head, giving his face, hair, and beard a good scrubbing. That done, he returned to his and Sigrid’s room and spent several minutes carefully combing out his tangled mane and beard before sitting on the edge of the sleeping bench and grasping his sword and his blade-care implements.

Hausstaka, he whispered to himself, smiling softly as he spoke the blade’s name. Skull Taker. Ragnar drew the sword slowly, his eyes running over the familiar weapon, and gently caressed the blade, his fingers tracing the swirls in the metal left behind by the forging process. Though it was true he preferred his axe for the shield wall, this weapon was by far the most important in his arsenal. He had spear-heads aplenty, and his seax and axe had both sent their share of men to Odin’s hall, but only this weapon had a name.

The blade was long, nearly an arm’s length from tip to crossguard, and gleamed dully in the semi-darkness of the hall. The silver wire inlaid in the crossguard shined, and more had been wrapped tightly over the black leather of the grip to both prevent slipping, and to add to the striking appearance of the weapon. It had a cost a fortune, he was sure; the weapon had belonged to his great-grandfather, and had been passed down amongst the men in his family. It was by far the most expensive thing he owned, and certainly held the most sentimental value. This was especially true considering that it had been forged for his family. Men could fight and raid for a lifetime and never be able to afford a sword. Most had to be taken from a fallen foe. Both Haakon and Ivarr had acquired their swords in this way, and while there was certainly no shame in taking weapons from fallen enemies (Ragnar had gotten his ever-present hand-axe in this fashion) it still didn’t confer quite the same amount of pride as having a custom-forged blade.
The raider reached into his pouch and took out a sharpening stone, then began to scrape it slowly down the length of the blade. Always careful to mind the angle, he applied equal pressure to both sides, ensuring an even and razor-sharp edge along the entire length of the weapon as he muttered a prayer to Tyr.

Sigrid woke slowly, turning over and peering through her tousled red hair at her husband’s back as he sat on the edge of the sleeping bench. She rubbed her eyes and yawned, pulling the warm furs back up over her bare shoulder. The air had a touch of chill in it, the hearth fire had burned down without Tora to tend it. She noticed his damp hair and sighed, reaching out to him to tug his shirt.

“I would have washed your hair for you,” she murmured, her voice still husky with sleep. “You should have woke me.”

She scooted up, moving to the edge of the bench, still holding the covers to her chest. Sigrid watched him silently for a moment as he ran the whetstone over the edge of the blade, smoothing out the nicks and rough spots, until the steel was keen in the dim light. The sword had seen many battles and had spilled a river of blood. She reached up and brushed her hand against his shoulder.

“I’ve been thinking about Raudr and the seax you gave him,” she said finally, studying his weather worn profile, each line and scar familiar and dear to her. “I don’t think he’s old enough, Ragnar. I know we are in strange times but I know our son. He’s got more from me than just the color of his hair. He’s got a temper and a habit of speaking without thinking.”

She ran her hand down to his thick wrist of the hand that held the sword, “I won’t ask you to take it away, he was so proud...but perhaps make him keep it here, for home defense. Like my spear.”

Ragnar nodded as she spoke, to show he was listening, while he inspected the edge of his sword. Satisfied with the sharpness of the blade, he set his sharpening stone aside and took from the pouch a cloth, soaked in lanolin. The oil, wrung from sheep’s wool, would help to keep the blade from rusting in the damp weather. He silently began to rub the cloth along the length of the weapon, soaking the oil into the semi-porous metal until it gleamed in the dull light. After several minutes he spoke.

“The boy needs to learn, my love,” he rumbled, still working. “I was much the same way, when I was young. My hope is that this new level of responsibility will spark a bit of manhood in him. He needs to start seeing himself as a man, not a child. No more games, no more play.”

The burly warrior slid the sword back into its scabbard and set it aside reverently, then took his axe and began the same process, scraping at the blade with his stone. The edge was less extreme here, providing strength rather than razor sharpness.

“I plan to talk to him once we’ve eaten. He won’t be playing with the other children anymore; Ranulf has Eyja to keep him company. Raudr needs to be with the men, learning from Haakon and Ivarr. It saddens me that his childhood has to end so abruptly, but…” Ragnar shrugged.

“Such are the fates we’ve been woven.”

Sigrid felt a tightness in her chest, her baby boy, her first born, was going to grow up faster than he should have. She leaned her chin on Ragnar’s shoulder, ”I remember when he was born, I can never forget any but he was our first. Nearly two days to push him out, I thought I was going to die. The boy has always been very stubborn. The Norns spun his thread that winter’s day, so cold it was that season. The wolves came too close, we could hear their howling just outside our walls. Do you remember?”

She stood up, putting the blankets and furs back onto the bench and slipped on the cream colored wool underdress. ”A mother can’t help but want to keep her babies close but you’re right, he is not a...he can’t be a child anymore. I know he’ll be a fine warrior, it is what he wants more than anything.”

Sigrid picked up her ivory comb and raked it through her hair until it shone like copper. She went to Ragnar and ran her fingers through his hair and gave his beard a playful tug.

“He’ll have no better teacher,” she said with a small smile on her lips. “When you are done there, I’ll fix your hair.”

Ragnar grinned at the memories, remaining quiet as he focused on his weapons. They had been together long enough that he knew she wouldn’t take offence at the lack of response; this was how all of their conversations went, when he was working on his war gear, and a response on his part wasn’t really required anyway.

After several minutes of sharpening and polishing, he set the axe aside. A brief inspection of his seax told him the blade was still in good condition, and didn’t need any care, so he put away his tools and stretched, then turned to his wife.

“Alright. I’m ready,” he said, tugging at his wild beard. “Make them tight; I want to look good if today’s the day I get to put Harald’s head on a stick.”

Sigrid straddled his lap, a leg on either side of his as she worked to braid his beard into three sections, one large in the center and flanked by a smaller braid on either side. Each ended by wrapping it with a bronze ring and the central braid had a few woven into the coarse hair. Her nimble, practiced fingers made quick work of it. She smoothed them and smiled down at his handsome weathered face, planting a quick kiss on his brow before she moved around to comb and plait his golden hair.

Despite his age, his hair showed no signs of thinning and among the pale gold were threads of silver. Sigrid braided it into a single thick braid down his back and tied it off with a strip of leather. She slid her hand down it, patting down any stray hairs and stepped around to admire her handiwork.

“You look very fine, Ragnar,” she said, reaching up to comb and braid her own hair, “I’ve got your blue and green tunic, the one with the embroidery.”

She coiled the long russet braid of her hair at the base of her neck, held there with ivory combs carved with the likeness of Freya, a wedding present from her late younger sister. She carefully pulled the deep green apron dress over her head, smoothing it out over the flare of her hips. Around her neck went the layers of beads, glass, amber, gold, silver, and stone and her belt around her waist that was hung with the golden box that held her precious grooming kit and the key to their money box. She tied on her long knife, the leather sheath hanging in front of her small waist.

”Today, if Harald seeks a fight, he will find us ready for him. I hope his sense of self preservation wins out and he stays huddled in that small longhouse,” Sigrid said as she opened the curtain that sectioned off their room.

Standing, Ragnar pulled on his tunic and buckled his weapon belt around his waist, adjusting the sword and axe so they rode comfortably. Though he had no problem with going armed about the camp, he didn’t intend to let Harald think he had him frightened by walking about in his mail. He left the room and, noting that Faolan had returned with the water and Raudr had washed and dressed, he waved them and Haakon over to him.

“Head to the healing house. Tora and the others will need an escort back to the house.” the Thegn said, stretching his back again briefly. “You’re going with them, Son. Follow Haakon’s orders, and see to it that you conduct yourself properly. Faolan, take a spear.”

Faolan picked up a worn spear that leaned against the wall near the door, his hand me down cloak wrapped around his shoulders. Raudr strapped his knife to his hip and grinned at Ranulf who stood off to the side as the men got ready, a troubled expression on his face.

“Don’t worry, Ranulf, you’ll be safe here with Dagny and Madir,” he said, patting the saex, “Sœnskrnautr and I will protect you.”

Ranulf rolled his eyes at his brother’s name for the long knife, ‘Swede’s Gift’ implying it was taken as a trophy from the Swedish warrior though usually it was by the bearer. In his eyes, nothing had changed about his older brother, he was still the same cocksure kid who shared his fantastical games of slaying trolls and fighting epic battles against giants with their wooden practice swords.
“Don’t worry about us, worry about your mouth,” his younger brother retorted.

Raudr shrugged, his freckled face smug as he followed Haakon out the door, walking beside the older warrior. He stopped short at the sight outside, the light from the rising sun in the east was made faint by the overcast sky but it was enough to make out fresh snow that coated everything in white. It crunched underfoot, the frost making a crust of frozen mud under the pristine snow. Winter was here and the thick clouds promised more snow by the end of the day.

Faolan trailed behind them as they made their way to the healing house, stifling a yawn as he watched the small figure of Raudr. It amused him in a joyless manner to see the child, a mere braggart of a boy, given the sudden responsibility of a man. If they were that desperate for fighting men then dark days were ahead.

Raudr paid no mind to the Irish slave behind them, his attention completely on Haakon. He imitated the quiet man’s strides, trying to look as casually alert as he did.

“Haakon, do you think we’ll fight today?” Raudr asked, his enthusiasm that of a child eager to play a new game.

Haakon shrugged, calmly probing the morning shadows with his eyes as they walked. His mail jingled slightly with his steps, and he adjusted his sword at his hip, his left hand resting casually on the hilt.

“We’ll have to see,” he said, glancing at the boy as they walked. “But remember, we aren’t here to seek out a fight. We can’t antagonize Harald and his men, or it will reflect poorly on your fadir. Thegn Ragnar is known for his fairness, as well as his valor. If we go around barking at Harald’s men like dogs, that weakens our position in the eyes of everyone else.”

He pointed at the seax Ragnar the Younger wore. “The warrior controls the blade, not the other way around. If you think with your weapon, it’ll lead you to ruin. You should only use it when you have no other choice. Understand?”

“Fadir wants to kill Harald doesn’t he?” he asked after a moment of silence, looking up at the tall dark haired viking. “He killed his guard, I saw the head...”

Faolan listened quietly, the boy had not seen the violence his father was capable of first hand and sooner rather than later he would get a lesson on what men like Ragnar the Elder were capable of. His dark green eyes glinted when Haakon spoke of his master as a man of valor and fairness. Though the thrall had known much worse than his current owner, he also felt there was little honor in raiding helpless monks and snatching women and children from their homes. Viking honor came in combat, particularly one on one or being outmatched but the slave did not think in those terms, only in what he had experienced first hand.

Raudr touched the handle of the saex, puffing out his chest, “I would kill Harald if he were standing before me.”

Haakon stifled his laugh, not wanting to hurt the boy’s feelings. He’d known Ragnar the Younger for much of the child’s life, and liked him fine as far as children went, but it was strange to him to try and see him as a young man. It should have been a few more years before he started joining his father on raids.

“I don’t doubt you’d do your family proud,” he said, as they neared the healing house. “And yes, Thegn Ragnar does want Harald dead. The man’s a coward, and has claimed a title he has no right to. Add to that the insults he’s shown your family, and your fadir has every right to take the man’s head. That’s the way of things.”

The Viking approached the door to the healing house and stopped, reigning in the other two.

“Faolan, make sure they’re ready to go. We’ll watch the door here,” he said, leaning his back against the wall beside the door. “Raudr, keep your eyes open. Watch to our right, and alert me if you see anyone at all.”

Raudr furrowed his smooth brow, “Then why can’t he just kill him? I know Fadir’s dueled men who insulted Madir while he was gone. I never got to go but he came back victorious and with their weapons.”

For a moment, he wished his brother was with him, Ranulf would understand, he always did. Even as young as he was, he had a quick and political mind, astute in observing the rules and why people did what they did. Raudr could count on him in that way, though Ranulf was never one to lead he was excellent to have behind him. The redheaded boy nodded when Haakon gave him his order, taking a spot next to the door.

“We can’t simply kill him because he’s made restitution, paltry though it may have been.” Haakon explained patiently. He scanned the shadows cast by the dim morning sun as he spoke, his left hand still resting on his sword hilt. “We can’t do anything unless provoked. If your fadir had killed Harald over Tora, it would have disgraced him. She’s a slave, and while Harald is scum and doesn’t have the right to call himself a Thegn, he’s still a man of some standing. You don’t challenge someone over a slave, it’s unseemly. If we kill him now that he’s made payment, it’ll be murder. Harald will give us cause soon enough; men like him always undo themselves in the end.”

Faolan clenched his jaw and bit back his acidic comment. Tora, like himself, was just property. No matter how much the Ragnarsson family seemed to care about the young woman, she was in the end, unworthy of retribution. It was in their code of laws, ingrained into their psyche. Tora was like other slaves he had known, docile lambs for their masters since they knew no better, having been born a thrall.

He opened the door to the healing house, it was quiet but for the murmuring and occasional moans of pain from the injured of the supply party. His keen eyes found Tora quickly, asleep on the bench, her pale face puffy and bruised. He walked silently to her, noting the monk who dozed in the chair next to the bench, his bow leaning against the wall. Beyond them, Wilfred and Robbie slept in their beds.

Eyja frowned mightily as she stomped along, Tore the kitten hung like a garment over one arm through the dirt roads of Trelleborg. She wished there were some properly thawed mud puddles to face her ire, but the ice only crunched underfoot and, while slightly satisfying, did not provide the squelch of mud splash that would have given her the wicked little pleasure of muck-dotting Svala's somehow pristine skirts. Only a moment before, Eyja had been vigorously working one free finger into the tightly plaited hair at the base of her neck, sighing and rolling her blue-grey eyes and just generally making a spectacle of her displeasure until Hallerna stopped in her tracks, pulling both her daughters short in an instant.

Her mother's gaze narrowed with irritation when she promised Eyja she would shave her bald if she did not stop her endless complaining.

There was no jest in Hallerna's eyes.

"Yes Madir," she'd said quickly, her hand dropping from her too-tight hair to cradle Tore the kitten instead - a move he rather liked it seemed, if the sudden rumbly roar of purring was any indication. Still, obedience did not mean she had to give up pouting though, and Eyja pouted with an intensity of feeling reserved for only the most egregiously offended in this wretched world.

Madir had been awake first, as was her wont, and Eyja watched her in the dim orange glow of the hearth from beneath the palette of furs she shared with Hallerna. She had chosen her very best clean apron dress dyed a pale, icy blue, and then washing her face and the thick lengths of her golden hair before carefully tending it all with a bone comb she'd discovered yesterday morning in the village. And when it all shone to the little girl's eyes like a sunrise by the hearth, Madir braided the front in two long braids, twisting them back and then coiling the whole at the base of her neck perfectly, all without need of a mirror.

Eyja longed to touch the amber beads Fadir had given Hallerna, and her mother had never once forbidden her curious fingers from doing so - but something felt different this morning about Madir. Something... Not right. Something that felt a little sad, and then maybe just a little mad, and then finally sad all over again as, for the first time in all of Eyja's memory, she did not wear the iron keys to their family farmstead, but rather wrapped them into the remainder of her clothing by their small bags.

Svala had risen next and, very like Madir, washed and dressed in her very best, a crimson red apron dress made her deep blue eyes seem to glow. Her own hair she pulled back simply, twisting the golden lengths into an elegant knot at the nape of her neck, securing the whole with a few ties and the plain but lovingly crafted combs of horn her father had made Svala for her birthday. And when she finally wrapped the leather belt Madir had bartered for about her slender waist, all the better to tuck the bearded axe she'd taken from the man she killed, like any other warrior, Eyja felt... Well, she felt a little twinge of something in her chest, something less-than-pleasant as her beautiful elder sister transformed from tousled to lovely with every passing moment.

But that was nothing compared to what was to come.

Eyja was next. She endured the washing stoically, but what came afterward was, in a word, unendurable. That bone comb of Madir's went through every last wind-tossed, tangled, snarled piece of Eyja's curly, gingery red hair. Her mother's fingers made quick work of two braids from the front of her head, just like her Madir's, only then worked into two tight, neat braids that hung down Eyja's back like two pieces of rope.

It itched. It pulled. It ached and bothered at her but Madir - patiently at first - explained simply that their family should not arrive to the Jarl's hall looking for all the world like filthy beggars or beaten thralls.

And Eyja understood her mother's plea - she truly did - but her neck itched painfully as the little hairs fought to pull from their unaccustomed bondage, and she truly might have sworn the skin of her face felt tauter than it ought to, yanked back unceremoniously into the braids her Madir had made.

All they truly had to their names fit easily inside the confines of two bags, one carried by each of the older women. The furniture might stay where it was of course, for perhaps the next refugees of the draugr to use, along with the utensils and cookware. There would be no use for such in the great hall, after all.

The sun had only just begun to rise, the first grey light of the coming day bringing some measure of brightening to Trelleborg as they began their trek to the Hall. Madir moved swiftly, as did Svala, and Eyja - toting Tore, of course - had to all but run to keep up with them, complaining grandly - if wordlessly - until her Madir put a halt to that.

But Eyja was Eyja after all, and even if the rising sun was no more than a little girl's harbinger, her naturally bright, brilliant disposition couldn't help but make its way easily to her face as the pout melted from her lips, forgotten utterly, in a veritable split second.

Because the ladies were walking by the healing house and, inexplicably, there was a very familiar face standing outside. Well two familiar faces really, but she honestly didn't think the tall, dark-haired raider looked the type to come play games with her and Ranulf and Dagny.

"Raudr?" Eyja stopped, her head tilted curiously for a moment until she dashed for the boy. Tore the kitten bounced quite merrily in the cradle of her arms as she pulled up in front of him, smiling and breathless and having forgotten nearly entirely about the injustice of her poor head of hair.

"Eyja?" Hallerna called when she caught sight of the movement from the corner of her eye, and then could only sigh softly when she spotted Eyja's destination, straight to Ragnar the Younger. She could not fault her youngest for her impetuosity, and perhaps she was being proud beyond what was her due, but Hallerna simply could not help the twisting in her gut at the unexpected sight of the boy and Ragnar's man, on their way to take the offered shelter in the great hall.

"Raudr, what are you doing here?" Eyja asked incredulously, her eyes falling on the new seax the boy wore so prominently - and frankly she could not escape the impression he truly wanted her to see it.

"Pretty!" she said amiably enough, pointing toward Raudr's new seax with a quick gesture of her elbow, her other hands otherwise completely full of lazy, purring gray tabby cat. "Good morning!" she chirped just as sweetly to Haakon, smiling up at him now, his face and the younger, mostly smiling face of Ivarr now equally etched in her mind's eye as paragons of safety - sanctuary even - after that terrifying run beside Ranulf right here to the healing house only the night before.

"So, is Ranulf about?" she continued eagerly, not truly waiting for a proper response from Raudr on the first two counts before getting straight to the heart of her matter. It wasn't that she was trying to be rude by any means, but only that the piece of paper Orran had given her to draw on after dinner was rolled and tucked into the back of her belt. The discomfort of the order enforced on her otherwise unruly head of hair all but forgotten now, Eyja simply could not wait to show Ranulf the wolf she'd made herself, with her very own hands and a real pen, and real ink! Eyja's head turned right, and then left, furtive, darting glances to see if she could spot Ranulf, though there was no sign of him.

'Oh Eyja... '

Svala bit her lower lip, frowning with a hint of frustration as she watched her little sister run to the healing house, to Raudr and the quiet man of Ragnar's, the one who'd earned her smile. Oh, it wasn't that Eyja was doing or being anything other than her most Eyja-like self this morning. Svala knew very well, her sister's heart was as large and bright as the summer sun in a cloudless sky. But in the end she was only ever just a little girl, and could neither know nor see all things, after all, nor understand how brittle Madir's iron strength was slowly becoming.

The young woman cast a sideways glance to her mother. None of these people in Trellesborg knew Hallerna Halfdannarsdottir as she and Eyja did. Oh, Madir had always been unnaturally strong, a hard, unrelenting worker and a shrewd manager of house and hearth, never a woman to be taken lightly. But no one here knew how easily and naturally the wide, pretty smile on her face had once appeared; how her laughter could carry the length of the longhouse, to dance out the door and across the yard to the fields on the very breezes. No one had yet heard how lovely her Madir's voice was when she sang, low and warm and comforting as her embrace.

All Svala could see now was the dark, bruised looking skin under her mother's eyes, and the shadows just beginning to haunt the hollows of her cheeks. Even when Madir slept, she did not truly dream. Not anymore. Thin as Orran's precious paper was her rest, clutching Eyja close beneath the furs as if she feared to let her vigilance fall, should anything come in the night once more. She ate, but never as much as she should, always pushing the best of what was to be had onto Eyja's plate, or her own, as if Svala couldn't see what she was doing well enough.

Yesterday she had done the work of any man in the village, and then did so all over at Trellesborg when they returned with their cargo. She had tended to those in the healing house, had sewn Tora's ghastly wounds - and at the end of the day, discovered that all her effort was for naught, if the sanctuary she thought they had found here was only the thinnest veneer of safety. Her eldest daughter had to kill a man to defend her life, and now would learn swordplay under the tutelage of the Christian foreigner who had saved them.

And the final blow to what small peace of mind she had thought to carve out for them here in Trellesborg: the remnants of her family must avail themselves of the kindness of the housekarl Loker for their safety, possibly for their very lives. Svala had watched her mother wrap the keys to their lost farmstead, the home they would likely never see again, knowing that in Hallerna's eyes, even the pretense of hope had become more burden than she could shoulder anymore. No, her Madir's loss was no more nor less than that of many refugees in Trellesborg, husband and son and home - but that did not mean the grief cost her any less to bear.

Madir never snapped at Eyja. Not ever. Svala saw her mother wince, the near instant regret in those deep blue eyes the moment those sharp words left her tongue. And the fact Hallerna had to pretend to look to the skies for a long moment when Eyja slipped away to Raudr, to blink back tears she would never allow to fall in front of her daughters, only troubled Svala's heart all the more.

"I will fetch her," Svala said as she took her mother's hand in her own, squeezing those strong, calloused fingers with as sweet and genuine smile as she could muster. The young woman shouldered the bag she carried easily, catching Hallerna's tight, thin attempt at an approving smile, and kept it close for what is was.

Still, the young woman's smile could not help but grow as she approached the healing house, amazed that even with her arms full of unspeakably lazy cat, Eyja still somehow managed to appear ready to burst into song or flight, Svala was never truly sure which. She lay her free hand on her little sister's shoulder, tapping her gently for her attention.

"Eyja, come away - you can play later. Madir is waiting on us," Svala bent to whisper before standing to her full height once more.

"Good morning Raudr," she said kindly, noting the proud light in his eyes and the fine blade Svala knew very well was not in the boy's possession only yesterday. "You are looking quite impressive today."

Her gaze turned to the tall, darker man standing beside the boy. "And to you as well... I mean, the 'good morning' of course," Svala added hastily, "Not the looking impressive - though you do! I didn't mean that you don't, only that... "

Svala began to laugh, at herself of course, at her own foolishness, her cheeks blushing nearly as bright a red as the dress she wore. She likely should have stuck with the "simply smiling." Apparently that tack worked far better for her than actual conversation.

"Only that I am making a terrible mess of this. There was precious little time last night to say as much, but we thank you for yesterday. Truly."

Vigi wondered if this would be the day he lost a few extremities from the cold. The fire last night had done little to keep them warm and the snow that had fallen had made it worse. The fact none of them had frozen to death through the harsh night was a miracle.

As they trudged through the snow at mornings first light, Vigi's body longed to reach the fort so he may curl up in a pile of furs by the fire and rest. However his mind was anxious to return with only the broken spear of the young Jarl.

Shaking his head to try and clear the dark thoughts Vigi focused on the injured. The old trapper looked as though he was flushed with a fever and there was pain burning in his eyes. But despite it he pressed on, snapping at him and his son when they showed concern. The man’s strength was admirable and Vigi was able to ease his sons worries a little by telling him he'd be able to properly treat his father at the fort.

His attention shifted to Einnar and he moved closer to him. "How is your ankle fairing?" He asked softly.

Einnar woke, unsurprised finding the snow had covered his cloak and draped the surrounding woods with a blanket of white. He rubbed his hands together and stood up with a grunt, a sharp pain flaring in his ankle. His head felt heavy from drink and exhaustion but he was used to that and ignored it. The sun was rising though it was masked by the cloud laden sky but slowly the darkness faded to a gray light and they broke camp. He lead the way, picking a narrow trail through the woods, his eye keen in the dim light of the forest. Being hobbled by the injury made the going slow, his bow left strapped to his back as he was unable to hold it and the crutch at the same time.

When Vigi fell in step next to him and inquired, Einnar shrugged with his free shoulder, "It hurts."

He took a few more limping steps before glancing at the fair man's face, "Tell me, seidrmadr, do you think Loker will be satisfied with the broken spear? The question nagged me like a fishwife as I tried to sleep."

Vigi took in a deep breath at the question. "I suppose he won't." He answered softly. "But if such a strong spear is broken then the chances of him being alive are slim and, I know this won't mean anything to you," He put a hand on his shoulder. "I can feel it from the spear...Bjorn has gone to join his father in Odin's hall." He let his hand fall off Einnar's shoulder. "If Loker is not satisfied without a body though, I will offer my services again if he wishes to send out another search party. For now however we have to return. We do not have the supplies nor the strength to continue searching these woods."

Einnar listened quietly as Vigi spoke and glanced back over his shoulder, spotting Leifr who walked with the hunting dogs and his father Ulfr who seemed worn and moving slower but they all were tired. He stayed silent for a moment then spoke in a low voice.

“So, what if we tell Loker we saw Bjorn’s body? I know the housekarl, he won’t rest until he is certain, more loyal than any hound that man. If we say we saw him dead but could not get close because of the draugr, he would accept that more readily than just the spear, I think,” Einnar said. “It’s not much of a lie, I’m sure the jarl is dead.”

That thought had crossed Vigi’s mind as well, but it did not sit right with him. However, Einnar knew Loker far better and if he said the housekarl would not rest without a body...He said he’d offer to go on another search party but the thought left him more exhausted than he already was. And it would be all for nothing as well. ”If you think it is wise then I agree and will back your story.” He replied in a whisper. They would not even need the trappers stories because they had been at the camp when Vigi made the discovery of the broken spear.

Einnar nodded, “I am grateful, no more men need to be injured or lost to searching for a dead man.”

The huntsman wound his way through the twisted game trail, using his free hand to push his long dark hair back. “You know if I thought there was a real chance Bjorn was alive, I wouldn’t give up so easily.”

He glanced at Vigi when he said this, not wanting the seidrmadr to think him a coward. Truth be told the jarl was dead and life moved on. They had enough to worry about behind the walls of Trelleborg.

“I trust your feeling on the situation, what you felt about the spear,” he continued after a moment. “Along with my own.”

Among the trees, crows cawed and jumped branch to branch, knocking snow down which sprinkled the small group of men. Leifr gripped the leashes of Roxanna and Alexander, the dogs snuffling the frozen ground and he kept close to his father. Ulfr held his arm against his body, it ached terribly where he had been bitten, even more so than the time he suffered a wolf bite when driving one off a kill in a trap. He trusted the seidrmadr though, the young man seemed wise beyond his years and even more important, he had a sensible head and was not lost in the clouds like many practitioners of seidr.

“I know you wouldn’t.” Vigi murmured, inclining his head slightly.

He looked away from the rugged man to the trappers behind them and fell back to check on Ulfr. “How are you faring?” He asked with a smile and trying not to let his concern for the man show. He looked worse than he had when they set out early morning.

“Well enough.” He grunted, glancing at his son. “My arm is in a lot of pain.”

“I have something to help.” Vigi said, moving his cloak aside to dig into his bag. “Chew on these.” He instructed, pulling out a few dried leaves. “They should help with the pain until we can reach the fort.” He smiled, holding out the herbs.

“Thank you seidrmadr.” Ulfr took the leaves and quickly stuffed them into his mouth, gagging after the first bite. “They taste worse than goat dung.”

Vigi chuckled. [/b]“I know they do, but they help with pain.”[/b]

The trees began to thin out, more cold sunlight filtered through as they made their way home. Einnar knew the forest would dissipate soon and the land become more open and marshy before it would become stoney and easy to travel quickly. The road cut around this area for good reason and it would not be easy getting across with his bad ankle. Despite this, he saw little way around that would not lead them into areas infected with draugr. They seemed to congregate where people would go and the fenlands they were headed for was not such a place.

Einnar turned back and caught the eyes of the seidrmadr and beckoned him forward with a nod of his head.

Vigi arched an eyebrow but quickly moved forward to his side. “What is it?” He asked.

“Past the forest we will enter a marsh, it is likely frozen...hopefully frozen solid but in case it is not I will need your help,” he lifted his crutch and looked at Vigi squarely, “I fear that is the only way that we might avoid the attention of any draugr, no one ventures out into the fens. I’m hoping that the draugr will be absent as well.

Leifr watched his father grimace as he chewed the herbs, and smiled, “Madir used to say the more bitter the medicine, the better the healing.”

The older man nodded, managing to swallow down the herbs, “That she did, she was handy with plants, your madir. She could grow just about anything. If my traps and bow failed, she was there with cabbages and turnips. A good woman she was.”

Ulfr trailed off and sighed, remembering his late wife, feeling the throbbing in his arm start to fade to a dull ache. He noted the trees thinning out and guessed they were getting close to emerging from the woods from the narrow deer trail the hunter had led them on. He shifted his axe on his belt with his good hand and kept a watchful eye on the shadows among the trees.

“My help?” Vigi repeated, giving Einnar a critical once over to guess how much he weighed. He was not very strong, but Einnar would not be dead weight either. “Of course.” He nodded, trying to brush aside his self doubts.

"Who else? Leifr must help his father," he replied, "I should be able to find a decent path through the marsh and the cold helps, the shallow pools will be frozen."

He lead them out of the forest and the wide stretch of brushy fen laid out in front of them. To the east was the salt marsh where the fishing village had stood that had been raided yesterday morning and the road that was built up on mounded soil and stone. Einnar considered the dangers, the draugr were certain to be roaming around the road as that was a place where people would be. The marshes, despite their treacherous footing, were the safer route.

The morning was silent, only the sound of the icy mud squelching around their boots as Einnar made his way slowly, gritting his teeth against the pain in his ankle as he had to put up the crutch, it was useless on the soft ground. He had taken the dogs leashes from Leifr, using the stout animals to brace himself if he happened to slip.

Mist hung low, obscuring their view to only a dozen yards, the snow that had fallen the night before dusted everything in white and ice coated the shallow pools and broke under their weight in the larger ones. It was cold, wet, slow going and the huntsman was miserable.

Vigi stayed close to Einnar, ready to help the hunter if he needed it. He strained his ears, listening for signs of any Draugr lurking in the fog.

His mind flashed back to the details of his vision and he shuddered, pressing a hand to his chest. The blade had felt so real.

Was he really going to die so soon? He had tried to seem like he accepted the news...but really he hasn't. He didn't want to die, he was afraid.

He had gone the vision over and over again, trying to find some sign that he hadn't foreseen his own death. Like perhaps Odin had merely been toying with him; he wouldn't put it past the old wanderer. But there was nothing.

Something small dropped on his head and he jumped, catching a glimpse of the object as it fell. He looked down and his eyes grew wide seeing his bead that had been taken from him.

A crow cawed above them and his head snapped up to see a lone bird flying over them.

It was the crow from yesterday! Why had it returned?

Vigi licked his lips, bending down to pick up the bead. He cast a look to Einnar before he split from the others to chase after the crow.

His rational thoughts screamed at him to stop and return to the safety if the group but he ignored it. That crow had returned for a reason, he had to know what it was. Maybe it could tell him the vision of his death was wrong.

He ran through the mist, eyes on the crow above him so he wouldn't lose it. Every now and again he looked away to make sure there were no Draugr in his path.

However he should have paid more attention to the ground beneath his feet.

One second he was on soft but sure ground and the next his feet were sinking into icy mud. He stumbled in surprise, but kept himself from falling face first into the frigid mud he was sinking in.

"Odin's eye!" He gasped, eyes widening at the mud that was already to his knees. He swore under his breath, trying to pull his legs free. The mud held fast, sucking him down the more he struggled.

He opened his mouth to start yelling but quickly shut it with a clack of his teeth. There could be Draugr lurking near by and if he started shouting they would hear him. Not only alerting them of his presence but possibly the others as well.

How could I be such a fool! He yelled at himself, the cold of the mud seeping into his very bones. He stopped struggling as it seemed the mud pulled him down further the more he struggled.

Vigi shut his eyes taking deep breaths to try and calm his racing heart. He had to remain level headed if he was going to escape this earthen trap on his own. He had taken off from the group without a word. Even if they had followed him he doubted they would be able to find him in this thick fog.

He opened his eyes and looked around him for something to help him. With growing dread he saw nothing that could aid him.

Truly, he was a fool.

Einnar spotted the raven as it circled and dipped down toward Vigi and when the seidrmadr ran off to follow the carrion bird, the huntsman called out in a harsh whisper.

"Vigi stop! It is trickery!"

The dogs strained on their leashes, instinctively wanting to follow the running figure but he held them fast. In seconds the mist swallowed up the pale man, leaving the rest of the party standing around looking at each other. Einnar swore under his breath, "Loki in disguise, cursed foul bird!"

The marshes were treacherous even in the best conditions but the icey slush and limited visibility, along with the constant threat of draugr made it much more dangerous. He could not leave the healer to his own devices and did not want to drag the rest of them along. Ignoring the pain of his ankle, he turned to the trappers and said in a low voice, "Stay here, do not move if you can help it. I know the paths but they change and are often deceiving to even the most experienced woodsmen. I'm taking the Alexander, you keep Roxanna here. I'll track down Vigi and the dog will bring us back to his mate."

con't collab with idlehands and Kuro

The Marsh, outside Trelleborg, early morning

Einnar passed on the female hound's leash to Leifr and he took Alexander, wishing he had a something with Vigi's scent on it. The scrap of cloth he used to wrap the hunter's ankle would smell too much like himself and he had nothing else. With hope the dog would understand they were not tracking deer or wolves and he rubbed the rough fur between his ears.

"Alright, time to earn your meals, my friend," he muttered, "Seek Vigi, let's go."

He hobbled off as the dog started to sniff around, knowing the command of 'seek' meant to track a human rather than prey. Alexander sniffed the air, his ears swiveling, confused by the group's scent and the lack of a tracking order he would usually be given. He followed Einnar's lead however and as the huntsman moved in the direction he had seen Vigi take off in, the dog understood and began to follow the seidrmadr's scent.

Einnar listened intently, hoping to hear Vigi and followed Alexander's wonderful nose. The two hounds were gifts to the Jarl and his son, dogs from Britain with pendulous ears and short snouts, distinctly different than the wolvish, curly tailed dogs of the Norse. Though they lacked the heavy coats to survive in the northern countries they did well in Denmark which had a climate similar to their home. They were thought ugly by some, with their deep chests and drooping jowels but their powerful size and keen noses made them a pleasure to hunt with.

He followed closely, keeping his eyes on Alexander's whip-like tail as the dog kept his nose near the ground, zig zagging along the path of the seidrmadr. After a few more moments, he barked, deep and resonant in the quiet fog. His floppy ears perked up and he strained against the leash, whining and barked once more.

"Vigi?" Einnar whispered loudly, stepping carefully as he noted the vegetation had disappeared, the morass of mud lay ahead and despite the cold he doubted it was frozen.

Vigi's head snapped up at the sound of a deep bark and felt a mixture of relief and shame when Einnar's voice reached his ears. "I'm here!" He called out, just loud enough to be heard but hopefully not so loud as to attract the dead. He had sunken down to the center of his torso, though he had not moved since he fell in.

Hearing Vigi's voice, Alexander wagged his tail and Einnar felt an immense wave of relief. He crept closer, feeling how the mud sucked at his feet and when he saw the shaman chest deep in the muck of the marsh he knew what he was up against. The huntsman shifted his pack, leaving it on the last bit of solid ground to lighten his weight and took the crutch that he had lashed to the frame. Laying flat he crawled forward, using his knees and elbows until he could reach Vigi with the wooden crutch.

"Grab on, and try to flatten yourself," he said quietly, his light brown eyes on Vigi's pale green, "Wiggle forward, slowly, don't try to rush, use your arms and I'll pull back as I can."

Alexander stayed near the pack, pacing back and forth as he watched the men. He whined, understanding the danger of the stinking, sucking mud and would not venture out. The brindle hound sniffed the damp cold air, his whining turning to a low, agitated growl.

Vigi nodded and reached out to grab onto the crutch, for once thankful of his small stature. He tensed hearing the dogs whining into growls. He resisted the urge to move harder against the mud in fear of approaching Draugr. He took in a deep breath to calm down and started to slowly squirm out of the freezing mud. He felt himself start to come loose from the combination of his movements and Einnar's pulling. All the while he looked anxiously around them, listening intently for the sounds of the Draugr.

Einnar noted the change of the dog's tone and he saw the look on Vigi's face. They needed to get out of there as quickly as possible but speed was not much of an option right now.

"Don't worry about that," he said calmly, "Just keep moving, you're stuck fairly deep but we'll get you free."

He pulled on the crutch, adding force to Vigi's efforts and soon saw the seidrmadr was clear to his waist. It would not be long now until he could use his hips and knees to wriggle loose of the mud. The trick was to keep his weight displaced so he would not sink back in. "As you come out, lay flat like I am, keep a hold of the crutch and once you're far enough I can pull you out."

Alexander paced faster, growling, the short brindle fur along his spine rising as he scented the stench he had come to dread. Fear was there but the dog had a stout heart and would not flee the men could not defend themselves. Out of the mist came a shadow, stumbling and lurching through the bog was one of the draugr. He was pasty white and missing half his face, his teeth visible through his torn cheek. Einnar nearly let go of the crutch to go for his weapons but they were with his pack, several yards away on the firmer ground. If he got up to run, he would sink into the quicksand and it would leave Vigi without aid.

"Stay quiet," his voice barely a whisper, watching the slogging draugr approach, "With any luck he'll sink in and be trapped...hopefully not close enough to get a bite out of you. Move, try not to go too fast."

He reached over, hand over hand, pulling the crutch harder, sweat popping out on his brow despite the cold. He felt the tremor of adrenaline sizzle through his muscles, his body urging him to get up and run as the draugr got closer. It avoided the morass and angled toward them where it was firm enough to walk. He was getting closer and in a few more steps would be in biting range. Alexander barked and whined until he saw the draugr get closer, he looked to Einnar, his hackles raised. The huntsman's eyes went from the dog to the draugr and he sighed, resigning himself to the decision.

"Sókn!", he shouted to the big mastiff and Alexander leapt at the attack command. He ran forward as the draugr snarled and bent to try and snap at Vigi.

The heavy dog slammed into the draugr snarling, knocking it off balance and they fell together into the pool of sucking bog mud. Alexander seized hold of the rotting flesh, his fangs digging into the neck instinctively locking onto where the windpipe was. The draugr screeched and clawed at the dog's hide, it's own teeth gnashing at the fur. Alexander held on, shaking his head for the kill that would not come. Draugr needed no air and blood to live but the dog did not understand this and held fast even as the mud rose around them.

Einnar worked as fast as he dared, urging Vigi along until he saw the man's hips were clear, "Now move, crawl faster, don't look back."

The huntsman wormed his way backward, pulling the seidrmadr with his crutch, sending a desperate plea to Thor for strength more out of habit than belief the god would aid them. He could see Alexander still struggling, several patches of fur torn out, blood oozing from wounds but still the dog kept the draugr distracted. Einnar could see they were both sinking into the mud quickly.

Vigi let out a heavy breath when he finally felt himself pull out of the mud. He quickly crawled his way to the huntsman like Einnar had instructed him. He tried to ignore the large dog fighting the Draugr and focused on reaching Einnar and making it back to solid ground.

His heart beat was like thunder and he could hear his own blood rushing through his ears. Every sound he heard from the Draugr made him flinch and but he did not look back.

He kept crawling on his stomach until he reached the solid ground marked by Einnar's pack. He let out a breathless, humorless chuckle as he stood up on shaking legs; looking back to Einnar.

The hunter scrambled to his feet and turned, grabbing Vigi's shoulder for support as pain shot through his injured ankle. He turned back to see both Alexander and the draugr up to their necks in the quagmire. Einnar grimaced at the agonized yelps from the big hound, he would not be able to rescue him. The draugr had got his teeth into him and the blood stained the mud around them.

He picked up his bow and nocked an arrow, aiming carefully, willing his hands to keep from trembling. Tears blurred his vision before he blinked them back hard and he fired, hitting Alexander in the eye, ending his suffering. The draugr wailed and the huntsman sent three arrows in quick succession into the face of the draugr, one burying itself in the hollow eye socket. It ceased it's groans and fell still.

Einnar stood observing the quiet of the marsh had returned and he reached down to gather his things. He fought back his emotions, for as little as he cared for people, he felt deeply for the loyal hunting dogs. Keeping his face averted from Vigi, he led the way back the way he had come. Finally as they got closer to the rest of the party he asked in a strained voice, "Did you find what you sought?"

Vigi kept his gaze down at the ground after watching the emotion well up in Einnar's eyes from losing the large dog. He felt the hunter's grief press against the back of his neck like a boulder and he remained silent during their walk. When Einnar broke the quiet with a tight voice, he flinched. Both at the voice and the question itself. "I...don't even know what I thought I would find." He replied softly, clenching his mud crusted hands into tight fists. "I'm sorry Einnar." He whispered, chancing a look at the man's face.

Einnar pressed his lips into a thin line and shrugged his broad shoulders, holding up his hands for a moment. “Odin called and you answered, right? No need to apologize.”

His hands dropped and he sighed, “Odin called Jarl Helge and then his son...they answered. I have not wept over them and yet here my face is wet because of a dog.”

The hunter rubbed his eyes which were reddened but this time not from drink, “Your life is saved and that is something, at least Alexander died for a more noble cause than most.”

He trudged on, limping until he heard the sound of Roxanna barking. Following the sound they quickly were reunited with Leifr and Ulfr. The men listened to the recount of the events and the younger man gently rubbed behind the female dog’s soft black ears. She looked eagerly at Einnar, snuffling around his feet and whining, no doubt wondering where her companion was. He took her leash and with a silent nod, led them back on course toward Trelleborg.

Vigi remained silent for the rest of the trek to the fort, berating himself for his rash actions. It had been so incredibly stupid of him to go chasing after that crow. What did he think was going to happen? That it was going to reveal that he was not going to meet a grisly end at the hands of a blood thirsty warrior? He had nearly met his end in that mud pit.

Worse yet he had caused such pain for Einnar. It was odd to feel such open grief for a dog rather than two people that he’d known and lived with. But Vigi thought he could understand it. Einnar didn’t seem like the kind of man to build real emotional attachments to people, possibly because of his upbringing; being isolated in the woods with mad parents. He either didn’t want to build actual relationships with people, or he simply didn’t know how.

Vigi himself had gone through a period in his life where he sought the company of farm animals and dogs over that of his family or others his age. It was easier to be with animals, they didn’t judge, they didn’t talk back and they were simply easier to deal with. It actually made sense that Einnar would be so attached to a dog then.

He took in a deep breath and looked up with tired, heavy eyes when the gates of the fort came into sight. He cast a look to the back of Einnar’s head, wondering how well he would be able to deliver the grim tidings to the housecarl.

Making a decision Vigi approached the dark haired man, brushing his hand apologetically through the remaining dog’s fur. “I’ll come with you to give the news to the housecarl.” He said, studying Einnar’s face carefully while he stroked Roxanna’s fur; the dog letting out a soft mournful whimper.

collab between Igraine, idlehands, and Roadrash

Outside the Healing House, early morning

Haakon smiled and waved off the thanks, his mail clinking softly as he shifted his weight to take a quick look to the rear. Ragnar the Younger already seemed preoccupied with his friend, and he was still wary of Harald’s men possibly skulking in the shadows.

“It isn’t a problem, really,” he assured her, quietly amused by her flustered attitude. “From what I hear, you’re more than capable of seeing to your own defence, as it is.”

Svala shrugged, letting the pack fall from her shoulders to be held easily in two hands as her eyes slid away toward Eyja for a moment. Apparently Ragnar’s man hadn’t heard about her disastrous attempt at… Something or other, with Sigrid’s spear. Svala knew very well she’d been far less the warrior that Orran had claimed and bragged in her stead, though she still kept the dead man’s axe for her own. But if nothing else, the young woman was scrupulously honest, and could not for the life of her meet the man’s honest compliment with remotely boastful words of her own.

“I have a good deal to learn. You are kind,” she said softly, her eyes returning to his face once more. “Svala. My name is Svala Svensdottir - and you’ve already met my little sister Eyja here.” Her hand found that currently-tamed head of curly red hair and ran her fingers affectionately over her hair.

The Viking met Svala’s eyes, inclining his head slightly before smiling down at her sister.

“I am Haakon Agmundrsson. It’s a pleasure to meet you when there aren’t blades drawn,” he said, his eyes twinkling briefly. “I honestly wasn’t expecting to run into anyone else out here at this time of morning. Thegn Ragnar sent us to bring Tora and the others back to the house.”

Svala smiled brightly with the lovely introduction, though almost just as quickly her brow furrowed in honest confusion as he spoke. Were she older, more experienced in the ways of this world, the words might not have left her lips. But Svala was who she was, and the words tumbled out as earnest as her genuine concern. “Take Tora? Already?” Svala had gotten a very good look at the young woman’s injuries, whether she would or no, only the night before. She had never seen the like, in all her life. “Surely Haakon, she cannot be ready to move just yet?”

But for that twinkle in his eyes, Svala could give this man the benefit of her doubt, surely. “Unless you will be carrying her, then?”

Haakon shrugged, gesturing briefly towards the door where Faolan had just entered. “Between Faolan and the other one, I’m sure we’ll manage,” he said, resting his left hand in its usual spot on the hilt of his sword.

“And besides, we have the Seidrmadr on our side. We don’t need their nailed god, and having them listening to all of his preaching won’t do them any good. It’s not like the priest can protect them with his tears and lamentations better than we can with good Danish steel.”

Raudr grinned at Eyja’s comment about the long knife before patting it and throwing his shoulders back, ”I call it Sœnskrnautr, my Fadir took it from a mighty warrior he sent to Valhalla. Ranulf is back home, with Dagny. The children have to stay close to safety. Fear not, you have me here and Haakon of course.”

He crossed his arms over his narrow chest and glanced at the warrior, trying to imitate his stance. He looked back at the little redhead, ”I’m sure if you ask Madir, she’ll let Ranulf play. Children need to play, they can’t stay cooped up.”

The boy listened to Haakon and nodded, ”The Christians know nothing about our healing or gods. Ours are better, even if the seidrmadr is an ergi.”

Svala’s jaw dropped, eyes widening as the vile words fell from Raudr’s lips, and she yanked Eyja to her quickly, as if that action alone could wipe the very sound from her ears. Though for her part? Eyja had absolutely no idea what had made Svala gasp and pull her close, but her mind had already been well made up anyway. She was definitely not sharing her real paper and ink drawing of a wolf with Raudr at all.

Haakon’s hand flashed out, cuffing Raudr soundly across the back of the head. The moment after impact he grabbed the boy by the collar, jerking him around to face the hard-eyed raider. With his other hand he pointed at the seax Raudr wore on his hip.

“Unless you feel can pit that knife against the Seidrmadr’s spear, you’d best watch your tongue, boy,” he spat, his anger evident. “Those words can earn a man a length of steel in his guts. If I don’t thrash you first. You aren’t a child anymore, Raudr. You represent my Thegn, and I’ll not have you acting like one of Harald’s low-bred thugs.”

Raudr blushed all the way to the roots of his red hair, his hand reaching up to rub briefly where Haakon had smacked him and glared at the ground, unable to look at the warrior as he admonished him. In his embarrassment, he could not look at the two girls and instead focused on the door of the healing house. Ragnar the Younger was a stubborn, proud child and the words did sink in, especially the last sentence Haakon spoke. He felt a sudden flush of shame at the comparison to Harald’s lowly men and the chance that he might have tarnished his family name.

“All the other men say it!” he countered, “I’ve even heard Ivarr say the same.”

He took a deep breath, grinding his teeth, refusing to acknowledge his fault. Indeed, it was a well known fact that to insult a man and call him feminine was to invite an honor duel. Raudr chewed the inside of his cheek, forcing back any words that might further get him into trouble.

Svala scowled, recovered from the surprise of hearing those words from the boy’s lips - and knowing full well there was neither understanding nor apology in Raudr’s words to Haakon. ”All the other men are fools then, Raudr,” she said icily, having no intention of arguing with a child, no matter who had bestowed the title of “man” on his thin shoulders at some point this past night. She would never think to smack him as Haakon had done, but only bent to place a finger beneath his chin, lifting his deep blue-eyed gaze to her own.

“Only yesterday, our seidrmadr went into that village with your father, and with Haakon and ’all the other men’ to collect supplies, fighting draugr every last step of the way,” she continued, her voice lowering just a little with each phrase, to ensure she had his attention. “The only reason Vigi isn’t here now to hear your words - or the words of ‘all the other men’ as you say - is because he volunteered to go search the draugr-infested forest for the young Jarl. As you can see, they’ve yet to return. Would you not agree, Raudr, that the seidrmadr is a very, very brave man?”

Svala stood to her full height, returning her pack to one shoulder as she put her hand about Eyja’s own. No matter she enjoyed the flash of warmth, wit, perhaps even good humor, in the warrior’s eyes moments ago, certainly no less than the night before - they had stayed too long already, and Madir would be waiting for them.

Raudr turned an even deeper shade of red when the young woman touched his face and scolded him. He looked into her eyes and listened to her, shame on his freckled face. The boy looked aside, unable to meet her gaze anymore and gave a slight nod.

“Alright,” he muttered, “I know I was wrong...it’s wrong to say such things unless I want to fight a man and I do not wish to fight the seidrmadr.”

Raudr glanced at Haakon, “Are you going to tell Fadir?”

Haakon shook his head, releasing his grip on Raudr’s collar and resuming his usual relaxed stance. “Not this time. I think we’ve reached an understanding.”

“Yes, sir,” Raudr replied, moving back into his position by the door, keeping his eyes on the ground.

long last a collab between idlehands and RoadRash

Morning,Trelleborg

Einnar heard the shout from the watchman and saw the gates being opened as he and his small group made their way into Trelleborg. They had been gone a day and it seemed like a lifetime. Roxanna walked at his heel, whining and snuffling his boots ever now and then but the huntsman focused on the task at hand. He spotted Loker making his way from the Hall, dressed in his armor and his sword was on his hip. He approached him, too tired for any niceties when Loker asked.

"The Jarl?"

"Dead," Einnar said, pulling the large boar spear head from his belt, pushing the broken weapon at Loker.

"Did you see him? Could he not have been brought back for a funeral," Loker asked, taking the spear and clutching it to his chest. Bjorn had been his Jarl's son and he had helped raise the boy and was close to him as blood. He was like the son he should have had and it pained him to acknowledge the truth. He had failed Helge and now the uneasy peace in Trelleborg could come apart at the seams at any moment.

"Yes, I saw his body," Einnar lied in a weary voice. "No, he could not be brought back. But he's in Valhalla, he went down fighting, that spear is proof."

"So he feasts with his father by Odin's side," Loker sighed and glanced at Vigi and the rest of the tired men. "I am grateful for this at least."

Einnar limped away with the hound, not waiting to hear what Vigi would tell him, hoping the man kept his promise about seeing Bjorn's body. All he wanted now was his bed and a flask of mead.

---

Sigrid poured buttermilk from the clay flask into a wooden bowl, crumbling some of the day old bread into it and tucked it against her waist. Back home it would be her time to make offerings to the placate the dwarves and to implore the land wights and elves for continued prosperity of the land and their health. But they were in a strange place and Sigrid worried if the dwarves would chop down Ragnar's ancestor tree in their absence, for they were grumpy creatures who disliked being ignored. In Trelleborg, they had no land or ancestor tree, no groves or waterfalls to make an offering to the wights. They were penned in like cattle and though it meant relative safety, she found herself homesick though she kept her thoughts quiet on the matter.

The land wights could not live around people, they tied themselves to places of particular beauty in the wilderness. If there were any to offer their protection to Trelleborg they would probably reside in the small cluster of ash trees behind the Jarl's Hall in the open space. It was likely used for worship and thus untouched by axes, a holy place where the Jarls would seek guidance from Odin and beg the protection of the spirits of the land.

"But we cannot neglect the Ancient Ones, these are dangerous times," Sigrid murmured to herself, unconsciously touching her beads where her pendant of Frigga hung. Dagny watched her mother curiously, her finger tucked in the corner of her mouth. It was a familiar sight in an unfamiliar place, the preparing of offerings. She was too young to know the gods and spirits but it comforted the toddler to see her parents doing the routine chores amongst the strangeness of their new home.

Ranulf entered the longhouse with an armload of kindling and glanced around. Haakon was gone, taking Raudr and Faolan with him. He was not allowed to go, one year and a heirloom knife separating him from his older brother’s rushed entrance into manhood. He pushed some sticks into the fire, glancing at his mother.

“Where is Fadir? Did he leave too?” he asked quietly, his young face showing a mixture of concern and resentment.

Sigrid moved to the fire, checking the contents of the pot and reached over to cup her younger son’s face, “He is at his shrine, asking for favor from the gods. Have you an offering you would like to make?”

Ranulf thought it over, “I have no iron to give Tyr or anything worthy of a blot.”

“You will soon enough,” Sigrid replied, ruffling his fair hair then smoothed it back, “Your hair grows so long, I will braid it for you today so you may look like a son of a thegn and not an urchin.”

She smiled when she said it and gave him a brief but tight hug before going back to her business of preparing both their morning meal and the food for the spirits.

Ragnar sat in his and Sigrid’s sleeping area, his sword across his lap, staring pensively at his shrine. It was a simple thing, much less decorated than the one he’d been forced to leave behind when the draugr came calling at their home, but it had runes carved to his patron god, Tyr, as well as ones denoting Thor, Odin, and a few other choice gods. Though he respected all of the gods, every man was free to choose his personal favorites, and like most warriors the big Thegn had naturally gravitated towards those whose spheres covered warfare and glorious pursuits.

He reached out and briefly stroked the spear-head and seaxe that made up the two largest offerings; both had been recently cleaned and polished, as befit anything offered to the gods, and were flanked by fresh meat and mead, a bit of beer, and a few other choice items to garner the favor of his chosen deities. After a few moments he spoke, his voice soft, as he sought the blessings of the guardians of his people.

“Odin, All-Father, I ask today for your wisdom as I continue to confront the false-Thegn Harald. Keep my rage from clouding my thoughts, and let me see the situation as you do, objectively and without bias, that I may lead my people well. Thor, I ask for your strength and courage in the battle that will inevitably result from this conflict. When the time comes to strike, let me do so with your might, that I may crush my enemy and bring peace to this fort. Let me be fierce and strong, but just, for all that I do, I do for those around me.”

The warrior paused, then addressed his patron god. “Tyr, Sword-God and Oathkeeper, I ask that you keep my duties to both my family and my followers at the forefront of my mind. Help me to remain true to the oaths that I’ve made, and if the time comes to draw my sword, let it be as true and swift as your own.”

Another pause came, this one longer, as Ragnar searched his mind and heart for anything else he may have to ask of his gods. Finally, he reached up to grasp his hammer and rune pendants.

“Let me live well, and meet my fate with courage and honor. If I should die today, may I feast with you tonight.”

Satisfied, he stood, pulled on his bearskin cloak to keep out the chill, and left the room. The clouds fell from his eyes as he took in the sight of his family going about their routine, and he smiled with pride and satisfaction.

Sigrid looked up when Ragnar exited their sleeping quarters, “I am going to offer to the land wights, there is a copse of ash trees beyond the Hall...the only place in these walls where they may still reside.”

She tucked the bowl of milk and bread against her hip, her other hand clutching a flask of ale. “I would rather go outside the fort, but of course that is not to be.”

Her gaze fell on her children, despite her doubts the landvættir remained in Trelleborg among so many people the risk to venture outside was very real.

“Something for the dwarves.” she said, gesturing with the ale. “The last thing we need is their mischief.

Ranulf picked up a piece of the morning bread his mother made, still warm from the hearth. It would be for the elves, it was baked with a bit of honey and his mouth watered. None of their bread would have the sweet touch, it was only to help win the favor of the mysterious beings who could bring or take away illness.

Sigrid dressed Dagny warmly, her small wool dress covered with a rabbit skin hooded cloak that hung down to her sturdy knees. She toddled up to her father and held out her mitten covered hands. Sigrid tried to suppress a smile when she saw Ragnar’s expression.

Ranulf went to the door and held it open, the morning light glinting off the fresh snow. In any other circumstances he could have stayed and watched his little sister, but the attack from yesterday was still fresh in their minds and he had little desire to put up false bravado and demand to stay home.

Ragnar the Elder bent at the waist and swept his daughter up easily into one massive arm. Cradling her in the crook of his elbow, he leaned in and tickled her cheek briefly with his beard, grinning at her giggles, then planted a loud kiss on her forehead before turning to his wife.

“That sounds like a good plan. All of us will go; by the time we’re done, Haakon and Raudr should be back with Tora and the others.” The Thegn grinned, patting his belly. “That ought to put us back just in time for breakfast, eh?”

Handing his daughter off to his wife, he reached out to briefly rest a hand atop his younger son’s head, giving him a wink and grin before stepping past him and out into the cold morning light. Ivarr, the younger of his warriors, wordlessly followed, and the two of them casually surveyed the scene outside the longhouse before Ragnar turned and gestured to his family. Though their mood seemed light and their faces calm, both men rested their hands on the hilts of their weapons in case Harald’s goons lay in wait.

After a few moments, Ragnar turned and gestured to his family, smiling. “The gods have given us another day; let’s not waste it.” he said brightly, turning to lead the way to the clearing as Ivarr dropped back to the rear of the group.

---

Inside the healing house a woodworker of Trelleborg named Tofi lay in a feverish sleep. His health had made a sudden turn for the worse, unexpected as did the others wounded the day before. His wife hovered nearby, keeping a close eye on him until one of the healers returned, dabbing his sweating brow with a cloth. Her husband had been fine the night before, complaining only of the ache where he had been bitten and the desire to return to their quarters. Asdis had denied him that, worried that the crowded noisy longhouse would not be a good place for him to rest and heal. He had slept peacefully until the morning when his fever spiked suddenly and she had woken from the chair next to the bed to find him sweating through his blankets.

Tofi moaned in his delirium, “Burns...inside, like fire.”

His wife, Asdis, shook her head and looked toward the monk who slept beside the slave girl and then toward the door. The five others who had been hurt by draugr and brought to the healing house were all moaning and sweating with high fevers. She turned her attention back to Tofi and offered him water which he fumbled and spilled onto his chest.

“Damned elves, bringing sickness...they are not happy,” she said, her pale eyes wide with fright. “We should offer to them, they’ve been neglected.”

She clasped her hand on his, feeling the heat from his flesh and she gripped him tight as she felt him start to convulse. His muscles locked up and spasmed, his brain boiling with fever and his mouth foaming with blood and saliva as he bit down on his tongue.

“Healer! Someone help me!” Asdis cried out.

Vigi looked away from Loker's grief stricken features, feeling his stomach clench with great unease. More than Bjorn had died yesterday. The tenuous peace of the fort would also be coming to an abrupt end. "I am sorry." he spoke after a brief moment meeting the mans gaze once again. "If you need me, for anything, you can call upon me." He said giving Loker a long but tired look. He would give what services he could for the people of the fort, but for now he greatly needed rest.

Vigi lingered for but a moment before turning to begin the trudge to the healing house. It wasn't the best place for him to seek rest, what with sick and injured wanting him to attend to them. But he had no where else to go.

Einnar had offered the great hall for shelter and protection but Vigi was hesitant to take it. After his vision, being surrounded by warriors was not a comforting thought to him.

He rubbed at his eyes wearily, dark rings a bold contrast against his pale skin. He knew he looked a mess, but he could not bring himself to care at the moment. All he wished for was to lay by a fire and sleep. With any luck it would be peaceful, but he somehow doubted it would.

The walk through the bright snow to the healing house felt short. His shoulders released their tension when it came into his sights. He glanced at the group by the door as he approached but didn't pay them too much attention.

“Healer! Someone help me!” The tension returned to Vigi's shoulders in an instance and he gritted his teeth.

So much for a proper rest.

"Shit." he growled gathering what energy he had left and striding quickly into the healing house.

Vigi's irritation at his foul luck disappeared when he laid eyes on the frantic woman and the man she hovered by. His eyes grew wide and adrenaline spiked through him at the sight of the bloody foam coming from the mans mouth.

He quickly rushed over and pushed the woman to the side, ignoring her incoherent wailing. He touched his hands to the mans shockingly cold skin that looked flush with a fever.

He swore under his breath and tore off the pelt covering the man to see him fully. He saw but one area of him bandaged and he pulled the gauze back to inspect the wound.

Pus and black blood poured sluggishly from the wound that looked like a bite mark.

Vigi's breathed rushed out of him at the sight of the black blood. It looked like Draugr blood.

His heart began to beat faster and he jerked his head up to look at the other injured. The healing house was suddenly a hive of activity as women that volunteered to aid the wounded rushed about. The activity was focused a few areas and he rushed over to the groups, his stomach sinking as his mind raced.

He easily looked over the tops of the women's heads at the wounded they tended to. He saw the same symptoms in all the men. Foam pouring from their mouths, bodies convulsing, cold skin that was flushed from a fever.

And when he barked commands to see their flesh wounds, the white gauze revealed black blood. All from a bite wound.

"Fuck!" He shouted turning away from the last man he inspected and running his dirty hands through his hair.

His mind raced through everything he knew of medicine. Everything he knew of seidr. He had to work fast, there had to be a way to stop this new illness.

"Tofi? Tofi! Tofi no!" Vigi snapped his eyes over at the mournful wail seeing the man laying still on the bed.

He moved over quickly, able to see from where he stood the man was dead. Still he crouched down and pressed his ear to his chest to be sure. He heard no heart beat and felt no breathing.

Sighing he stood up, putting a comforting hand on the crying widows shoulder. He started to turn to focus on those still alive when he saw Tofi's hand twitch.

"What?" he snapped, eyes widening as his hand snapped to the hilt of his saex. Fear gripped him like the icy winds outside as he watched the dead man move.

For a moment he was completely frozen. He couldn't breathe, couldn't think as shock rooted him to his spot. He didn't want to believe what he was witnessing, but he knew it to be true.

The woman looked to her husband and relief washed over her features seeing him move. She didn't see that his skin was still grey, that his lips were still blue and his eyes were dead. There was no flicker of him recognizing his wife.

All there was was burning hunger.

Vigi snapped out of his shock and lunged forward. He grabbed the Draugr by the neck as it moved to sit up, slamming into it with all his weight onto the bed. He yanked out his small blade as he pinned it down and didn't hesitate to stab the newly born demon in the eye.

The body convulsed and then went slack in, hopefully, true death as the blade went straight into its brain. He felt a small amount of blood splatter his cheek as he twisted then yanked out the blade.

The woman shrieked horror. "You bastard! You ergi bastard! You killed him! He was fine! He was alive and you killed him!"

Vigi ignored the woman and stood up on the bed, yelling over her to those present,"Everyone get out NOW! Leave those bitten by the Draugr for they are becoming one! Help those that can't walk, but leave this long house now! Someone get the housekarl! Move! Move!" The panicked look on his face and the urgency in his voice left little room for argument and the healing house exploded into activity.

((Apologies for the long wait! Healing House))

Wilfred awoke at the crack of dawn, even before the few animals in Trelleborg announced the rising of the sun with their activities and cries for food. His habit of rising early came from his time as a priest, waking early to see to his small church's needs and preparing the sacraments for his flock. Here, however, he had no flock to see to and it was just as well; he was in no condition to be rushing about the usual business of his former life. Instead he lay still on the thin bed of furs and straw provided to him, enjoying the brief rest he was allowed, he suspected his new masters would have him at work before long whether he was injured or not; there simply were not enough people in the fort for the near-able bodies to stay with the injured.

"Ye snore like a bleedin' mountain goat." Came the waking groan from the redheaded Pict on his left who still lay flat on his stomach. The bright glaring bruises he had been given the day before were retreating now to dull black marks all across his skin but at least looked less like the angry, shiny welts that had been covering him before.

"You're no sleeping angel yourself." Wilfred growled back, slowly raising himself off the ground with his trunk like arms before pulling his knees into his chest so that he was crouching; the entire movement avoiding the use of his back muscles as much as possible. The wreckage of the skin there ached dully now with a fiery itch setting into place but he dismissed the urge to scratch and pick at the wound; he knew enough of healing not to be a fool.

Their brief moment was stolen by the anguished cries of a woman, drawing their attention to the scene where Vigi stood over the corpse of her husband, weapon dripping black blood. Both the Pict and the Saxon recognised the colour and shared a look before the larger man helped the redhead to stand, moving away from the potential Draugr. Wilfred look down at Tora, still in the place next to him, and her guardian angel.

"Come, we must go. Help me with her." He spoke to Anndrais, kneeling down to gather the girl up.

---

"Where is the thegn? I have news! It cannot wait."

"Watch your damn mouth, boy. I'll decide whether it can wait or not."

"The Healing House, there are Draugr there!" This last part of the exchange was spoken in a hushed whisper but still carried to the true monster residing inside the longhouse. Within moments Harald, bare chested, appeared in the doorway.

"Get some men together and light torches, we'll purge all the sick and wounded before they kill us all." He strode back inside to begin strapping on some light armour.

How many of damned Ragnar's family will be too close to the flames, I wonder."

Just Outside the Healing House - Trelleborg

Eyja was actually beginning to feel kind of sorry for Raudr, to be honest. Sure, he was being a show-off with his new sword... Dagger... Well, whatever it was. And then when he was rubbing it in, about him being all grown-up and that she and Ranulf weren't much better than babies like Dagny? Yes, he was being pretty dumb about it all.

But when Haakon cuffed him upside the head, and then Svala spat words that even cut her like little blades? Eyja's eyes fell. Even if Raudr had made her pretty mad, she found no joy in seeing the face of her playmate - or former playmate, she supposed - turn as red as his hair. The little girl was busily studying the tabby black and grey patterns on the top of Tore's fuzzy head when she felt the first rumblings through her arms, over which the normally unspeakably lazy and pliable kitten was draped.

"Tore?" Eyja whispered as a low, keening growl began to build in the half-grown kitten's belly, reaching his throat with a furious yowl that made all the hairs on the little girl's body stand on end, her pale blue eyes wide with dread. With a furious hiss, the kitten leapt from Eyja's arms and bolted across the muddy thoroughfare, clawing his way swiftly up a framing post of the nearest building from the healing house, disappearing over the roof.

"Tore!" Eyja cried, her face stricken as the kitten bounded away - and that is when Vigi's voice rang through the morning air from the healing house, drowning the little girl's dismay.

Hallerna's eyes had been studying the ground too, but for very different reasons than her youngest daughter's. She tried to wait patiently while Svala collected Eyja, still holding one of the packs full of their scant belongings while she waited for her girls to return, so they could continue on to the Hall, to their new living quarters. But that didn't stop the embarrassment that burned on her cheeks, seeing Haakon this morning, and even little Raudr, the prick of her wounded pride before any members of the Ragnarrson household -

- And then suddenly, that ridiculous, prideful concern ceased to matter at all. Hallerna dropped the pack to the ground, just as Svala took Eyja around her thin shoulders, whirling her about swiftly away from the doorway. "Go to Madir, now! Tore will be fine - go!"

The little girl knew the tone of voice that brooked no argument, her older sister's and mother's both, and did not even think to question - not for a second. Eyja sprinted the short distance to her mother who wrapped her arms around her quickly, so very tightly, before pulling back once more taking her littlest girl by the shoulders.

"Go Eyja, run to Loker, to the guards. Tell them what's happened. You heard Vigi - draugr. Draugr in the healing house! Don't stop for anything or anyone, you hear me? Fast as you can!"

Eyja nodded, frightened, shaking but certainly not from the cold. But she could be strong; she could do this thing. Hallerna kissed her forehead swiftly, releasing her daughter's shoulders. "Brave girl, my Eyja. Now go!"

That too-tight braid seemed a veritable trail of flame red as Eyja sprinted away, and Hallerna swiftly turned to the healing house. Her own axe in hand as she made to follow Svala, to help carry away the wounded and injured to safety, or cut down the walking dead men that had somehow found their way within the walls of Trelleborg.

collab between Constable Walrus, Kuro, and idlehands

Mid Morning, Healing House

It happened so fast, they burned with fever, their wounds festered black and then they died. The girl watched her father writhe in the bed, her small hands gripping his as he foamed and gargled on his last breath. The shouts of the others, took her attention away momentarily as she looked back to where the pale haired healer ran to the aid of a wailing woman. The girl watched in horror as the man stabbed her husband who was sitting up, a miracle after his apparent death. She felt her father reach for her, his clammy hand gripping her wrist with a strength he had not had hours before. She turned, joy flaming in her heart that he was getting better and would not meet the end Tofi had, as long as the crazed seidrmadr stayed away.

“Fadir, thank the gods, you’re bet-” her words were cut off as her father sunk his teeth into her neck, hot blood rushing over his blue lips. Her blue eyes registered shock and confusion before they went blank as her father ripped her throat out in his primal hunger.

Faolan watched the sudden and unexpected violence erupt around him, as men lurched from their beds, groping and seizing at their loved ones who had attended them. He saw a girl get her throat ripped out, another woman her arm nearly ripped from her shoulder as her husband growled and glared with cold dead eyes, filled with that same hunger he had seen in every draugr he had the displeasure of facing.

“Goddamn them,” he swore, gripping his spear and looking toward Anndrais and Wilfred as the big man got out of his bed to fetch Tora.

Tora wanted to scream and run but her body refused to respond. She watched the bloody scene unfold with dull grey eyes, unable to react with the herbal pain medicine still flowing in her body. She turned to see the monk react and felt the hands of the priest lift her out of her bed. Her mouth felt dry and she could not speak as the world swirled around her, red and angry, the stench of pus, death and blood filling her senses.

Anndrais stood quickly; as he watched the scene, some horror in his eyes; he had seen much in his short time, but this was more than horrid. As Wilfred grasped the small woman he muttered to him, “Be careful with her.”

And he stood and went to his bow that was along the wall, and slung an arrow and notched it pulling it back and watching for a clear shot; at this range the arrow would pierce through a body granted it did not hit bone.

Anndrais stood back slightly and watched for a shot; as the corpse gnarled from disease stopped and glared towards them shambling to his feet slowly and he snarled at them his face covered in his own daughters blood; Anndrais let the arrow fly, a swift sound as the string snapped back the barbed arrow flying into the man's forehead and the sharp crack of bone; followed by the draugr body going limp over the corpse of the little girl.

Anndrais quickly notched another and glanced around looking for another shot.

continued

Vigi gritted his teeth seeing the bloody scene unfold before him. The sight of blood arcing through the air made his mind flashback to his vision of the norse raid. He quickly cast the imagery aside and focused on the present. He jumped down from the bench, his grip white knuckle on the carved wood of his seax’s hilt. He grabbed a woman that was about to fall prey to one of the freshly turned corpses and threw her behind him.

Rushing forward his black blood covered blade cut through the air swiftly to slash through the throat of the Draugr. Pale flesh spread open as though it were thin cloth and more black blood oozed forth. However it did not slow the corpse down at all and it lunged at Vigi with it’s mouth open wide.

Heart racing he snapped his blade up, the long dagger pointed directly in front of him. The Dragur slammed into him it impaled itself on his seax through it’s open mouth. The speed and strength it had moved with to attack him proved to be it’s own downfall as it just drove itself so fiercely into the blade that it went clean through the skull.

Vigi stumbled back from the heavy weight, snapping his hand out to grab a post to steady himself. His breathing came harsh and fast as he stared down at the lifeless eyes and slack face impaled on his weapon. He had never fought draugr this closely before and it felt like his heart was going to burst from his chest from how hard it was beating.

He shoved the corpse back so it would fall off his weapon and to the floor. His pale green eyes moved around quickly through the chaos of the healing house, noting that it didn’t seem as crowded as before.

Tora felt little as Wilfred carried her, the view from so far up was interesting. So much blood and bodies falling. She observed it with a detachment she vaguely recognized as the same when she had been attacked the day before. Watching from above as it happened to someone else. She could see Anndrais fire his bow, the sharp twang seemingly loud in her ears as the shouts and screams faded to a buzz of noise in her poppy drugged mind.

Faolan fell back, getting out of the monk’s way as he aimed his bow and he held his spear defensively. Wilfred would be near helpless holding Tora and Robbie was hurt. He watched the movement around them, seeing Vigi leap into action and he felt a grudging moment of admiration for the shaman. The Irish slave backed up, covering Wilfred’s other side as he left Anndrais to face the front of the house and any threat that might cut them off from the door.

A movement caught his eye, the corpse Anndrais had created out of the draugr shifted and he saw a small white hand reach out. The girl was still alive! He felt a rush of dread and adrenaline kick in and despite her being a Norse she was just a slight twelve year old girl. Otherwise he would not have bothered. Faolan moved over to the dead draugr and shoved it over, reaching for the girl who looked up at him, her long blonde hair matted with coagulating blood, the wound of her neck so hideous he could see a glimpse of white from her vertebrae. It took a split second for him to register the fact that the girl was dead and yet living.

“Shit!” he cried out as he felt her grip on his left wrist, stronger than any girl should have had. Her teeth gnashed and she tried to bite him, snapping down on the hanging sleeve of his oversized tunic. Her other hand grabbed at his ankle and he stumbled back, swinging the spear downward.

It struck her in the back, the force enough to put the sharp iron head through her slender body and pin her to the floorboards. Faolan was able to get away from her and he stood back, his face dark with disgust as he watched her flail and cry out as she still tried to reach for him in her desperate hunger. He breathed out and looked around for something to finish her with. His guts roiled when he spotted a heavy iron pot still hanging over a fire.

Without thinking too much about it, he darted over and snatched it, dumping the contents out onto the ground. With a grim look on his face he moved to the girl still impaled on the spear and smashed her skull in with the pot. Faolan closed his eyes and held his breath as he felt the hot blood and bits of bone and brain hit his face. Her hungry cries ended with the third hit and he dropped the cauldron, hearing it roll away as he snatched up his tunic to wipe away the gore.

He opened his eyes, the girl had stopped moving and lay in a bloody mess. Faolan yanked his spear from her body, grimacing at the flesh hanging from it. Even though she had become a draugr, she was still a twelve year old girl and it even made his cynical stomach roll at what he had to do. The Irish slave shook off his spear and moved to Wilfred’s side again, not wanting to look back at the dead girl.

Across the long house, on the other side of the wide fire pit, there were draugr stirring from their benches, tearing at anyone they could grab. One of the women who had tended the sick was dragged down by two, torn apart, her guts spilling like fat blue snakes onto the floor. This was half hidden by the skins hanging on a line, a semblance of privacy attempted at by the healers to divide the house in two while the sick recovered. Anndrais’ view would be obscured by it but anyone walking through the door would be confronted with the sight.

Faolan could hear the door opening, knowing Haakon and his sword were just outside.

Collab between Idlehands, Kuro, and RoadRash
Mid morning, Healing House

As Vigi’s voice rang out through the door of the healing house, Haakon snapped into action immediately. Moving to place himself between the women and the door, the raider hauled his shield from his back and gripped it tightly in his left hand, drawing his sword with his right.

“Raudr! Go with Eyja!” he snapped, his eyes never leaving the door. “I’m charging you with her protection; don’t fail me!” Glancing over his shoulder at Svala, Haakon slipped the tip of his sword into the gap of the partially-open door.

“Stay behind me. Try and keep any of them from getting out, and watch out for yourself. I’m armored, you’re not.”

Taking a deep breath, he silently cursed himself for not bringing his helmet, then levered the door open with his sword and charged inside with a battle cry.

Ragnar the Younger was shaken out of his self absorption over the scolding by the pretty young woman and Haakon. His embarrassment forgotten as the sound of warning cries from the healing house sent an icicle of fear down his back. He remembered those cries, the chaos and horror of that day back home not a fortnight ago. He responded quickly to Haakon’s barked order and dashed after Eyja, following her red braid.

He caught up to her, his small practice shield banging against his back and the saex his father gave him bouncing against his hip. He gave no argument for once because the sound of the warrior’s voice he knew it was deadly business. Eyja was just a girl and Harald’s men were a real threat. Raudr charged ahead of her, pulling his shield up as if to ward off unseen enemies and he shouted back to her.

“Keep close to me! If you see anything. draugr or armed men...just stay with me,” he repeated, unsure of what he would do if actually confronted with those monsters or a group of grown men.

As Haakon rushed into the hall, the familiar battle-stench of blood and shit struck him full in the face. Directly across from him, two draugr feasted on a still squirming woman, their hands and faces buried in blood-slicked viscera as their victim feebly tried to fight them off. A third creature stumbled towards the warrior from his right, his blank eyes locked onto Haakon’s, and the man turned and charged, slamming into the creature with his shield. Ducking low and driving with his legs, Haakon again lamented his lack of a helmet as he struggled to keep the grasping hands away from his face, forcing the monster back with the boss of his shield.

The armored warrior’s momentum coupled with the draugr’s lack of coordination won out after a brief struggle, and the creature toppled onto its back near the fire pit, scattering cooking implements. With his opponent down, Haakon stepped away briefly to gather his wits, taking in the state of the room as the draugr fought to right itself.

“Vigi! Get everyone you can out of here! Start moving towards the door!” the raider shouted, his eyes still on the rising draugr. “I’m going to clear a path as best I can. Get moving!”

Vigi snapped his head around at the shout, relieved to see a warrior in the healing house but he didn’t relax yet. “Alright! Don’t let the beast’s sink their teeth into you or you will become one!” He advised before turning to start directing people toward the door.

Stepping swiftly towards the draugr, which had risen to its knees, Haakon swung his sword in a short, sharp arc, burying the gleaming blade in its shoulder. The razored steel bit deep, passing through bone and muscle to lodge itself towards the middle of the monster’s chest, its left arm falling limp and useless as the muscles that operated it were sheared in two from the force of the blow. Haakon dealt it a solid kick to the face, snapping back its head and using the momentum generated to wrench his blade free, before swinging the blade back-handed and cleaving its skull at the temple. As black blood sprayed and brain-matter dribbled from the draugr’s split cranium, the creature fell back, limp.

Vigi yanked down some of the pelts hanging on the line so he could see the other part of the long house better. He yelled directions to the door, grabbing or pushing anyone that was frozen in fear toward the door. He kept glancing over to Haakon and around him to make sure no freshly turned draugr was about to attack him. Sweat started to fall down his skin, making the dirt and black blood run on his pale skin.

Faolan watched Haakon charge through the door, catching a glimpse of the blonde girl, Svala behind him. He stood back, waiting for Wilfred to carry Tora out as Anndrais helped Robbie who was limping from the beating he took. His eyes ran over the scene, the horror of the day at the Ragnarsson’s farm played over again. Blood fouled the floor and made it slick underfoot. He rubbed his neck, feeling the sweat mix with the gore splattered on him as he itched under his slavers collar, tugging at it. When the rest were heading out, he followed, bringing up the rear with his spear in hand, edging around behind Vigi and Haakon.