The Norse Of the North

And so I win....

In the dimly lit hallway of the castle, Sarah's footsteps echoed with a weighted purpose. The flickering candlelight danced upon the stone walls, casting elongated shadows that mirrored the conflict raging within her. Anger surged through her veins like a wildfire, fueled by memories of loss and the searing pain of abandonment.

Yet, beneath the layers of resentment, a flicker of compassion fought for its place in her fractured heart. The conflicting emotions tore at her resolve, torn between seeking retribution and finding solace in forgiveness. Her clenched fists trembled, caught between the desire to lash out and the longing to heal the wounds that haunted her.

The portrait of Arne was all that she could think about, his piercing gaze that was once very compelling now held a darkness that chilled her bones, a glint of cruelty veiled behind his rough facial characteristics. Every movement oozed arrogance and superiority as if the world were a stage for his conquests. His actions reeked of heartless disregard, leaving a trail of broken lives in his wake. Arne, from her favorite fighter, became a symbol of all that was wrong, and embodied the brutality and heartlessness of a merciless predator.

That wasn't her, they weren't her feelings; they were directed by fear, anguish, worry, and discomfort. She paused for a while to collect her breath and gather her thoughts. She was being unreasonable. She was well aware of her irrationality. She remembered Arne's remarks and began to excuse him; he was under King Harald's authority and stated that he was carrying out his orders. But was he truly? Would he have acted differently if he had been free to do so? Or would he repeat the same horrendous behavior? That she was unaware of.

After all, how tragic was Arne's role? He was an obedient soldier under instructions to prove his value and obey the orders that were issued, but he had no idea he was killing the brother and the mother of the only lady capable of sparking feelings of love and compassion in him. Both of these items had slipped his attention. He never tried to find out who that Englishman, whose house he had destroyed in blood and fire was, nor did he ever manage to obtain any information about Sarah's identity. How could he sleep at night knowing what he had done to her?

Sarah extended her hands firmly touching the door handle as she was still conflicted whether she should knock or not? What was she really looking for? What could she really find out? Or more accurately how do you even open the subject of discussion when the issue you want to be informed of is a murder and not just any murder but your family slaughter?

She drew her palm away from the handle, ready to let go of the little blade she had been clutching with such intensity in her hands. But she later regretted it. Arne had committed a crime, and now that her father was alive, she was an Englishwoman rather than a Viking, and murderers were punished in her lands. Those who kill suffer the holy retribution, and she was only the messenger. She shifted swiftly, hammering on the door, determined to finish what she had begun.

"It took you a while, or perhaps I left sooner." Tonight, the drink and exhaustion have really hit me. "Are you going to stay?" He nodded and glanced at her, perplexed.

Her gaze was fixed on him, causing uneasiness in their relationship. He removed his shirt, a Viking tattoo depicting intertwining axes, their razor-sharp blades symbolizing the fierce prowess and indomitable spirit of a warrior.

Sarah analyzed his body form, flesh, weak areas, and which hit would cause the greatest anguish, but she didn't want to kill him that way, not before saying her final goodbye. As she approached him, she tucked the dagger at the back of her belt and hugged him tightly. Arne was taken aback since she had avoided bodily contact since arriving at the camp; she was distant and blunt. He placed his arms around her upper waist, unaware of the blade concealed behind her belt..

They talked and talked and after they exchanged a few intimate moments Arne laid on the bed relaxed and assured that he had won her heart. It was the one night he went to bed without worrying about her; he had her next to him, and it was going to be fatal. Arne looked away from her as he pulled the pillow beneath his arms and fell asleep. Before kissing his head, Sarah massaged his lower back with her fingertips, reaching her touch to the back of his neck. She then removed the dagger as tears streamed down her face. She squeezed her eyes shut, attempting to mask her sorrow as she carefully drove the knife into his back, immersing it all the way inside while Arne began coughing waves of blood at his pillow.

"For my brother, my mother, and each catastrophe you brought upon my family. I'm taking vengeance for every interruption in our path that you caused, and let's hope I never see you again," she said as she dried her tears with determination.

She rose up, admiring her fine work, both heartbroken and pleased that justice had been served. The knife slipped through her fingers and dropped to the ground, as she left the door wide open. She returned her gaze to him as she stepped out of the door frame. His fixed eyes were filled with grief and remorse as he looked at her. She disregarded him and began rushing in the direction of her father.

She met Robin in the tough forest and went on to the horse, indicating to him to begin their journey. She didn't say anything the entire voyage since she was too preoccupied with her surroundings to speak. Their destination was Northumbria, where they planned to rebuild what was left of their world....