Fighting Gods

The Polished Sword

Hvitserk had taken you to an empty room inside the castle, in the corner there was some furs, laid like a sort of bed. Had Hvitserk taken you to his room? Couldn't be. There were plenty of beds in this place, he would not be sleeping on the ground. "That's your sword?" he pointed to the Saxon weapon you'd stolen.

You shook your head, "No, mine is hidden with the rest of my things, I don't want to damage it before I can kill a Saxon."

He frowned, letting his sword fall by his side. "That's stupid."

You flushed, irritated by his insult. "No! it's too precious. What if I damage it? I don't have the tools to repair it here! I worked hard for that sword, I'll use it when I want to!" You surprised yourself with the sureness of your voice.

"How much did you pay for it?"

You did not repress the proud smile this question brought you. "I made it."

He asked to see it and you were quick to tell him that you won his training, not his curiosity. Somehow, alone with him, your anxiety had melted a little. Which made each little smile and jokes from him even more exciting. "Alright, [Y/N], show me what you got."

You were no match for him, no match at all. At one point you thought you had him, but he was quick in proving you wrong, bringing you to the ground. You stayed there a moment, contemplating if you should be happy to fight with a son of Ragnar or humiliated to be shown this weak. He gave you a hand to help you up and you hesitated to take it, Hvitserk was nothing like the trees you would fight with.

"Here, let me show you something." He placed your body like his, taping your shoulders to bring them down. He was not pressed as firmly to your body as in your dreams, but he was still touching you. The buzzing in your ears was too loud for his instruction, and it felt as if his fingers were leaving firebolt on your skin. "Don't let them see your eyes unless you know they're going to die."

"Where am I supposed to look?"

"The body part you'll cut."

"Then they'll know where I'll strike." You looked to him directly. He was standing tall in front of you and you saw him looking down your chest. You looked down, realizing in the same instant what he was planning to do. He was swift enough to bring you down, your back bouncing on the hard ground. "Point taken." You groaned, your body aching from the beating.

You expected him to help you up again, but instead he crouched next to you. "Now I want to see that sword."

You agreed, defeated. You hoped for a longer training, but your back was aching badly and you would benefit greatly from a break. Your things were a long way from Hvitserk's room, and the silent walk felt a little awkward. You weren't sure what was right to ask, what would make you look desperate to end this silence, or annoyed by the same thing. "Right there." You turned the corner, glad that you could finally see the sheath over the makeshift bed amongst all the others.

You unsheathed it, the thing large and enchanting. The metal so shiny, the few candlelight of the room reflecting to look like second suns. "Here she is."

"She?"

"Yes, she. It's mine and I decided it is a she."

He looked amused, but his eyes were telling of the amazement at the sight of it. "she's beautiful [Y/N]."

You hesitated to ask this, but if someone had the right, it was him, "Want to hold her?"

He didn't answer and instead took it softly from your hands, his fingers brushing yours. "It's light, that's surprising," he said to himself. He caressed the blade with a finger, cutting himself on the sharp edge. "And very sharp, no wonder you don't want to use it." He gave it back to you, sucking on his bleeding finger, and you couldn't look him in the face, blushing at his statement.

You put the sword back in the sheath, carefully putting it back on the cover. "It's a shame I won't get to use it now."

"What do you mean."

"We're going back to Kattegat soon."

There was a smirk to his response, "I wouldn't be so sure about that."

--

You wondered the rest of the day about his statement, the next days too. Every time your friends asked you to train with them, it didn't feel as hollow, it felt like actual training. You had now a goal and it might be achieved soon. You knew that Bjorn was supposed to go back to the east, as planned, but the others had not shared of their plan, each day awareness of this filled you with delicious doubt.

A feast was planned, to announce what was next for the army. You managed to get a place upfront, right behind king Harald and his brother. Bjorn said of his plan to go to the east, then they said that they may use the land in England to settle, seeing as Ecbert had finalize the treaty that had been broken before.

"Who wants to be a farmer now?" If the whole time, you were distracted by Hvitserk, once or twice even believing he was watching you back, now Ivar had your devoted attention. Of that he said: many other places I want to attack and raid! You shivered in anticipation. Your sword laying so neatly and unuse, the words of the son of Ragnar was bringing more than a little excitement. "Who can stay in our way now!" you screamed in agreement as the others did.

They spoke to each others, their words muted by the crowds, until Ivar continued: "Who among you will follow me? Who will follow me into battle, for the love of Fame and for the love of Odin Allfather!" Your scream was so loud, the chant of the crowd had you believe you were in battle again. Adrenaline pushing you to step even closer to the table of king Harald.

The thing that happened after felt familiar, at first. Sigurd and Ivar fighting, Bjorn and Ubbe annoyed at them, Hvitserk holding his ground far away. The attack of Sigurd on Ivar's manhood was harsh, his reaction harsher. By the silence, you understood this was not an estimation, it probably was true. King Harald jumped off the table and blocked your view of Ivar for an instant, your gaze changing to meet Hvitserk's. You wanted to smile at him, but there was this sort of hostility in the air that kept you from it.

You had stopped listening for an instant, that was a mistake. When Ivar's axe lodged deep in Sigurd's ribs, your mouth dropped. You watched in horror, the man stumbling to end his attacker and then collapsing on the ground. You would forever beat yourself for not sticking to that gut feeling of before. Maybe, then, the son of Ragnar would still be alive.