GRACEFUL ━ VIKINGS

━━ THIRTY-SIX

[ act iv - peace for those that earned it ]
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
( a story must be told )

     ALTHEA AND TORSTEN LAID IN BED LATER THAT night wrapped in each other's embrace. Her head rested on his chest as his fingers rubbed small circles onto the soft skin of her back. Torsten had been debating on something for a long time, a story.

One about the mother of the woman who laid on his chest. One of how she was not stolen away in the night but of how she found them deep in the forest of England and went willingly with them. Torsten breathed in deeply before he finally spoke.

"Can I tell you a story?" He had asked, barely above a whisper in case she was asleep.

Althea moved her head slowly to look at him before she hummed softly, "Yes, I would love to hear one." She spoke, her voice heavy with sleep that would soon come.

"A long time ago when I was still a child, barely considered a man. I had crossed the sea with warriors to that far away place we call England. My father only brought me along to help him with his blacksmithing." Torsten started, he started up at the ceiling.

"It was very early into Ragnar's reign as Jarl. One of the men in his closest circle was your father. A fierce man with only his left eye who stood taller than anyone I have ever seen. He never covered his eye and it looked as if someone had just plucked his right eye right out of his skull. But that is not the point of the story." Torsten shifted and sat up slightly before continuing.

The scenery had shifted and it was as if he was reliving it again. The fires and voices came crackling and echoing back around him. He could even smell the smoke and feel the cold seep into his bones. The moonlight lit what could not and it seemed as though the night had only just begun.

He began with what was seemed to be shown to him. A woman was sitting by a window, she seemed to stare off into the night sky. Her long white hair was swept up by the slight breeze from where she sat in the stone castle. Her blue eyes glowing from the moonlight.

A Christian woman, who did not so much care for the religion she was brought up with - she could feel as if something else was calling her, calling her home. A home far away from the one she sat in now. All she could hear was the voice in her head telling her to come before it was too late. Before her chance was gone forever.

And so she did, grabbing a cloak as she pulled it tight around her body, trying to hide the bright blue dress that she wore, trying to hide the white of her hair as she pulled the hood over her head. This was her only chance and if she was caught, her father would have her head for it.

Taking the secret passageways the servants would take whenever the king, her father, did not want to see them. Her footsteps echoed softly against the stone around her until she made contact with the soft green grass that surrounded the castle. Princess Isolde was finally free of the chains her father metaphorically had around her wrists.