Wolf Warrior (The Mórrigan's Wolf, Part 2) The Last Kingdom Fanfiction

33 - Lost and Found

Sitting in a small wooden tub with her knees drawn to her chest, Faoladhean huffed somewhat irritably as barely lukewarm water was poured around her.

"Oh, you act like a spoiled child! Lucky to have heated water at all, you are." Bethóc cracked a smile as she hobbled to the stool nearest the fire.

Faoladhean gave her a withering glare. "I am not spoiled, I just prefer not to freeze to death while bathing!"

"No difference," Bethóc said with a wave of her hand.

Murron let out a soft giggle, and Faoladhean glanced at the woman who was responsible for dumping the water into the tub around her and sighed. She grudgingly allowed Murron to start scrubbing her briskly with a rough spun cloth so she could keep the bandages on her wrists dry. Murron paused as she looked at the left side of her head, taking in the haphazardly shorn remnants of her hair.

"Would you...erm," Murron looked somewhat shyly at Faoladhean. "Would you like me to-to shave..." she gestured at the uneven hair.

Faoladhean blinked at Murron, caught in surprise at finally hearing the woman speak. "Er, I..." she trailed off, having nearly forgotten about her hair. "Please, that would be nice." She smiled gently at Murron, who nodded and went back to scrubbing Faoladhean's skin until it turned pink.

"Who is the bald-headed Norseman beyond the Veil?" Bethóc looked at Faoladhean, her gaze piercing, her hands clasping the walking stick before her while she sat on the stool.

Faoladhean stiffened at the unexpected question as she slowly looked up at Bethóc. "Clapa. He was a good man. He fell," she said, her throat tightening, "in battle."

Bethóc hummed and cocked her head to the side, her gaze drifting away from Faoladhean. She nodded, but said nothing for a few moments. Green eyes refocused on Faoladhean with startling clarity. "He says he told you not to run, and that you have been running despite that." She paused for a moment, her gaze drifting aside ever so slightly before snapping back to Faoladhean once more. "He says he wanted to know how it has worked for you so far, but judging by the state you are in...it has not."

Faoladhean felt her cheeks begin to flush and she dropped her gaze to her knees before wrapping her arms around them once more with a deep sigh. "No," she replied quietly. "It has not worked for me." Her gaze remained averted from Bethóc and the cottage fell silent for a few moments, save for the sounds of Murron shuffling about to get a clean linen towel.

"He says everyone knows how strong you are, but some mistake your stubbornness for strength."

Faoladhean nodded slowly, her lips pursed as she thought about it.

"Also, he says that true strength is showing your weaknesses to those closest to you." Bethóc nodded again, and let out a loud exhale. "He has nothing else to say, except that he hopes you have finally learned how to sit with your grief."

"I am trying," Faoladhean whispered as her eyes fell closed and her head bowed forward. Grief over the loss of Clapa washed over her suddenly, something she thought she actually had dealt with, and she was taken aback by it.

"Wise one, he is." Bethóc chuckled softly. "You, dear girl, need to heed his advice. All of it."

Raising her head, Faoladhean looked at Bethóc questioningly, but she remained silent.

"Pretending to be strong will only get you so far, hm? You still have not learned that true strength and resilience comes from the ability to be vulnerable when necessary. You have so far refused to be vulnerable. Why is that?"

Murron moved back to Faoladhean's side with the towel; Faoladhean took it from her and stepped out of the tub, wincing slightly as the sutures in her thigh pulled at the skin. Why have I refused to be vulnerable? Faoladhean sighed while toweling off, mulling over the question. She pulled on a borrowed shift and dress while sifting through her mind, trying to find a singular reason or event that made her incapable of being vulnerable, but came up blank.