Magic swelled in the air, the cloud of pure power pushed back from each angle, intent on naught but the purpose of its design.

“Are you serious?” She glared at the air, longing to turn the energy in on itself.

“It wasn’t me,” Bonnie balanced a basket of clean laundry on her hip, twisting to fit through the door. A wave of her free hand opened the three trunks in the room.

“That might make it worse,” she groaned, flopping back on the pillows.

“It’s not that bad,” she set the basket on the edge of the bed and started sorting the laundry into its rightful places. “You spent months sleeping in tents. Enjoy your relaxation while it lasts.”

“Bonnie,” Elena twisted, propping herself up on one elbow, “if I have to spend one more day in this bed I am going to go insane. I can’t sleep anymore. There is only one fun thing to do in bed and my darling husband is too worried about harming me and our child for that.”

Bonnie cut her a sideways look as she closed a chest.

“Sorry,” she shut her eyes. “Did I make you uncomfortable?”

“It’s fine,” she played with the amulet around her neck. “After a year I’ve grown accustomed to your language and open ways.”

“Speaking of language,” Elena sat up and folded her legs beneath the blankets, “I would like you to teach me yours.”

Bonnie balanced her amulet against her chin. “You wish to learn?”

“I do,” she nodded. “I think you’d make an excellent teacher.”

“I can try,” she blinked slowly. “I was actually going to ask if I could make the short journey to Klaus’ home.”

“Why?” Elena leaned forward, a teasing light in her eyes. “Are you interested in my brother-in-law?”

“The woman he brought back, actually,” Bonnie rolled her eyes.

“Ah,” Elena snickered, “so those are your tastes.”

“Elena,” she covered her mouth to hide her laugh.

“Just kidding, Bonnie,” she pushed her hair behind her ears. “I’ve seen the way you look at Enzo.” A deep flush met her jibe about the boat maker.

“I thought I might help her learn your language, so…”

“Bonnie,” Elena threw off her blanket and swung her legs over the bed to stand up, “you’re free to do as you please.”

She gave a pointed look to Elena’s bare ankles when they both heard a loud crash from outside.

“Here he comes,” she pressed her lips together.

“Good,” Elena crossed her arms, “I’ll tell him where you’re going.”

Heavy footfalls thudded through the house. “Elena!”

“I’m fine,” she turned towards him, wanting to laugh at his wide eyes. She forced a stern expression instead. “A barrier spell around the bed?”

“I just wanted to know if you fell.”

“You wanted to know if I tried to stand up.” Her eyes narrowed.

“You need time to heal,” he moved forward, reaching for her arms.

“I am healed Kol.” She side-stepped him. “And if I have to spend a fifth day in this bed you’re going to need healing. I need to get back to work. There is so much to do before the snow falls.”

“Bonnie and I can handle that,” he reached for her hands, “and there is not much to do.”

“There is wood to cut, and preserves to put away,” she shook her head.

“Preserves won’t take much time,” he rubbed her knuckles, “and I we have more than enough wood stored up for emergencies.”

“Oh excellent,” Elena grinned, “then you won’t mind if Bonnie walks to Nik’s and teaches Caroline. Since the wood is handled and I can take care of the preserves.”

Bonnie tried not to do it, but she couldn’t stop the amusement from breaking out in a loud laugh.

“I walked right into that one, didn’t I?” He sighed.

“You did,” Elena smirked.

“You’re with child, Elena, and recovering; you need some extra help,” he shook his head.

“Could I make a suggestion?” Bonnie cleared her throat, drawing their attention towards her. “Elena could start taking on light duties, and I’ll set out at first light to teach Caroline. I can return by midday to do my work here; Elena will likely be so exhausted that she sleeps that long anyway.”

++++

Klaus had left early in the morning, pausing long enough to smooth the hair from her cheek and murmur quiet words against her ear. Half-asleep she recognized that he was going out, but ‘veiði-fǫr’ remained a mystery until she had fully awoken.

She tidied and explored everyday in the house, often beckoning his laughter at the end of the day, but honestly who stored dry food in a bench on the ground? It made much more sense to store it raised up high, and he had more than enough shelf space. Arguably he had a ridiculous amount of shelf space.

Her memory of Mikael’s home faded with each passing day, but she was fairly certain she hadn’t seen a shelf, or nearly as many chests.

She knew the house backwards and forwards after organizing every inch, so when she finally rolled out of bed the empty space stood out. A bow and a quiver of arrows were gone.

‘Veiði-fǫr’, she deduced meant hunting.

He had taken many such trips over the last few days to the point where Caroline had lost track of how much meat was drying. Her father used to hunt heavily when the weather shifted, but the amount of food Klaus had already preserved would have sufficed through the coldest months when animals were scarce.

How severe was the oncoming winter?

++++

The arrow missed by a narrow margin, whipping over the deer’s shoulders. It lodged in a tree. The rush of wind and subsequent thump spooked the animal. He watched it bolt and decided against trying his luck with a second arrow; if he missed again the shaft would be lost to the river.

“Pitiful,” a gruff voice sneered.

Klaus turned stiffly to where he felt the eyes watching him. “It was not needed father.” Two rabbits weighed down his belt.

“Not needed?” Mikael stared in the direction the deer had run, listening to the fading fall of hooves. “Have you not an extra mouth to feed, boy? Or has the frilla run off now that her ankle is healed?”

“Caroline,” he gripped the bow tight, “is in my home. She’s not going anywhere.”

“She’s clever enough to know better than to run,” Mikael said, nodding approvingly. “Make sure to keep her in line.”

He thought of her brilliant smile and stubborn nature, but said nothing of how she kept him in line.

“That woman of Heimir’s refuses to do anything,” Mikael waved a hand in the vague direction of the village.

“I believe her name is Leticia,” Klaus twisted his tongue around the foreign name. Or is her name Viviane?

“Her name would be irrelevant,” he said, shaking his head, “if not for the child growing in her womb Heimir swears he would kill her.”

“I’m certain she’s thrilled,” Klaus muttered, attempting to keep his sarcastic voice below his father’s hearing.

“Heimir’s wife is,” he said, having heard anyway. “What the Frilla feels is irrelevant. Inge is ecstatic.”

Klaus nodded. Inge would be ecstatic; after ten years of marriage and trying she would be thrilled at the notion of finally being granted a child.

“Is yours pregnant yet?” Mikael fixed him in a cool stare.

“Caroline is not,” Klaus shook his head. He felt his stomach drop. Until his father acknowledged her as something more than what she legally was any child they had would be lesser. Their future children deserved more.

She deserved more.

“I’ve been meaning to come and speak with you,” Klaus said, clearing his throat and straightening his shoulders, “about Caroline.”

“Don’t tell me you wish to be rid of her already?” The corner of Mikael’s mouth quirked up.

“Quite the opposite, father,” his heart thundered in his chest. “I wish to marry her.”

++++

She hated being useless, so she picked up a basket after breaking her fast. The woven backpack slung across her shoulders, bouncing against her back as she stepped outside and followed the narrow path.

It had been a few days, but she still remembered the break in trees that opened up onto the orchard.

She had the basket half full of nearly ripe apples. And if she inspected each one before snapping the stems for imperfections then at least Klaus wasn’t there to tease her over the neglected fruit.

She was certain he understood that one bruised or cracked or rotten apple would destroy the bunch, but he still would have teased her. And she would have wound up scolding him for laughing and slapped her hand over his mouth again. He would have kissed her palm and maybe flipped her into the grass, and…

On second thought, she wouldn’t mind his presence.

“Good morning.”

Caroline squeaked, slapping her hand over her heart.

The perfect apple bounced in the grass, bruising beyond repair.

“Sorry,” she apologized, bending to catch the basket before it could topple too. “I didn’t mean to frighten you.”

“I suppose it was my fault,” Caroline plucked another apple from the tree, setting it gently in the basket. “I was lost in thought.”

“I gathered as much from the way you were staring at that apple,” she nodded to the fruit on the ground. “I’m Bonnie by the way.”

“Caroline,” she rubbed her hand over her stomach.

“I know,” Bonnie smiled. “Elena told me. I’ve been meaning to come out here since we first met, but with her injury I took over her daily tasks.”

“But you’re here now,” her stomach trembled. Fear flickered in her eyes. “Is she alright?” Caroline preferred not to consider the alternative, but her mind journeyed of its own volition.

“She’s better,” Bonnie smiled, “a little magic goes a long way for those who know how to use it. Had his supplies not been decimated she would have been healed before boarding the ship.”

“Decimated?” Her face paled as she recalled green gel and countless cuts.

“It happens when they go on raids, but she’s alright now,” Bonnie reached up, snapping some apples from the tree. “And now I’m here to teach you.”

“Would you believe that’s exactly what I was hoping for?”

“I’m probably the first person you’ve met who speaks your language,” she mused. “I’m the first person you could talk to.” Bonnie inspected the smooth skin of the apple in her hand for blemishes and wiped away a layer of dust on her apron until the fruit shone.

“I had Viviane and Letitia.”

Caroline busied her hands. Snap a stem. Inspect an apple. Fill the basket.

“The first person who could talk to you about what was going on,” Bonnie amended. “I saw those girls. One was wary and the other looked at Heimir as if she wouldn’t mind killing him. Whatever conversation you had with them about your circumstances would have been clouded by their experience.”

“How do I know their experience isn’t the normal one?” She balanced three apples precariously on top of the basket and proceeded to wring her empty hands; any more fruit would have fallen out when she picked it up. As it was the last three apples were unlikely to make the short return to the house in safety.

“Normal is subjective,” Bonnie glanced at the pack. “Have you thought about how you’re going to store these for the winter?”

“What do you mean?” Caroline fiddled with the end of her braid.

“Winter,” Bonnie repeated. “You will want a basket to keep them in. Do you have one?”

“I don’t know, but that’s not what I meant.” She pulled up a mental image of the house and its contents for an empty basket, but found nothing.

“About normal being subjective?” She waited for Caroline to nod.

“Was their experience on the journey the same as yours?” Bonnie unsheathed a small knife from her belt and bent at the waist, cutting long grass near the ground.

“Well, no.” She thought of Letitia’s screams the first night and Viviane’s hollow expression a few days later. Heimir wasted no time, but at least the man who took Viviane allowed her twisted leg a chance to heal; Viviane had never screamed.

“Everyone has a different experience Caroline,” Bonnie glanced up as she worked, “and while some are more commonplace than others, no two experiences are the same. Did Klaus give you a knife?”

Her fingers brushed the handle at her waist, tucked firmly into her belt. A gift from Klaus the morning after their trip to the hot spring. She had made good use of it thus far in preparing food.

“Yes.”

“Then help me with the grass. We’re gonna need three times this,” she pointed with the knife to her pile, “to make a basket. The sooner we have the grass the sooner we can start weaving.”

“But the grass has to dry first,” Caroline protested even as she bent to work.

“I find it easier to manipulate this way.”

“And longer to dry,” she arched an eyebrow.

“Not the way I do it.”

“The way you do it?” She gathered a handful of long grass and swept the blade near the ground, severing the stems.

“Magic,” Bonnie dropped another handful. “I’m sure you’re familiar by now with it.”

Caroline’s eyes cut through the swaying grass towards her. The nonchalance with which Bonnie spoke made the hair on the back of her neck stand on end; she glanced over her shoulder for prying eyes.

“Do you not hesitate to speak of such things?” She cut another bunch of grass, and moved to sit when Bonnie did.

Dark eyes met hers as they got comfortable on the ground, or as comfortable as Caroline could get when she kept shifting to look over her shoulders.

“Once I did,” she nodded, “but not any more. When I was growing up I was taught by my mother to never tell anyone about what I am, or the things that I can do.”

“What happened?” Caroline reached into the small bag at her hip for string as she gathered a small handful of grass. She kept her hands busy by creating a basket base; coiling and tying, twisting more grass, and coiling again.

“About a year ago, my village was invaded,” she played with a blade of grass. “I could describe the scene, but I’m certain it’s close to what you experienced.”

“Really,” she stared at her hands, unable to keep the bitterness out of her voice. “Did Heimir murder your betrothed’s father and throw you down on your table?”

Caroline closed her eyes and banished the feeling of phantom hands on her body. The last thing she wanted was to dwell on the memory of an almost moment until her palms began to sweat and she inadvertently took it out on Klaus.

“Over a fence, actually.” Bonnie’s admission made Caroline lift her eyes. “And I didn’t really see the man’s face, but I know it wasn’t Heimir.”

Caroline’s heart thundered in her chest.

“He didn’t,” Bonnie twisted the grass around a finger, suddenly very interested in the green ring. “I was bent over, trying to remember anything that would help me, when Elena came out of nowhere.”

“Did she put a sword to his throat?”

“No, it was an ax. He laughed and knocked her aside, that was when the sword came out.” Bonnie tilted her head. “And it was Kol that did it. He saw his wife fall on the ground. Things happened pretty fast after that and next thing I know Kol’s sword runs through the man that attacked me and I was claimed as a concubine.”

“A concubine?”

“Technically that’s what you are,” she nodded. “They call them Frilla, but Kol’s never touched me; he’s too in love with his wife to even consider bedding another woman.”

“Then what are you?” Caroline frowned. She tied off the basket base before it grew to a ridiculous size.

“Legally I am a Frilla, but unofficially I’m a servant of sorts. I have my chores around the house, and I assist Kol with his spells.”

“What would my friend have been?” Unseeing eyes flashed in Caroline’s mind. “She was claimed by him.”

“Then she would have been an extra set of hands. Kol might have had her gathering herbs for him, or Elena might have enlisted her for further aid in running their household. They didn’t bring anyone home?”

Caroline heard the question in her tone.

“Cassandra took her own life,” she whispered, “after a night of listening to Leticia’s screams; she was claimed by Heimir.”

“She would have been safe,” Bonnie returned in a quiet voice. “These people, or should I say our people, have a high respect of women. If a man forces a woman he can be put to death. Taking so much as an unwanted kiss can lead to banishment.”

“If that’s the case then Leticia…”

“Some of these men toss their rules out when they raid,” Bonnie shook her head. “And taken women have fewer rights. If anyone else laid a hand on you or me they would be punished, but we can’t own land or any property.”

“These woman can own land?” Caroline’s brows shot up.

“Elena does,” Bonnie smirked. “If she and Kol ever divorced she has land and money to fall back on. They were gifts from her father before her wedding, and she retains them after. I also heard that Finn gifted his bride with a tract of land on their wedding day, and despite being widowed she owns the land still. Should she ever choose to leave the town she has a home waiting, but we were talking about magic.”

“Right,” she nodded, remembering suddenly, “you said you once feared such topics.”

“I did,” Bonnie nodded. “But then I came here. They have a lot of respect for witches. At first I thought it was just because Jarl Mikael’s wife, his eldest daughter and two of his sons practiced, but once I picked up the language Elena and Kol assured me that this was always the case.”

++++

Autumn mornings dawned crisp and cool but the afternoon sun burned away the chill. A thin sheen of sweat dung to his skin by the time he returned home with two rabbits and a great auk.

He left his prizes on a rough table outside and moved toward a trough of water, stripping off his shirt as he went. He plunged his hands into the cold, splashed it up his arms and against the back of his neck. Fat droplets rolled down his spine.

His skin cooled rapidly in the wind until he shivered and reached for the shirt.

He turned his attention back to the rabbits, letting his hands do the work without thought. He looked without really seeing his actions: draining, flaying and stripping the skin away in quick, methodical motions. His mind still on the conversation in the forest.

He couldn’t get Mikael’s derisive laugh out of his head. The outright refusal irked him, made his blood boil; he was surprised he hadn’t attacked then and there. He had wanted to, but the bulk of his anger had been taken out on the bird; four of the six arrows in the carcass had been completely unnecessary.

But then, refusing to raise Caroline’s status for the very reason Klaus came to like her had been unnecessary as well. ‘Her defiance should not be rewarded’. No amount of arguing, or citing his love for Elena’s defiance worked; her nature worked in her favour, and to the benefit of each of Mikael’s men during battle.

Hatred he thought tempered down after childhood reared its ugly head, influencing his motions as he moved to the second rabbit, slices turning from methodical to wild.

He was halfway through slicing the second rabbit’s skin when his knife slipped. It dragged across his palm, searing pain ran up his arm.

He swore loudly, dropped the knife and clutched his palm. Rage at his own stupidity flooded his veins and he saw red. He kicked the work table, and swore and kicked it again.

He failed to hear the voice calling him until golden hair flooded his vision.

“Klaus, mitescere!” Caroline grasped his wrists. “Mitescere,” she repeated in a quieter voice. “Quod factum est?”

He frowned, looking down as her fingers smoothed over his bloody wrists. His eyes glanced to the side, taking in the overturned table and the petite woman beyond; embarrassment brought a flush to his neck.

“Quod factum est?” Caroline murmured, gently prying open the hand he had curled into a tight fist.

“She asked what happened?” Bonnie cleared her throat, finding her voice as she picked her way across the yard.

“I cut my hand,” he allowed Caroline to steer him towards the water. He wasn’t entirely sure why he bothered saying a second later when she plunged his hand into the water and carefully swiped at his palm; truthfully it didn’t hurt that much anymore. He could hardly feel the pain.

“Luckily I’m prepared for such things,” Bonnie placed the empty basket she and Caroline had made next to the door and moved towards them, reaching her fingers into the bag at her belt. She pulled out a small jar and popped open the lid, revealing a sticky green gel.

“I don’t think that’s necessary,” he shook his head.

“Vos oportet esse cautior,” Caroline muttered, shaking her head.

“You need to be more careful,” Bonnie translated.

“I figured it would be something like that,” he chuckled. Caroline cut him a stern look and he struggled to hide his grin. “I’m fine, love.”

He lifted his hand from the water, turning his palm towards her for inspection. A thin line tingled in the cold air.

“But there was so much blood,” Bonnie echoed Caroline’s words, staring down at his palm.

“Must have been the rabbit’s,” he shrugged. “Better safe than sorry, I suppose,” he tipped his hand towards Bonnie.

She spread a thin line of green over the cut and they watched together as it healed.

“What are you doing here, Bonnie?” He looked up and reached out to help Caroline with the heavy basket over her shoulders.

“I thought she might like some company and good conversation,” she tucked the healing gel away.

“You don’t think I can provide conversation?” He cocked an eyebrow.

“I think it would be one sided,” she shifted on her heels.

“And I assume by your presence that Elena is recovered?”

“Much better.”

“Well enough to receive visitors?”

++++

The next few days passed by in a blur of new routines. She woke up. She explored inside and tidied, making sure to stoke the low fires so the smoke rose up and preserved the drying meat. Then she shifted her exploration to the outside until Bonnie arrived for language lessons.

She could recognize a few sentences and even more words, though according to Bonnie her pronunciation was atrocious; well, that had been Bonnie’s translation of a chuckling Klaus.

Around midday she made the return journey with Bonnie and inquired after Elena’s improving health. The recovery proved nothing short of miraculous; she would know, she had monitored the wound for days.

Klaus always appeared later in the afternoon and walked back with her. He had no trouble letting her walk with Bonnie, but he drew the line at an extended solitary journey; nervous of the towering woods along the path.

She supposed a witch made for excellent protection, and after hearing some unknown animals rooting around in the forest she had no desire to be without protection.

Maybe one day she would ask Elena to teach her how to use a sword. Of course that would have to wait until she figured out the game.

One task at a time, Caroline, she glanced up through her lashes to see Klaus studying the board.

Bonnie had explained Hnefatafl a few days ago when they arrived and found Kol and Elena locked in a heated match which Elena had ultimately won. However, Elena’s victory relied heavily on her chosen lot as the odds were stacked in her favour.

Really, how could one be expected to win with significantly less pieces?

She tapped her finger on the latticed game board and considered her options. He had begun the game with twenty-four game pieces and he still had them all; her thirteen dwindled down to ten.

She moved a piece three squares to the left, catching one of his between two of hers.

A bright smile lifted her lips as she claimed her prize.

The game went back and forth in silence for another ten minutes until, somehow, she managed to capture half of his pieces and level the playing field.

She thought she was doing rather well until the board blurred and her head grew light. One wrong move along the hazy column and Klaus captured her king piece.

“I win, Caroline,” he grinned.

The smile slid off his face as she blinked, swaying on her stool while registering the words. Blood rushed in her ears, louder than anything she had ever heard.

“Caroline?” Game pieces scattered across the floor as he knocked the board aside. She saw concern flood his eyes as he knelt before her.

“I…” She struggled to remember the words, the syllables that would ease his mind. “I am alright.”

He looked sceptical and she smiled gently, lifting her cold hands to caress his face. She assured him again that she was fine, and just a little tired since she didn’t know the right phrase to communicate her head ache.

She recognized that tired might have been the wrong way to put it when he hustled her off to bed a moment later, but she wasn’t about to complain. She found she lacked the energy when he helped her out of her dress and laid her down.

By the time he closed up the house and joined her she barely felt his arm slide over her waist.

++++

HN: Vikings were actually pretty chill about fertility. They recognized that sometimes when a couple failed to get pregnant it was the man’s fault. This was discovered through trial and error. If the wife was unable to conceive then a concubine would be brought in and the husband would go to the other girl’s bed nightly until she got pregnant. This could go on with a few different concubines until it was decided that ‘hey, your man’s infertile’ at which point adoption was discussed.

I’m getting off topic though. If the concubine did conceive and deliver a baby legally that baby belonged to the married couple even though for the first few years the child would be weaned by the birth mother.

In this story Inge - who will likely never actually appear - is barren, but it would have been just as likely that it was Heimir.