Fighting, Honour and Valhalla || Vikings x The Originals x TVD

The Return

The Jarl's Longhouse was alive with noise and revelry. The main hall, a grand space with a high wooden ceiling supported by thick, rough-hewn beams, was filled with people. The air was thick with the smell of roasted meats, spilt ale, and the smoke from the numerous torches lighting the space. The tables were piled high with food: boar, venison, fresh bread, and fruits. People stood up, dancing and singing, their voices merging into a loud harmony that echoed off the walls. This feast was one of many since the arrival of Jarl Bjarni, who had brought with him an abundance of food and wine to impress his bride-to-be. It had been nearly a week since the Jarl, Mikael, and their men had left Kattegat for the grand hunt in Darkmoon Forest. The hall had been in a near-constant state of celebration ever since, as Bjarni tried to win over the people with his generosity.

Siggy, the Jarl's wife, and Thyri, their daughter, were left behind to oversee the festivities. Magnus, eager to prove himself, had wanted to join the hunt, but his father had refused, instructing him to stay and rule in his stead. Magnus now sat in his father's chair, looking thoroughly displeased as he watched Jarl Bjarni dance with several women, none of whom were his sister. His face was twisted into a scowl, his fingers drumming impatiently on the arm of the chair.

Further away from the centre of the festivities sat Thyri. She wore a beautiful rich dress, a serk, made of rich blue wool, embroidered with intricate patterns in gold thread. Her brooches were finely crafted, holding her dress together at the shoulders, and a belt cinched her waist, from which hung a small knife in a decorated sheath. Despite her elegant appearance, her eyes were filled with sorrow. Jarl Bjarni had been worse than she could have imagined. He was a disgusting man, both in how he acted and his physical presence. His teeth were black and rotting, his breath foul with the stench of ale and decay. His fingers were thick and greasy, always grabbing at whatever he desired without care or consent.

Thyri forced a smile, but tears slipped down her face at times, ones she quickly wiped away before anyone could notice. She shivered in disgust as she saw Jarl Bjarni lick the neck of a girl he had grabbed from a seat. The girl, barely older than a child, looked terrified, her eyes wide with fear. Thyri's heart ached for her, knowing all too well the revulsion that came with his touch.

Magnus, noticing the scene, clenched his jaw and turned his gaze away, unable or unwilling to intervene. Jarl Bjarni's voice boomed through the hall as he told a crude joke, his laughter loud and coarse. He swayed slightly, clearly drunk, and pulled the girl closer, his hands wandering. Thyri's stomach churned, and she had to look away, focusing on a spot on the wall to keep from retching. The hall, with its roaring fires and lively crowd, felt suffocating. Thyri longed for the hunt to be over, for her father to return and perhaps for him to change his mind and take Bjarni away. But she knew that, her fate was sealed. She was to be married to this man, to endure his touch and his presence for the rest of her life. The thought made her feel hollow, and she fought to keep the despair from overwhelming her.

As the night wore on, Thyri's forced smile grew more strained. Her hands trembled slightly as she brought her cup to her lips, taking a small sip to soothe her dry throat. The mead was sweet, but it did little to ease her discomfort. She glanced at Magnus, hoping for some sign of support or solidarity, but he was lost in his own anger and frustration. Siggy waded through the sea of revellers, making her way to Thyri's side. The longhouse was alive with the sounds of laughter, singing, and the clinking of mugs, but the joy did not touch Thyri's face. Siggy sat down next to her daughter, her brow furrowed with concern.

"How are you doing, my love?" Siggy asked softly. "Why aren't you joining the feast? You usually love dancing and singing."

Thyri forced a weak smile, her eyes heavy with sadness. "I don't feel much like celebrating, Mother," she replied, her voice breaking.