Fated - [Bjorn Ironside]

~3~

The days went by slowly. Every moment felt like eternity with no solace of reprieve. Athelstan spent his time teaching Ragnar how to speak the Saxon tongue, something which alarmed Eldyn. This would mean that she would need to keep her wits about her when she spoke with Athelstan in his earshot. She hoped the priest would only teach Athelstan, for an entire household knowing her language put her at greater risk than either of them would be willing to endure. Eldyn kept herself preoccupied with working the land, or simply sitting in the nearby forest until dinner. She preferred the solitude over the barks and remarks from the eldest of the Lothrbok children. No matter how many times his parents chastised his actions, he would not stop.

Nights went by just as slowly. Athelstan focused on praying and reading his holy tome while Eldyn simply sat on the cold earth, wrapped in furs that were kindly gifted to her by Lagertha. The woman quickly realized how cold Eldyn became during the night and rushed to provide the girl comfort. It was a kindness that Eldyn consistently observed from her—a kindness that slowly seeped past her thick walls of defense.

Each moment was monotonous, save for instances in where Gyda pleasantly stopped by Eldyn and Athelstan, using the monk as a translator to ask Eldyn questions and talk with her. It was like night and day between the Lothbrok children; Gyda was pleasant, gentle, and inquisitive; Bjorn was harsh, spiteful, and ignorant.

Even Ragnar was much more kind than his son.

It was at this moment that Eldyn saw many of the differences between the Woltinmund and the other settlements wielded by earls and jarls: the Woltinmund were peaceful and open-minded, while their counterparts were barbaric and brazen. When Ragnar and Bjorn went to things—clan-wide meetings with the earl—she learned quickly how much these people aimed for greatness at the cost of others. Though, if he was to have her own opinion heard by all, she would have told them all in the tongue of the Northmen that the current earl is a coward and fears those that may take his place. She could tell that from the very first time when she saw the man when her and Athelstan were brought before him like roped livestock.

"Don't let him catch you giving him that look," Athelstan chided as he dug into the earth. He was preparing the land, as instructed earlier in the day by Lagertha.

This laborious work—work that Ragnar assured she would be good at—was perhaps the only form of escape that Eldyn had. Hands buried in the soil and being one with nature—much like how her people lived. Deep in the forest, they were one with all that surrounded them, for the creation and destruction of life all begins and ends with the natural world. Deep in the forests with her people, she learned this lesson, even as young as a child that barely saw her fourth winter.

But those forests, Eldyn assumed, were more like crypts than anything else. Nothing would have survived those raids.

Eldyn looked towards Athelstan, who was giving her a half-reprimanding expression. The girl was glaring at Bjorn, who was preparing fish that were caught earlier in the day. A grimace etched itself on the boy's face as he dug his fingers within the slimy entrails of the finned creatures.