Fated - [Bjorn Ironside]

~2~

Bold = viking tongue (acts as the secondary language to Eldyn's choice)
Regular = christian/saxon/english (acts as the primary language to Eldyn's choice)

*Bold will only be utilized in chapters containing both, and the primary/secondary will change depending on context, so keep this in mind, and I will add it in the A/N's  :)  happy reading!

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Eldyn shook to her core. She was as frigid as the limbs of trees after the first heavy frost of winter. Spatters of water cascaded her form as the boat sailed. It felt like a lifetime ago since Eldyn had flown across the ocean.

Perhaps it was a different life altogether.

She was thankful for her size, for there truly was no room left on the boat, as the bearish man deathly proclaimed before he attempted to strike down Athelstan. A handful of priests survived, and those who did would be taken as slaves, much like herself and Athelstan. She feared the Northmen, as she faintly recalls the tales her mother told her of the settlers outside their forests did to their captives, especially females.

However, she was a child, so Eldyn at least hoped that they had some sense or inkling of humanity remaining.

She shook in the damp cold, for the robes that were given to her were soaked through. Water continuously splashed on her as the boat rocked back and forth with the motions of the listless sea. For days, they sailed, and Eldyn barely slept or ate any of the food they offered, which were scraps to begin with.

While she felt a chill all the way to the bone, she was not focusing on cold. She stared at one of the Northmen who sat closer to the bow of the small, cramped ship. They were looking among the spoils of their raid, the trinkets and symbols of a Christian land that was the first—possibly amongst many—that would fall to their hand. Goblets and crucifixes made of gold, silver, and encrusted in gems made them giddy, for their travel proved fruitful in their raid of the Lindisfarne monastery. They did this a few times a day. Maybe they were trying to prove that it was real, that such bounty was not an ethereal dream, but was a solid, physical manifestation.

Eldyn could relate—because she wondered how all of this was real.

She was practically glaring at one of the men. Not because he basked in his bounty. No, it was for a different reason altogether—for Eldyn did not care for the trinkets and gold of men.

He had her father's bow.

When they took her from the church, the rest had followed her path and found her room and, eventually, her father's bow that she always kept underneath her bed.

"What is she looking at?" The voice came from above. She knew that it was the voice of the man from before, the man that agreed to take Athelstan and Eldyn, lest they wanted to be victims of his brother's rage.

Athelstan was perched beside Eldyn. He did his best to block the misty winds for her, but not much could be done on that front.

The monk's eyes followed Eldyn's, and his own widened. He knew what she was looking at. Could he say? Would that reveal too much? Would they recognize the craftsmanship as that of a Northman's work—or was Eldyn's tribe so remote like she said that they were simply unaware of their existence?