Always Be By My Side - Sequel to Always Return to Me (The Last Kingdom Fan Fic)

Chapter 35

Nadia

Brida found us after the battle, a smile on her face. One of the men with her was dragging a struggling Dane behind him. Ragnar ordered the man to be brought back to Dunholm. He would be dealt with once our dead were honored. We embraced Brida tightly, and I will admit to crying at seeing her alive. "I knew you weren't dead," I managed to sob into her shoulder.

She told us her tale, how Cnut had figured out she knew too much about his involvement in the failed plot to murder Ragnar. The man was cruel through and through, and rather than send her to Valhalla, he sold her as a slave to the Welsh. Her escape occurred when a young Dane, Sigtryggr, came to Wealas. The score of forty men with her were his. "Earl Sigtryggr sends his apologies for not coming himself, but he's busy establishing himself in Wealas," Brida said calmly, the blood of our enemies beginning to crust on her skin.

"Your arrival saved us," Ragnar said. "I owe Sigtryggr my gratitude."

Brida's face lit up at this. "He plans to march on Wessex. While the Saxons are busy arguing over the fate of Mercia, Winchester has been left unguarded."

Ragnar's smile vanished. He made to stand and held his hand out to me. I eyed him wondering what his reply to this call to arms would be. "There will be time to speak of this later. For now we have work to do," He said gently.

Brida nodded her understanding, but she couldn't hide the hesitation behind her wise eyes. I gave her one last smile. I pecked a kiss on Ragnar's cheek before making my way around the field, comforting widows and aiding our healers with the wounded. Ragnar went off to help remove our dead from the field.

That night I thanked the gods multiple times over that we had escaped the slaughter alive. I vowed vengeance as I cleaned and bound Ragnar's wounds. Most were minor, and I did not fear they'd grow infected. He was lucky the blade he'd taken to the shoulder was not deeper, for it would've severed muscle. He would however, have a new scar to add to his collection. I felt him flinch under my fingers as the salve I had prepared touched his wound.

"Sorry," I grimaced.

He exhaled deeply. "How bad is it?"

"It could've been worse," I replied.

"Just a flesh wound?" A small smile returned to his exhausted face.

"A bit deeper than that," I tutted, tying off his wound dressing. I couldn't help but stare at his muscled scarred back. He caught me looking and pulled me close. I was too tried to bother protesting that he needed to be careful and allowed him to wrap me in the safety of his arms.

~~~

The next day was long, and come evening time the pyres burned bright as we sent our dead to the great feasting hall. Rorik stood by Ragnar's side as women moaned and grieved the loss of their loved ones. One young widow threw herself upon the pyre with her loved one. Children stood silently watching their mothers, not fully understanding it all. My son who was no longer a boy stood by my side. I held his hand in mine, feeling the callouses and wondered when he had grown up. I snuck a glance at his face and saw small bruises on his cheek. I knew from one of the healers that he had minor cuts on his arm, but otherwise had escaped unharmed. Ragnar came to join us, nodding at our son. I felt him squeeze my hand tightly in his. I squeezed back.

~~~

Ragnar

Nadia held my hand tightly, as if she'd never let go. The orange glow danced in her eyes. We all stood silently remembering the previous day. I gave a speech that we would avenge our dead. My men roared in anguish and hungry for revenge. Widows wailed, and I quietly ordered Rorik to ensure they were paid their husband's shares. Some might say I share my wealth too freely, but if my father taught me anything, true loyalty comes from people who know you genuinely care about them. I make every effort to train with my men, work and fight side by side with them, and reward them well for their loyalty. Some Earls refuse to fight in a shield wall. Like my father, Earl Ragnar the Fearless, I am not one of them. Men follow those who they see strength in. Men follow those who respect them equally. Men follow those who make their own name. Perhaps that is how my brother acquired and kept his strange band of men; The Irishman, the bastard son of our now deceased enemy, and the warrior monk.