Summary: A woman being a warrior was unheard of— but that’s exactly what you are. After being saved long ago by Ruben, your leader, you carried out whatever orders he had given you. It was not something you thought you’d ever question. What happens when you meet a warrior who’s bound by the same foolishness. Will he make you see what he sees? Or will you stay trapped under orders by a man who’s everything you hate. And maybe, you’ll even find love in a certain young Viking.
Warnings: violence, murder, ptsd, negligence, abuse, humiliation, verbal abuse, graphic, descriptions, etc (if I forget anything plz lmk) Read at your own risk!
Parts: one, (more will be coming)
(Masterlist) comments are greatly appreciated! Some things will be different than the anime, so not all of it is canonical. It will be adjusted based on my idea for this story.
Are humans inherently evil?
Humans kill, rape, steal— they take and take and take. They burn everything to the ground, till not even splinters of wood remain where villages stood days before.
The sky, normally bright blue like the vast sea you stare at sometimes, was an ashen gray. Dark thick clouds of smoke curling from burning homes.
Evil. What did that even mean?
A child stared ahead, blade shakily rose toward the back of a Viking. The older man did not notice as he laughed, staring down at the unmoving but alive body of a man who had tried to fight back.
"Should've run, Englishman." He snarled, the axe dripping from a dozen others blood. He raised his arm back, and struck deep into the man's gut.
A sickening pop and squelch was drowned out by screams of terror from all around. Children ran and cried, wives begged, and men fought with what little they had.
It did not matter though, because the Danes had taken over the village in a short hour.
The child who was torn between stabbing his blade in the lung of the Dane, and running— had made a decision. His blade was raised high, eyes wide and terrified, yet he struck. His hand swung down with as much force as his frail body could muster.
It struck the Vikings back— right where his lung sat, yet it did not go deep enough. He spun around, and grinned at the sight of a small boy, taking small steps backwards with tear rimmed eyes.
"I-I'm sorry." His voice was nothing more than a horse whisper. It didn't matter to the viking though, his axe raised high and without hesitation he struck down.
The scream that fell from his small mouth had been covered up by other loud sobs and yells. The viking struck his axe down in the air, blood flying off and painting the dirt path.
You did think humans were inherently evil.
The guilt most Vikings carried was non-existent. They did not mourn the children they slaughtered. They did not weep for the women they raped. Instead, they laughed with horns filled with ale, celebrating the lives they stole.
Each human was born being ruthless and evil, and you had never seen anything different. So why did you carry so much guilt unlike them?
The blade in your grasp dripped with a deep red, ruining the soil. The guilt you carried was much different than the ones you fought side by side with. Was it because you were a woman?
One who was born to raise children— to clean and cook for your husband. Did your sex make you feel empathy differently than the men around you?
You wiped your blade on the burlap pants you wore, staining the brown deep crimson. The chain mail underneath rattled with each step you took. The screams and crackling of fire downed out into nothing as you walked, the battle drawing to an end.
The Danes you traveled with— a band of pirates who raided English villages for most of their spoils— chatted happily at the success of the raid. You did not pause to 'celebrate' with them, instead your feet led you to your leader.
Ruben. His blade was clean, in his sheath strapped to his hip. His armor had no dents or blood splatters like yours. His boots were not caked with mud and ash like yours. He stood beside Jona, leaned easily against the well the village had gotten their water from.
You glanced down, your blade you had sheathed was not clean. A small speck of crimson laid on the handle, but you could not show your weakness to the man you served.
"It's finished." Your voice came out as a mere whisper as you titled your head to look at him, but he had heard.
His eyes immediately looked down at your hand, where the head of the chief hung by his hair tangled in your fingers. An easy grin feel on his lips, one you were familiar with when you completed a task.
"Nicely done." He stood to his full height and walked closer to you. His hand, free of any blemishes or blood, reached over and softly grasped your cheek. "I knew you'd get the job done."
The guilt that had been drowning you before slowly disappeared at his praise. His touch, so featherlight, burned with something you could not name.
The head in your grasp was dropped, nothing more than a distant plunge of guilt buried in dozens of murders now.
The walk to your tent was silent, blade burning a hole into your hip. You were acutely aware of the blood you had not been able to clean off. A speck, the tiniest bit made your heart race with the need to clean it.
It stared and taunted you— who's blood was it? You did not know. Was it the man, the one with black hair and an eye-patch? Or was it the teenager, the one who tried to run for his life? Was it the leader? The one you had murdered just because Ruben had asked?
Your teeth grinded together till your jaw felt sore. Your fingers were twitching toward the sheath on their own, like your soul knew of your need for it to be clean. It was not till you closed the flap to your tent did you grab the blade, rubbing it desperately on your pants leg to rid it of the blood.
You looked it over again, making sure it was clean before slipping it into your sheath and letting out a breath.
You pushed your blade across the stone, sharpening the shining edges. You sat on top of a wagon, the sun lowered enough to cast a warm hue across your face.
The birds chirped happily, much different than how you felt. And before you could stop your own thoughts, you remembered that day. The one where everything went wrong.
You knew the outcome, the inevitable conclusion to the fight. Bloodied walls, enslaved women, and dead warriors. But how had it started?
The screams— the ones that pierced through chatter and crackling flames were embedded deep in your soul were the first thing that came to mind. It haunted you loudly, in every moment you tried to forget, in every tear that fell down your skin, and in every blade you struck through someone's heart.
And it did not matter that your vocal cords stung with overuse, it did not matter that your eyes were swollen and red from crying, and it did not matter how much you begged.
The outcome was the same.
You still remember the sword, the one with flames carved into the bloodied steel as it sliced through your fathers chest. You remembered how everything went silent— you couldn't hear the cheers of the Vikings or the ransacking of the village.
You didn't even hear the ear piercing scream that came from deep in your soul. The one that cut through the celebration and made everything silent for a few moments.
All you saw was your fathers body falling, slamming into the muddied ground. Blood, a deep sickening red pooling around him. You thrashed, throwing yourself forward, but the Viking that had you in his grasp was much stronger.
You saw your fathers mouth moving as he looked at you with such deep love. His eyes were soft and warm, yet you did not hear his words. It was a muffled blur of rage and sorrow, his words never reached your young ears.
You remembered how they laughed afterwards, throwing your frail body into the stables, taking you away from your father.
Horse shit, mud, and dirty hay stuck to your skin, a stark contrast to your warm bed you were used to. The one with animal pelts and soft cotton sewed into quilts. The one where your mother would read stories as she stroked your hair.
"I'll admit, you have fight." The Viking had laughed, leaned against the stall door. A grin so sickening it still haunts your mind even years later. You laid on the ground, hay stabbing into you, but you didn't move. "But that's all you have."
You had heard his footsteps retreating, most likely bored with you already. You remembered lying there numb, wondering why they hadn't killed you. You asked yourself why they hadn't left you with the rest of the slaves to be sold off to the next village they visited.
You remembered they left you there for days as you sobbed into the ball you rolled yourself in. Nothing mattered anymore. Your father was dead, your mother a slave, and you were trapped in guilt and grief.
Your eyes were dry with overuse, water and food no longer a luxury you could afford. You remembered going to the stall door and pushing it, yet it did not budge. You had pushed and kicked, but it did not open.
You fell to your knees, horse shit smearing on the cuts you had received when your village had been raided. It stung and burned, but not more than the dryness in your throat. You sobbed into your stained hands, dried blood smearing on your face.
You didn't hear the footsteps approaching till a loud deep laugh made your heart drop. You scrambled backwards till your back slammed against the wood. You glanced up before you could stop yourself, and of course it was a vile viking, one who had stood there while your fathers light faded from his eyes.
He was large, leaned against the wood with a half empty beer mug in his hand. He smiled, large and unnerving for someone as young as you. The scar across his lip was prominent in his otherwise bare features. "I thought Argrid said you had fight, but all I see is a puny child."
Your teeth clenched together, till you were sure your bones would crack and crumble into nothing. His eyes, so devoid of any humanity stared at you as if you were nothing more than a pig.
"I-" It came out gravely and deeper than you'd ever heard your own voice. "I'll kill you." Your nails dug into your palm as you pushed yourself up.
He laughed, loud and obnoxius. He raised his free hand in false surrender as you stumbled forward. "Yeah? Here, maybe this'll keep you alive for a few days."
His beer bug was thrown into the stall, landing in the dirty hay. The contents splattered on the ground. You swallowed staring at the mug. A small amount of alcohol had been left in the bottom, yet to soak into the hay.
He grinned. "Go on, drink up."
You steadied yourself and bit your lip, but did not move. You refused. You'd rather die than drink from the same mug as him. He frowned and shrugged. "Fine, suit yourself."
He turned, not bothering to glance back at you.
You remembered leaving the mug there for hours before you crawled with tears in your eyes to it, succumbing to the deep need for liquid.
You remembered lifting it, and the humiliation burning in your chest as you brought it to your lips and sipped the small amount of beer at the bottom.
It tasted sour and disgusting, but you still drank it. It eased the scratchiness in your throat for a fleeting moment. Your fingers stuck down the mug before you could stop yourself, gathering any bit of moister left as you sucked your own fingers to get even a small drop.
The tears pooled in your eyes began to fall, you sobbed as you lapped at the dirty ground trying to drink the beer that soaked into the hay. It was disgusting, dirt and hay sticking to your tongue.
"Hey, cheiftain has a job for you."
You glanced up, snapped from the memory that seemed to haunt you every moment you were alone. You buried the memory deep. You rolled your shoulders and stood up, sheathing your knife into the strap on your belt. "What does he want now?"
The viking, Theodor, shrugged. "He's in his tent with Jona."
You nodded and walked down the dirt path toward his tent. It was the large one in the distance surrounded by smaller ones. The fires crackled, men laughed and mocked the slaves they had captured. You ignored it and kept walking.
The flap to the chieftain's tent came into view, Jona, an older warrior with a large sword strapped to his back stood on guard.
Your steps came to a halt as you stood in from of the tent. You didn't say anything, but it wasn't needed with the way Jona opened the flap and gestured you in.
You walked through. Immediately your eyes landed on Ruben, the chieftain over the band of Vikings you traveled with. He sat on a wooden chair, a mug of something dark on the small table beside him. His feet were kicked over each other on the edge of the table.
He smirked as you walked up, stopping a few feet from him. "We're heading to Wessex."
You raised a brow, putting your hand on your hip. "Thought we'd head to Mercia next?"
Ruben picked his mug up and took a swig before he spoke. "Rumors are that another group of pirates like us struck gold with the a raid." He sat up and smirked, his brown eyes glistening with greed. "And I'd like that gold they have."
It didn't surprise you. Not with the way Ruben was. A greedy bastard, someone who didn't care an ounce for the ones who followed him. Money ruled his life, not that it wasn't obvious.
"What do you want me to do?"
The question was filled with more than just wanting orders. Ruben had been testing you every fleeting moment for your strength. He did not coddle you for being a woman, and he sure as hell didn't lay up just because of your gender.
"Leave in the morning, take a cart and two horses." He stood up, taking a few steps closer to you. His brown hair shadowed over his eyes as his hand came up, knuckles brushing your cheek. "You know what to do."
You sucked in a breath. Your skin burned, tingled deeply, yet you didn't pull away. He smirked and took a slow step back. "Have Jona get you what you need."
You nodded. The air was tense with something you knew was disgusting as you turned and stepped out of the tent.
The air buzzed outside, Vikings chatting and celebrating a successful raid, but you did not join. Instead you relayed the information to Jona, and then headed to your own tent.
Rocks crunched under your feet, but the sound was drowned out by a booming voice. "Y/n!" You immediately sighed, your body already knowing who had disturbed your walk to your tent.
You turned, a bored expression on your face as you glanced at Asger. His hair, a deep black sat messily on his shoulders. He held a mug, beer filled to the top as foam dripped down the side. "Come, have a drink!"
"You know I don't drink, Asger." Your lips twitched upwards at his gesture either way. He frowned, an almost adorable look if it wasn't for his large intimidating statue.
"Oh, yeah." He rubbed the back of his head sheepishly. "You leaving?"
You nodded. "England, tomorrow morning. It'll be a bit before I'm back." You explained.
Asger raised his mug high. "Safe travels, friend!"
You couldn't help but smile at his gesture as he swung his head back and began chugging the mug. You waved a hand over your shoulder as you continued your walk to your tent.
Morning came faster than you would've liked. The morning sun filtered through your thin tent, birds chirping loudly. The Vikings had long fallen asleep, the one evidence of yesterday's celebration were empty wooden beer mugs and bones with small scraps of meat on them.
You packed up quickly, loading the wagon Jona had prepared for you yesterday. The horses were brought from the stables. You adjusted the straps and buckles, making sure everything was correctly on.
Ruben stood beside Jona, sword safely tucked on his side as he smirked. You did not walk up to him and say goodbye, instead you hoisted yourself on the wagon, gathering the reins in your hands. You softly clicked your tongue, and soon the horses walked down the dirt path leading away from the village.
"See you later, Y/n!" Asger yelled, waving toward you. You couldn't help but smile at his foolishness. You glanced back one more time, only to see Ruben already walking away speaking to Jona.
It bothered you more than it should.
It was almost two weeks later when you crossed the border into England. The sun was high, beating down on you with every bit of strength it had, yet you did not stop.
You had a mission you needed to carry out.
In the distance a village came into view. Smoke rose from the chimneys, but for a small fleeting moment, you were reminded of the way the smoke curled into the sky when your own village had been raided by Danes.
Your heart thumped, but you ignored it, instead choosing to take a deep breath and steady your trembling hands. The wagon creaked as you entered the village, rocks making the path uneven and bumpy.
Vendors stood behind their shops, preaching about their products. Children ran and laughed, some throwing a bean filled bag in the air, trying to hit it with their feet.
It did not warm your heart, not with the way you knew one day, this village would be nothing more than ash. That was how all villages turned out eventually. Broken wood, dead warriors, and malnourished slaves.
You glanced away before the guilt could consume you.
"Hey! You look parched from your journey miss, looking for supplies?" An older man, wrinkles in the corners of his eyes were prominent as he preached his travel supplies. "I'll tell you what, how about three silver coins off!"
You raised a brow. "Three silver coins off you say?" You slightly pulled back on the reins, your horses coming to a stop.
He grinned. "That's right, miss. Your horses look like they could use some rest! I'd be willing to let you use my stalls for a fair price."
You glanced toward your horses. They did not look tired, but it didn't hurt to stay in the village for one night. After all, you were here to get information.
"And what would that 'fair price' be?"
You paid a fair price of three coins for the day. The man led you to the stalls, letting you board your horses there for the night. The wagon had been left beside the stalls, covered by a tarp. You were not worried by thieves, you'd just kill them if they stole your supplies.
You had wondered around the village, dodging bolting children and flirting men. It was strangely peaceful. The place hummed with community, a drastic contrast to the normal shouting and drunken vikings you spent your days with.
The rocks crunched beneath your feet as you wondered around. A tavern came into view, locals pushing through the wooden doors with full belly laughter.
You followed in after them. Your eyes glanced around, dozens of men at different tables, chattering about the winter or women that had the pleasure of sleeping with them. Slaved women walked around with pitchers, topping off half empty cups.
The pit in your stomach grew deeper as you walked in toward the back, where the tavern owner stood. "Vincent and his men need more mead." He ran a hand down his face, counting silver coins in his grasp.
"Excuse me." You leaned against the counter. "I need some information, if you're willing sir."
He glanced up, pocketing the coins. His eyes looked you up and down before he smirked. "And what's a pretty thing like you want to know?"
"Askalad. Ever heard of em'?" You took the pouch of coins off your belt and loosened the tie. The owner, a man in his early thirties eyes lit up at the sight of the pouch. His eyes, full of greed, glistened.
"I might know of him. I just cant seem to jog my memory." His hand came up to the scruff on his chin as he smirked.
You raised a brow. "Maybe ten coins would remind you?" You then proceed to count the coins and hold them out for the man.
He wet his lips as he took the silver. He slipped them into his pocket before he leaned against the counter, his head tilted toward you as he brought his voice low.
"I heard he just raided a village on the east, Brage’s men had been staying there for the upcoming winter and apparently had a lot of spoils from the year. Know of them?" You nodded and he continued. "Askeladd and his men return to their village for winter, and with the path they're taking I'd say it wont be long before they pass through here."
"Will they raid this place?"
He shook his head. "Maybe. Heard his band of pirates can't take more treasure, but who really knows." He sighed. "If you want my advice, stop chasing him. He's a dangerous man with an even more dangerous mentality."
The chatter in the tavern picked up, loud shouts of disapproval from drunken men making most people glance up. You thanked the man quietly and left the tavern before things grew too loud there.
You sat on a cliff a few hours later. It overlooked the village, making watching the hills for oncoming vikings easier. You fiddled with your blade, your fingers running along the hilt.
Stay and hope Askalad shows up to the puney village. The spoils wouldn't even be enough to satisfy them based on what you'd heard. And hoping for a miracle wont get you what you wanted.
Or, you could travel east. There's a chance you'd find them beforehand, gathering intel from other villages along the way. But there was also a chance you'd miss them, and they'd come here instead.
You sighed. What a troublesome decision.
What would Ruben want you to do? Stay and hope, or go off and try?
You stood up, looking down at the bustling village. The decision was made when you saw a small group of kids, maybe six years old, running after each other. They laughed, wide toothy grins.
So innocent in a cruel world.
You'd leave the village tomorrow you decided. You'd head east, intercepting where you assumed Askalad would be heading with his mountain of treasure for the winter. You slipped your blade back into the sheath on your side and adjusted the bow on your back.
The walk back to the village was silent. The birds, normally so talkative to one another, were quiet. The breeze, where it had howled and sung, was nothing more than a soft whistle.
A piercing scream. One that cut through the ruckus of the village and made even the forest silent for once. A scream that reminded you of yourself all those years ago. A scream that reeked of sorrow and rage.
You bolted, your hand immediately finding the bow on your back. And your body knew it well as you loaded an arrow onto the string, drawing it back slightly as you ran, ready for any sort of interception.
You stopped, couching low as you got to the edge of the treeline. Black smoke curled toward the vast sky, fire licking up the sides of buildings. You saw children, the same ones who had just been laughing together, running toward their homes faces white with terror.
"Take the slaves boys! Light the place up after, I don't wanna see any standing buildings!" A voice shouted out. You looked over, dropping the bow slightly.
A man, early forties maybe stood with a metal chest-plate strapped to his chest. His smile was big, a cockiness to it that made your stomach sink. His blade was not drawn— a fools move, or a confident coward?
His blonde hair tasoled in the wind.
"Askalad! I found this one running-"
Your eyes widened. Askalad? The stars were aligning for you. Your eyes followed the man who had walked up, a woman in his grasp. She thrashed, screaming loudly.
The blonde, Askalad grinned. "Put her with the others."
You remembered your chieftains words as you withdrew your bow, putting the arrow safely back into the pouch hung on your hip. You swung it off quickly, even as the vikings raiding the small village became louder.
Men screamed, blade struck them down one after another as they tried to protect their homes. Women ran, their children's hands in their grasp even as they sobbed and bolted. Sadly, the vikings were faster, stronger, and showed no mercy even to the ones who begged.
You buried it under leaves quickly, smearing mud across your face. There was only one way to intercept a man like Askalad. Become a slave.
You stumbled out of the woods and screamed. "Someone help me!"
Immediately, eyes locked onto you. One grinned, a sickening sight to anyone who happened to have the horrible luck of being captured.
The reaction was immediate, you turned and tried to run, but hands grabbed you, pinning you down. "Should've run, sweet thing."
You swallowed the bile that rose in the back of your throat. His weight was heavy on you, his knees pinned on either side of you. The tears that welled up in your eyes weren't fake, but they were not what the man had thought.
The tears were ones of suppressed rage. One of someone who wanted to kill so badly, yet held themselves back solely for the mission assigned. His hands gripped your shoulders and slung you up, till you were thrown across his shoulder.
How you hated men who thought they were superior.
You grunted from the impact, blood rushing to your head. You thrashed, but his hands held you down as he chuckled. "Got some fight, ey?"
The words made the blood in your body freeze. Your stomach had dropped and suddenly it felt like everything was far away and you were not slung over one of Askalds viking men's shoulders.
Suddenly you were six years old sleeping in a trashed stall with horse shit staining your dress.
Suddenly you were starving, licking the condensation of the dirty walls as you sobbed. And suddenly you were not seventeen working for the man that had saved you— you were clouded by grief as your fathers death flashed over and over again.
A blade, one with flames carved into it dripped with blood. And the man who had killed him had no face, only a laugh embedded so deep in your skin it did not matter how you scrubbed your body, it would never get rid of the sound.
Before you could stop yourself, your knee reeled back and slammed into the mans stomach— hard. You grabbed his head as his grip loosened, swinging your legs up and wrapping them around his neck. You twisted his head, your nails digging into his hair line. His hands clawed at your thighs wrapped so tightly around his neck, but you did not budge.
'I’ll admit, you have fight… but that’s all you have.’
Not till you heard the sickening snap of his neck that felt like freedom. His muscles loosened, and suddenly the battlefield had quieted down and you were being watched by his comrades, his brethren who had fought side by side with him.
The mission, the one you had dedicated weeks of your life to had crumbled away from a few simple words. You jumped from his falling body, hand immediately gripping the knife in the sheath by your side.
You knew today would be the day you died. You held your blade up, eyes dancing across the battlefield as you tried to see just how much trouble you were in.
A dozen man stared, mouths agape.
You gritted your teeth together. Your hand wrapped around the hilt of the blade so tightly, till your knuckles were white and your veins were popping. The sky was ashen as smoke filled the air, houses burning and crackling down.
The screams of innocents drowned out as you were rushed by a dozen men, all who bore the same resentment for you killing their comrade. They screamed insults and threats.
You had failed Ruben and now you'd pay the price for letting your anger take over.
The fight was a blur of steel and thrown punches. You ducked right as a fist flew by your head— a man missing an ear, likely from a battle long ago, screamed. You lunged, plunging your blade deep in his jugular.
Blood sprayed, and you had no time to collect yourself, you were being surrounded. You ducked, twisting your body to avoid thick blades of steel.
You stumbled backwards as a fist connected with your stomach. A hand gripped your hair and slammed you down, dirt filled your mouth. You flipped over till your scalp burned but even then you did not stop. You slammed your blood covered blade deep in the mans lung. He weezed, hand falling to his wound. A mistake for him as you reeled your leg back and slammed it into his nose.
He stumbled backwards, falling over the dead body of his brethren.
Your blade was dripped with a deep red now, splatters of blood across the area. You were moving on pure instinct now, dodging blades and fists of large men. Your blade plunged into hearts and organs, over and over again.
The guilt was washed away by horrid memories, men who think they are much more powerful than you. Men who take, and take, and take.
Bodies laid by your feet as you fought, and only one thought plagued your mind.
You would die before you could repay Ruben. It was a haunting thought— one you hated. You refused, you would not die by their hands. You had to repay him, you had to.
Then, right as your blade struck into an eye as you let out a sharp battle cry, ready to fight with everything you’d been holding back— everything went blurry. Something hard hit the back of your skull. It was wet and warm as your eyes hazed over and blackness consumed you.
Thorfinn flipped his blade in his hands absentmindedly. His face had that permanent scowl, like he was especially angry at the world and nothing would change that.
The raid had been successful— loot and treasures weighing down his fathers ship. He thought Askalad was an idiot, the village didn't have enough treasure to be anything worth raiding, but atlas the man was greedy.
"Thorfinn! Got a job for you."
He lifted his head as Askalad smirked, gesturing toward the woman tied up. Thorfin rose a brow. He had heard of the woman from this village taking out almost a dozen men before Bjorn hit her in the back of the head. He didn't believe the idiots spouting nonsense like that.
He ignored it mainly, after all he had one goal. "Why should I?" He clicked his tongue and glanced away. "She's not my problem."
"Don't be like that Thorfinn." Askalad teased. "Fine, I'll give you a duel. Does that sound fair?"
Thorfinn grit his teeth but stood up, sheathing his dagger. He knew exactly what Askalad wanted, for him to watch the prisoner till she awoke. He walked over, ignoring the protests of his men for keeping her alive.
"She killed Allen." One seethed. "Kill her, she doesn't deserve to breath. I don't give a fuck if she is a woman!"
"If Allen died to a runt like her he didn't deserve to be in Askalads group!"
"The fuck did you just say?"
Thorfinn pushed through, ignoring the growing arguments. He stopped and leaned against a wooden pole, eyes landing on the woman. He tried to bury the angry of following Askalads orders, his teeth biting into his own cheek.
Truthfully, he didn't believe she had killed over a dozen men. Women were not warriors, it was not something that happened. Women took care of children and cooked. They did not wear chain mail and slit throats.
They did not fight in war.
Thorfinn stood for almost an hour, rage steadily brewing in his chest before he watched as she stirred, eyes blinking rapidly for a few moments. Her hair was tousled, dried blood caked on the side of her face. He watched as her eyes focused in. Her fingers twitched toward her waist where her knife had sat before Bjorn had taken it, but the thick ropes bounding her wrists together stopped her.
He raised a brow as he watched her look around. She wore a simple brown outfit, but chain mail peaked out from the cut of the shirt.
"She's awake, Askalad." Bjorn stood up from the fire he had been sitting in front of as he noticed her movement. He walked over and stood next to the blonde in question, arms crossed over his broad chest as they studied her.
She looked up, eyes landing on Askalad. Her eyes narrowed. Thorfinn saw it— the utter resolve in her eyes, one he knew all too well. Maybe they really had not lied about her killing a dozen men.
The chatter and arguments of the Vikings had ceased as Askalad walked up to the woman. He stopped just short of her, a confident grin resting on his face. They watched, seeing exactly what their leader would do.
"I have a sort of talent." He started, the grin never leaving his face. "I can tell by someones face if they are an idiot, or if they have what it takes. I can tell when someone is stupid. And you, you had a plan. Tell me, who sent you?"
She didn't flinch. "I don't know what you're talking about."
It was confident, devoid of any obvious lies, but Askalad had not lied about his talent. He knew there was more to this woman than what was said. Thornfinn watched, mainly with doubt but a hint of curiosity at her.
"No idiot! We could sell her for a hefty price."
Askalad grinned. "No, I think we'll keep her around for a bit. She won't run, she knows exactly what'll happen if she does." He turned and looked at thorfinn. "You'll stay by her and make sure she doesn't do anything stupid."
Thorfinn clicked his tongue and turned away. "Why the hell should I listen to you?"
Askalad chuckled and began to walk away, "Fine, I’ll give you another duel. Yeah?”
Thorfin couldn't refuse the offer.
Ruben. He'd save you— you were sure of it.
The younger blonde— Thorfinn, you learned, walked closer. His brown eyes, narrowed and angry barely looked at you as he reached for your bound hands.
You flinched, hard, before you could stop yourself. The reaction made Thorfin narrow his eyes even more, if that was even possible.
"Tsk, stop moving." Annoyannce dripped from his words. Your nose scrunched in anger, but bit back the words at the tip of your tongue.
The ropes that bound your hands were cut through, falling into a small pile on the ground. You immediately rubbed the sore rings around your wrists as you glanced around.
Thorfinn then turned and walked back toward the pole he had been leaning on before, eyes falling right back on you.
This was good, perfect even. Askalad knew you were here for something, but them untying you would be the downfall that would cost their entire small army their lives, you were sure of it.
Ruben would follow the trail you left and find you. He'd kill Askalad and his men and save you and the spoils. The plan, normally so simple, had been ruined by your lack of self control.
Your nails dug into your palms as you pushed yourself up. You showed you could fight, and that might've been the worst possible outcome. You needed to switch that thinking, and fast.
You had been sent of missions like this before. Infiltrate armies, learn the weakest links in their formations, and the strongest.
And when Ruben would come, you'd escape and relay the information.
Simple, normal, and expected.
But you had been captured quicker than normal, and Ruben and his men were still three days behind you. You had to stay alive till he could come.
The sky was blue, white fluffy clouds littering it. It still reeked of metallic blood and burned wood. The smell was comforting in a sick sort of way. You looked toward your guard— Thorfinn. He was assigned to make sure you did not flee or fight.
That's fine, you needed to look helpless so he'd drop his guard. You needed to make it seem like you were just a fragile woman.
You stumbled, knees scraping against the splintering wood. You gasped and groaned in pain, legs shaking as you tried to stand.
You felt his eyes on you, staring at your pathetic form. You knew that's what he was thinking, most men thought the same way. Women were weak— frail and scared.
When you had finally pushed yourself up, you felt eyes clinging to you like a second skin. Most stared in mocking confidance. A few licked their chapped lips at your form, and others grit their teeth in your direction.
The next few hours were spent wandering around their camp. Thorfinn followed behind you, always keeping you in his sight.
He did not speak, but neither did you. Your body was bruised and battered from the fight, every step felt like hell, but you didn't stop to rest. You needed as much information as possible, and fast.
Their army was around a hundred men, almost the same as Ruben's. Their spoils were spread across two ships, cargo and other supplies filling up more of the space.
The rocks crunched underneath your weight as you walked around. The sun had lowered now, nothing more than a soft orange hue hugging your skin.
You paused and turned toward the blonde. "Hey."
His brows drew together. "What?"
"Hell if I know." He grumbled.
You deadpanned. "Thanks a lot! Your information regarding your prisoner is awesome!" Sarcasm dripped from your tone as you crossed your arms around your chest.
"Perfect." You mumbled and contuined walking.
He sighed. "Ask Askalad."
Thorfinn sighed, like he could be doing a dozen better things as he gestured for you to follow. You had to bite back the grin on your face.
He was really leading you to their leaders tent? How foolish.
You followed behind him, keeping distance from him., It was obvious he was strong. The scars that littered the small amount of skin showing were proof of this.
But… he was young. Almost as young as you. Yet his eyes were filled with such deep hatred and resolve, it reminded you of yourself. You pushed the thought down and buried it over disgust.
Men were all the same, even if this one’s eyes looked a little different.
You refused to feel bad for your enemies. You would not think of them as humans, only danish soldiers who killed people because it was fun.
Thorfinn had stopped, gesturing to the large tent in front of you. Two vikings stood outside, hands on the hilts of their blades.
"Shut up idiot. What do you want Thorfinn? Why is the prisoner at Askalads tent?" One had said, barely glancing at you.
Thorfinn put a hand on his hip and sighed. "She wants to know where she'll be sleeping."
The man clicked his tongue, "Throw her with the rest of the slaves."
Then, the tents flap opened, and Askalad stepped out.
"Let her sleep in a tent."
"Asakalld? This can't be right, she killed a dozen men! She should be dead right now!" One of the guards had protested.
Askalad grinned. "Men, there is more to gain from letting her walk free. Plus, our boy Thorfinn won’t let her do anything, isn't that right?"
Thorfinn glared, but didn't interrupt. It was obvious something was between the two men, yet it seemed as if they trusted each other.
Some sick trauma bond, you figured.
"How could letting her walk free possibly work in our favor?"
Then it clicked. The pieces fell together and everything else was drowned out by your own thumping heart. Your stomach sinked. God, you were bait for Ruben weren't you?
Askalad grinned when you made eye contact. And suddenly it didn’t feel like you had this all planned out, it did not feel like you were in control.
A /n: my apologies if anything is not geographically accurate.
