Bliss (Thorfinn x Fem Reader)

Chapter 5

I could feel the transparent drops of rain hit my face as I ran to him; the monsoon's downpour only highlighting my urgency. I had barely known the Viking, and now I had acted as if I had known him for a lifetime, and something within me gravitated toward him--quickening my running. 

With my heart's palpitations matching the chorus of rain, I stood there breathless. There he was, clumsily running to and fro, avoiding his opponents. His aggressors mainly consisted of tall, burly men wielding axes and spears. They had all worn grins of joy--that is until Thorfinn slashed them with his newly-cleaned daggers. Honestly, I was impressed he could even stand, let alone hold his own in a fight!

In my awe of the fight taking place before me, I had left myself open to attack in my fervor to make it to Thorfinn. The man behind me gripped me by the waist and hoisted me up over his shoulder--a crooked smile etched across his ugly face. He had a worn sword resting over the other shoulder. I felt hot tears begin to stream down my face; I was probably going to be assaulted, then killed. I couldn't bear the thought. 

The Viking began to walk away, his hand making its way up my linen skirt. When he was far enough, he threw me to the ground, being sure to weaken my resolve to fight back. The bastard licked his lips and using the sword in his left hand, cut my dress wide open.

"Can't believe I found a gem like you in these highlands! Stay still and it won't hurt." His face was sickeningly jubilant as if he'd found a mountain of silver. But I wouldn't accept it! 

With whatever little strength left I had after running, I began to flail my legs around, just enough to let his grip loosen so I could kick him in the groin. He dropped to his knees--his nasty grin gone as well. It serves him right!

But within seconds, I felt my face go cold. Was it... blood? No, I couldn't let him touch me. 

No...

This is okay. Before I knew it, I'd lost all expression. And no longer felt anything. I feel my conscience drift away, and my limbs sway freely through the thick fog that has enveloped me.

Huh...? Disembodied voices fill my ears. Slowly, the fog clears, and I begin to feel my limbs bouncing in... someone's arms. 

Is it... that old Viking?

No, these hands are gentle. They vow to protect me. Their iron-clad grip swears to my waist and thighs that no harm will befall me. I know these hands. But who?

                                                            "[Y/N]!!"

Ah, I hear Father. Perhaps, he is screaming to Mother? Did she faint again? Well, she is quite frail. Yes, I can see it now. Father is preparing dinner after hard labor in the fields. Mother is in bed again, her beautiful face besmirched with sweat. Father wipes her forehead, mumbling prayers to Freyja. In Mother's hands lies a newborn baby. She is the spitting image of Mother; it's obvious even in the child's infancy. Who is that?

My eyes shutter open, fallen tears still clinging to my cheeks. Thorfinn carries me in his arms, his callused hands clutching me. Droplets of blood splatter from his face onto me-- melding with the rain in an awful downpour. He wears a forlorn look from beneath his flaxen hair.

"Your father is dead."