Northern Passion

Edith, Bruised

The next morning, Aldgyth awoke to the sounds of the Viking camp bustling with activity. She stretched, feeling the stiffness in her muscles from sleeping on the ground. Despite the harshness of her surroundings, she appreciated the small comforts she had been granted.

Suddenly, there was a commotion outside her tent. She heard raised voices and the sound of heavy footsteps. Curiosity and apprehension gnawed at her as she moved to the entrance, peeking outside.

Two Frankish men, their clothes dirtied and their faces set with grim determination, were approaching the camp. Between them, they half-dragged, half-carried a bruised and battered figure. Aldgyth's heart lurched as she recognized Edith, her friend from their days in the Anglo-Saxon village.

The Viking guards moved to intercept the Frankish men, weapons drawn, but Ivar appeared, pushing through the crowd. His eyes narrowed as he took in the scene.

"What is this?" Ivar demanded, his voice cold and commanding.

One of the Frankish men stepped forward, his grip tightening on Edith's arm. "She refused to listen, and she wouldn't stay where she was told. She belongs to you."

Ivar's gaze flickered to Edith, his expression hardening. "And you thought it best to beat her?"

The Frankish man sneered. "She brought it upon herself. She's a troublemaker."

Aldgyth stepped out of the tent, her eyes wide with concern for her friend. "Edith," she whispered, rushing to her side.

Edith looked up, her face bruised and swollen, but her eyes still held a defiant spark. "Aldgyth," she croaked, managing a weak smile.

Ivar glared at the Frankish men, his hand gripping the hilt of his sword. "Leave her with us and go. You've done enough."

The men released Edith, allowing Aldgyth to support her. They turned and walked away, muttering under their breaths.

Ivar's anger was palpable as he turned to the assembled Vikings. "Get her some water and something to eat," he ordered, his tone brooking no argument.

Astrid, who had been watching the scene unfold, stepped forward and took Edith from Aldgyth's arms. "Come with me," she said gently, guiding her toward another tent.

Aldgyth watched them go, her heart heavy with worry. She turned to Ivar, who was still seething with anger. "Why did they bring her here?"

Ivar's jaw tightened. "She must have been trying to escape or causing trouble on their land. The Franks don't tolerate disobedience."

Aldgyth shook her head, tears brimming in her eyes. "She's my friend. She doesn't deserve this."

Ivar's expression softened, just a fraction. "I'll make sure she's looked after. But you need to stay out of trouble too."

Aldgyth nodded, grateful for his unexpected support. "Thank you."

Ivar gave a curt nod before turning to address the rest of the camp. "Get back to your tasks. There's nothing more to see here."

As the crowd dispersed, Aldgyth hurried to the tent where Astrid had taken Edith. She found her friend lying on a bedroll, sipping water from a wooden cup. Astrid was tending to her bruises with a gentle touch.

"Edith, are you all right?" Aldgyth asked, kneeling beside her.

Edith managed a weak nod. "I'll be fine. Just needed to get away from those Franks."

Astrid looked up, her expression serious. "She'll need rest and care. We'll make sure she gets it."

Aldgyth reached for Edith's hand, squeezing it gently. "I'm here, Edith. We'll get through this together."

Edith smiled faintly, her strength and spirit shining through despite her injuries. "I know, Ald. I'm just glad to be with you again."

As the day wore on, Aldgyth stayed by Edith's side, helping Astrid tend to her wounds and offering what comfort she could. The camp buzzed with activity around them, but in that small tent, there was a sense of camaraderie and care that helped to ease the pain and fear.

Aldgyth knew the road ahead would be difficult, but with friends by her side and unexpected allies like Ivar and Astrid, she felt a glimmer of hope. They would face whatever challenges came their way, together.

Ivar stood alone on the training grounds, the cool air bristling with anticipation. His muscles tensed as he swung his axe with precise, brutal force, each strike embedding deep into the wooden target.

The rhythmic thud of his weapon filled the clearing, a stark contrast to the calm surroundings. Ivar's mind raced with thoughts of the Frankish men who had dared to mistreat a friend of Aldgyth. His anger simmered just below the surface, each swing of his axe a temporary release.

He imagined the faces of those who had hurt Edith, the rage in his eyes matched by the ferocity of his strikes. He trained harder, faster, his movements a blur of controlled violence. Sweat poured down his brow, but he didn't stop.

In his mind, he was already on a ship, sailing to Frankish lands, ready to avenge the wrongs done. The thought of battle fueled his determination, every swing of his axe a promise of what might come if his anger took him across the sea.

As Ivar swung his axe, he found himself questioning why he felt such a fierce need to defend Edith. She was just another captive, yet something about her situation stirred a protective instinct within him. Perhaps it was her connection to Aldgyth, the fiery red-haired woman who had become an unexpected fixture in his life. Though he hated Aldgyth, there was a strange, undeniable respect for her resilience and spirit. Defending Edith might have been a way to shield Aldgyth from further pain, or perhaps it was a flicker of humanity in himself, a reminder that even amidst the brutality, he wasn't completely consumed by darkness.

For now, he needed this—the physical exertion, the relentless practice. It was the only way to keep his fury in check. But deep down, Ivar knew that if the time came, he would be ready to unleash his wrath on those who dared to cross him.

Maybe he could prevent someone else from losing their loved ones.