It gets easier

Chapter 11 / what she doesn't know

—

His nightmare that night was worse than it usually was, hitting him like a battle axe and leaving him cold and breathless. He felt like he was dying and, at the same time, like his heart was beating too fast for his body to keep up the pace. He was running. He was falling. He was fighting for his life, or to take someone else's.

He still remembered none of it; it was all blurs of colors underneath his eyelids and the feeling of something wet and warm on his fingers, but just as he knew that he often saw his father, and as he sometimes had a hunch that Askeladd had been there too, he knew that Gudrid was there in his dreams that night.

Despite being so uncertain of what was truly happening, he knew that he had done something terrible. He had hurt her.

"I thought you were different. I thought..." Her words made it through the haze, and his own followed right after.

"I've changed; I'm not—I'm so sorry! I'm not this kind of person anymore. I promise." His voice shook. He sounded like he was crying and like he couldn't breathe.

Thorfinn's own conscience waged war against him, trying to make him believe that he had never changed and that he was still the young warrior who would do such unspeakable and horrendous things to other people. People who had done nothing wrong, who he held no grudge against—kind people like Gudrid.

"Thorfinn!" Her voice sounded from the outside and inside his skull at the same time.

He felt a grip on his arm, and he was startled awake, sitting up and gasping, trying, as he always did right after he woke up, to remember where he was.

He was not on the battlefield. He was not in danger. He was not on Askeladd's ship. He was home. He was in the annex he shared with his wife, and she was sitting on her knees beside him. Her hair was a mess, and she looked tired. He knew he had woken her up, startling her as he unfortunately often did.

"Good, you're awake now."

Thorfinn brought a hand to his face and closed his eyes behind his fingers. She sounded so relieved.

She was so kind.

He remembered the sound of her voice in his dream. What she had said was beginning to drift from his mind, but he remembered the way that she had said it, like she was betrayed, hurt, and like she was choking on blood.

He shuddered, imagining that, feeling sick, and Gudrid placed a hand on his back.

She didn't know what his dreams were about; even after months of being together, she had never asked. She had decided it was something so personal that Thorfinn had to bring it up to her on his own, but nevertheless, a night never went by when she didn't wake him up when he began to cry out.

"It was a lot worse than usual tonight. Are you okay?"

Thorfinn didn't answer her. He couldn't. He opened his mouth but couldn't find his words.

He was not okay.

Why was it worse this night? Why did he seem to be unable to catch his breath while her hand was against his back?

He removed his hand from his face and looked at Gudrid. Was it because of what his mother and the other blacksmiths had said? Was it because of what she had said? She had said that he understood her, that he was kind, that she was happy she married him, and she had sounded optimistic, telling him that she would look forward to knowing everything about him. It had kept him awake for hours.

"Did I-" Thorfinn eventually found his voice, wiping a bead of sweat from his brow. "Did I say anything?"

Gudrid would have rather had Thorfinn answer her question, telling her if he was alright, but she tried to ignore the way he went right past it.

"You kept saying, "I'm sorry,"" she told him quietly, her voice barely making it to him, but she knew that it did because she could feel Thorfinn tense up at the words. "What are you sorry about, Thorfinn?"

Everything. There was so much that he was sorry for, but looking into her eyes—those kind and welcoming eyes—he lied.

"I don't remember."

He could tell that Gudrid did not believe him with the way that her brows furrowed, but she let it be. He looked towards the door, seeing no water seeping in through the cracks. It was still night then.

"If you want me to sleep the rest of that night out with the sheep, I will," he told her, not the first time and certainly not the last time either. What he earned was a slap on his back with the hand she'd gently touched him with.

"Don't be ridiculous," she told him as she finally stood up again and then fell backwards onto the bed. "I told you I don't want that."

"Yeah, sorry," he nodded, remembering how she had said that she didn't want him to sleep outside since the first day they had been married, when she found him in the stable the day after.

Thorfinn apologized a lot. He apologized for everything, even if it was not his fault; that was something Gudrid had learned. She tried to tell herself that that was all it was, that whatever was happening in his nightmares that made him apologize was something that was not his fault. She hoped that for his sake most of all.

"Gudrid?" He called her name quietly. She was lying still atop the furs, and he was not certain that she was still awake.

"Mmm," she hummed, letting him know that she was still listening. Even after hearing that she was still awake, Thorfinn sat in silence for a few moments before he spoke.

"I'll tell you everything one day, I promise you."

She frowned deeper at the way he said it. He sounded guilty for not telling her everything right then.

"Okay," she said, nodding, looking forward to that day. She did not know why he didn't tell her, if it was because he was ashamed, embarrassed, or if he didn't trust her enough yet, but if that was the case, he probably just needed more time. It was still something she would pry about. "Thank you"

With that, she heard Thorfinn sigh and lay back down, turning to face away from her. She peeked over the side of the bed, watching him turn his face into the fur, like he was trying to hide from more nightmares trying to sneak up on him.

Neither could fall asleep after that, each laying with their own thoughts on the matter.

Thorfinn knew he couldn't keep making excuses for not telling her, especially not now. He had to tell her, and soon.


—————


Thorfinn sought out his mother a few days later, finding her, as he often did, in front of the fire within their home, keeping warm. The air outside was getting warmer as the winter passed, but it was still too cold for her.

He sat down with her, wrapping a blanket around her shoulder, and told her about the dream and how he was sure he had dreamt of Gudrid, and his mother listened patiently, even as his voice shook and as he took long pauses to compose himself again.

"I want to tell her everything, but I'm afraid to. I don't know how I would go about it."

Helga nodded when Thorfinn finished. She thought back to just a few days earlier, the evening before Thorfinn had the nightmare he now told her about. "She spoke of your travels to other lands, and Ylva and I wondered if you had already told her it all."

Thorfinn shook his head. "I told her I left home and where I went, but I didn't tell her why... I know I should have told her in that moment; it was the perfect time to, but I didn't."

"I see, that was easier, wasn't it?"

He knew his mother did not mean it in that way, but the words felt like a punch. He really had taken the easy path. He always did that.

It had been easier to be angry at his father than to accept what he was saying.

It had been easier to hate Askeladd instead of dealing with his grief in a healthy way.

It had been easier to stay away from Iceland.

It had been easier...

Now it had been easier to act like the good man Gudrid seemed to think he was.

"But this is not necessarily a bad thing, Thorfinn. Telling her might finally lower a weight off your chest; perhaps it can help you think more clearly."

He let out a dry chuckle, his entire body shaking as he did. "It feels pretty bad," he said, but it took another moment to consider it, and he turned quiet. Helga let him sit in silence as he thought about it, until he asked a question. "What did Father do?"

Helga smiled a little. Thors had never had to hide it from her like Thorfinn did, but similarly, he had also pushed it as far away as he could. He hid the proof of his past in a chest in the furthest corner of their storage room. Though she wasn't sure he had managed to lock it as far away as Thorfinn had seemed to do,.

"Your father was confronted with his past in a very different way. It was when Floki came that Jomsviking came to the village."

The day changed everything. Thorfinn did not recognize the name, and he could not bring the man's face to his mind, but he remembered it well. A little anger that was left over within his heart made him clench his fists at the memory. If that man had never arrived... but he quickly banished those thoughts, there was no use thinking of that; it was in the past and not what he worried about now.

"You cannot compare this to your father. Not this time."

Not this time, because that was always what he tried to do, whether it was good or bad.

"I just wish he was here to tell me what to do."

Helga sighed and took Thorfinn's hands in her own, looking down at the scars there. They both wished they could keep pretending that the scars were from working in the forge, from hard and prober work, but most of them were from blades, fires, and the wild thorn bushes that grow in the English wilderness.

"I think you do know what to do."

Thorfinn felt a bead of sweat run down his temple as he lowered his head. Yes, he did. He knew what would be the best thing to do—maybe not for him, but certainly for Gudrid and for their relationship. For what they were becoming or could possibly become in the future.

"Yes," he muttered, and his mother squeezed his hands. She knew him better than he knew himself, and she could tell that losing the affection that Gudrid had begun to give him would crush him in a way that he hadn't been crushed before.

He might still be confused about his own feelings towards her, but Helga could see it more clearly.

"I believe," she began, and he looked up at her. "That the two of you will be just fine."

He nodded slowly, not looking up to meet her eyes, already thinking of how he was going to do this.

"I hope so," he muttered, still feeling tension within him. "I really do," because if it wouldn't be fine, what would they do?