Ashes to Stardust | Sihtric Kjartansson

Chapter 3: The Seductress

I had a lot of fun writing this chapter and it was originally so long I had to split it into two parts. Hope you enjoy! Leave feedback if you can :) if Stjarna could have a theme song in this chapter it would be Lana Del Rey's version of Once Upon a Dream. So if you really wanna get in to the ✨vibe✨ of our girl, feel free to chuck it on! That song just kept playing over and over again in my head as I wrote her haha.

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As I pace back and forth through the cavernous chamber, the sounds of my footsteps echo off the walls interrupting the silence. The eerie quietness feels oppressive and hollow, as if the walls themselves are listening and tracking my every move. The sounds of battle have long since disappeared, leaving me alone again with my thoughts and the unbearable pain in my stomach. I don't know exactly how long I have been down in the cellar since the stronghold was infiltrated by Ragnar and Uhtred, but the relentless agony in my gut that begs for food and drains all sense of time urges me to believe it has to have been two or three days, and I feel no closer to getting out of this damnable cellar.

I step yet again across the cavernous chamber, pacing back and forth in impatient frustration, but my solitude is suddenly interrupted by the rumble of footsteps approaching and growing louder outside the stone of the walls with each passing moment. The low-pitched growl of a frustrated voice travels through the heavy stone wall of the door, replacing the silence with impending danger.

"Hurry up" urges the voice beyond the sturdy door. A key slides with a screeching sound into the rusted latch accompanied by threatening whispers, the heavy stone then swinging toward me.

I remain silent and stand squared forward as two identical warriors enter the chamber. Neither of whom I am familiar with, an unnerving sight when Rurik is usually the one to escort me. Their long, dark curls are in disarray and messy after battle, and their faces marred by dirt. Stepping forward a few paces in perfect unison, the brothers display the same synchrony in the rest of their features as well.

Harsh light from a tiny slit in the ceiling casts deep shadows over hollow, blackened eyes above bags that hang heavily below them. High cheekbones and long jawlines frame their unfriendly faces and emphasise their sharpness in an unsettling manner. They are almost an exact copy of one another, though the man on the left has a fresh, blood-red scar slicing over his eyebrow and extending down his cheek making him even uglier, bearing the resemblance to a sharpened blade. Their stern expressions bear down on me with heavy weight but my gaze is unwavering as I scrutinise both of their faces. Hope ignites within me that somehow one of them will give me a glimpse, any sort of inclination that Eiríkr is dead.

"He wants you." One of the gruff voices delivers bluntly. No explanation, no margin for disobedience. Not another word.

And definitely no chance for ambiguity--enough information for me to have my answer.

He's still. Fucking. Living.

The larger, scarless brother steps toward me and pulls at my shackled wrists with great brutality. His staggering force drags me towards him as he lifts the iron collar that I had yet to notice and swiftly wraps it around my neck. Then, he pulls me from the damp coldness of the chamber as I begin to protest with every ounce of strength I can muster, my efforts futile against the unyielding grip.

They haul me up stair, after stair, after stair with relentless pace, each step more gruelling than the last. Pushing and pulling me completely indifferent to the strain it causes my weak muscles and frail bones. A punishing result of my malnourishment over the years.

With one final aggressive push, they thrust me into the cold confines of Eiríkr's familiar chamber. "Get out," he commands the men who obey his instruction without an ounce of hesitation, retreating like obedient pups under their alpha's orders. Heavy double doors slam shut behind them, the sound echoing through the chamber for a moment before finally dissipating and leaving me alone with Eiríkr once again. The deafening silence is almost unbearable, but nothing compared to the sight of my torturer standing before me. I fight back the urge to cower away from him as he regards me with a cold, lifeless stare, his empty eyes gazing through me as if I am merely an object that has appeared in his path, rather than the prisoner he has kept locked in a dungeon for years.