The axes cross the axe's cross

la barbichette

"mon premier journal. Que vais-je écrire? Je vais connaître le bâtard qui m'a battu. Il est beau."

-01/06/1000

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I woke up in pain. My hand felt numb, and my side was aching. As I slowly became more aware of my surroundings, I felt something else.

A strange weight on my shoulder. As if someone is laying on me.

I tilt my head to the side, and notice the viking from earlier. The one who cut my side. It was him. His head was on my shoulder.

I looked around and noticed I wasn't on the sand near the shores anymore. I was on a bed, in a hut... Or maybe a cabin? I couldn't tell. There were shelves. They were adorned with herbs, vials of liquid, and incense. I think I saw some bandages too, but my vision was blurry. I saw a woman. Not the one who I fought. She looked older. Much much older. And she was caring for the woman who tried to kill me. I heard them talk, but couldn't understand their words.

I felt the viking shift positions and sat upright. He looked back at me with his... Mesmerizing brown eyes... Wait, what!? No no, they aren't mesmerizing! They're just objectively beautiful! That's it!

-"Våken, lille prins?" I heard him speak. His voice. So gruff and deep. I would listen to him talk for hours if I could- wait, no! That's not what I meant!

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I sat by the prince's side for hours. My mother, the healer, had done a decent job patching up the nasty stab wound on his hand inflicted by my sister, and the evidence of my failed strike on his side.

-"So? How is he, mother?" I questioned, trying not to sound concerned... Even though I am.

-"The boy seems fine. Although Astra looked like she was about to kill him." My mother answered with a soft voice and a mischievous chuckle as my sister jolted upright from her cot upon hearing the words spoken. She winced from the pain because of her movements, and clutched her bandaged shoulder. I glanced at her spruce brown eyes with a glint of deviousness in mine.

-"The mighty Astra Orionsdottir can't take down a scrawny prince? The mighty Astra Orionsdottir, daughter of our chieftain, the one who killed a bear with her bare hands alone, couldn't even take down a prince and had to ask for her brother's help. Oh, the irony. The clan is going to have a good laugh once I tell them." I teased with a cocky smirk and watched as she gasped with offence and tried to stand up, but our mother gave her a scolding glare and crossed her arms over her chest.

-"Astra! I don't want to have to break up another one of your meaningless fights with Bothildr!" She stood up, and walked over to Astra and flicked a strand of her dirty blonde hair out of her face. She then turned around, her blue eyes piercing daggers into my own eyes, prompting me to raise my hands in mock surrender.

-"And Bothildr! I better not see you instigating another "sparring match" with your sister! The last time this happened you almost broke each other's arms!" She scolds me, and I put my hands down and look away with a little embarrassment. It seems that my "we're just sparring" excuse whenever I and Astra fought was starting to grow ineffective with her.

After a moment of silence between me, my sister and my mother, I looked back at the prince, and tilted my head back to lean on his shoulder. I closed my eyes as I remembered his spring brown hair, messy and unbrushed. His silver eyes filled with anger as he tried to protect the German girl.

He was short. And cute. I can still remember those adorable, red and busted lips- wait, why am I thinking about his lips!?

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I looked up at the viking as he spoke again. I couldn't understand a word he was saying. He looked at me so... Tenderly. It was softer than what I expected from a barbarian.

-"On sóc?" I asked and tried to sit upright. I felt dizzy, and my head felt fuzzy.

-"Unnskyld meg?" He cocked an eyebrow and leaned in as if he couldn't hear me.

-"Què estàs dient?" I tried to sit upright, but he put his hand on my chest and pushed me back down on the bed. As soon as I felt his hand on me, I slapped it away. He chuckles and pulls his hand away, now resting it on the edge.

-"Slem prins, du må la deg helbrede." He chuckles and glances back at the cot behind him, where Matilde was resting and the old woman was placing a cloth soaked in warm water on her forehead.

-"Necessito veure-la." I insisted and sat upright again. The man scoffs and reaches up to grab my hair, his fingers digging into my scalp. I winced as I felt that aching and throbbing pain in my head. I leaned my head back, my breathing becoming heavy. The man slowly lowered my head back onto the pillow of the cot.

-"Der der, andorransk prins. Ikke strev." He reassures. His voice is soft. Not what I was expecting from a barbarian... Wait, didn't I say that already? I forgot. I was in too much pain to care.

-"ugh... Em fa mal el cap..." I whine groggily as the old woman turns around and approaches me again. The man turns around, and slips his hand from under my head to rest on the side of the cot again.

-"Han har det vondt, mor." The man hums softly as the woman takes another piece of cloth, dips it in the warm water and squeezes the excess out before gently placing it on my forehead. I felt the pain diminishing slightly as the warmth spread through my face a few droplets getting soaked lightly in my hairline.

-"Du burde ha forventet dette, sønn. Du ga ham et skikkelig støt i hodet." The healer murmurs softly and takes a step back.

The man got up momentarily and walked to another room... Or maybe another part of the room I couldn't see? I don't know. My eyes closed and I heard him come back, place an object that sounded like a book on a table behind me, and the mattress dip as he sat on the  bed next to me, and rested his hand on my bandaged hand.

-"Når du våkner, håper jeg du liker journalen." He murmurs again.