Blasphemy [Finan the Agile]

CHAPTER v. 'Lost Time Is Never Found Again'

ﾟ❁ུ۪ °ₒ 𓂂 ˚ 𓂂 ₒ ° ₒ 𓂂 ˚˖⋆

CHAPTER v. 'Lost Time Is Never Found Again'

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Overnight, Dunholm shifted from a mortal Valhalla to an arena of broken men and shattered spirits. Lord Uhtred of Bebbanburg withdrew his loyalty to the Great Dane Army, and in return, Ragnar withdrew his family name from Uhtred's surname. Uhtred was no longer Uhtred Ragnarsson, but simply Uhtred, the Saxon Lord of Bebbanburg and outlaw to Wessex. In the midst of chaos, a square was called between Uhtred and Bloodhair that would commence at dawn. Freydis feared that she would be harmed in accordance to her friendliness toward Uhtred, however, Vikar simply drank the night through whilst listening to Bloodhairs drunken words of menace. Freydis was forced to listen and occasionally fill their cups with ale until Vikar retreated to bed and she was returned to her cell.

The Irish pagan had picked off sharpened wood chips from the pitcher she carried throughout the night, tying them onto her makeshift shiv that had accumulated over the days from working with dilapidated equipment. With the splinters combined, she used swine straw to tie it all together.

When she went to sleep she hid the shiv beneath the pile of hay to hide it from Ogna and Alfgier if they were to expect something amiss. Nevertheless, Freydis did not expect that to ever happen; for the siblings shared a single half of a brain that progressively festered with rot the more they drank ale. Through the course of the night, Freydis half-hoped Finan to show up with food and ale. Alas, the Irish prisoner was left to starve. It wasn't that she expected him to come, for she was fairly rude to him a few nights before, but the rumble in her tummy gave her a false sense of hope and dangerous inclination toward desire for the other Irishman. She went to bed hungry, thirsty, and dirty, finding comfort in nothing but her shiv of splinters.

The next day she awoke to Ogna kicking at her iron bars, the sun had hardly risen but it it was time for work. She didn't start this early every day, but every few moons Freydis found herself shoveling shite in the horse stables so the hunting parties could return to clean hay to dispatch their horses to. When she was finished, she was allowed to eat a few of the horse's carrots; Freydis hardly ever ate one, for she despised the taste of carrots. But today was different, she was ravenous. Plus, she felt weaker than she had in days. Whilst Ogna and Alfgier sat at the entrance of the stables sipping ale and eating a hearty breakfast of plums and pastry, Freydis scarfed down as many carrots as she could. By the time she had finished, she grabbed the handle of a broom and placed it over her knee, snapping it in half with great effort to provide herself an assortment of splinters to steal.

She couldn't take the entire broom handle, for her guards would suspect something awry by the newfound bulge in the Irish prisoners breeches.

"What are you doing, princess?" Ogna asked, startling Freydis as the girl was on her knees picking up astray splinters.