Foreign love - Thorfinn x Reader

07

We were leaving soon. Askeladd's men were bustling about, loading supplies onto the boat. The creaking of wood and the occasional clatter of crates filled the air, mingling with the low murmur of their voices. I sat beside Askeladd, swinging my legs back and forth idly.

I was bored. There wasn't much for me to do here. Back in Egypt, life had been so different—there was always something to keep me busy. Chores, tasks, people needing help. But here? Here, the days dragged on, and it all started to feel so monotonous.

When they first took me, I thought I'd have a purpose. They told me I'd be a translator, helping them understand new people and places. That idea had excited me. I'd imagined learning new languages, hearing words I'd never heard before, maybe even teaching some of my own. But no one needed a translator now. They didn't need me, and it frustrated me to no end.

Ahead of us, one of Askeladd's men caught my attention. He was an odd one—constantly on alert, with a hearing so sharp it almost didn't seem human. He stood a little ways off, his hands cupped behind his ears as if it helped him hear better. Did it really work? I tilted my head, watching him curiously, my brow furrowing.

"Someone's coming," the man muttered suddenly, his gaze snapping back toward us.

I stared at him, my thoughts wandering before I could stop them. Why is he so ugly?

I hadn't meant to say it out loud, but the words slipped from my mouth in a quiet voice.

Askeladd and Björn both heard me, though, and they burst into laughter. Askeladd's deep chuckle echoed in the air, and Björn grinned broadly, shaking his head. Embarrassed, I looked down at my feet, my cheeks burning.

The laughter died down as the attention shifted to whoever was approaching. Askeladd leaned forward slightly, his smirk creeping across his face, the same knowing smirk he always wore.

"Ahh," he said simply, his tone one of amusement.

I frowned, confused. I looked up at him, then tried to follow his gaze, squinting to see who he was watching.

Impatient, I let out a quiet groan. "Who is it?" I muttered under my breath.

Then I saw him. A small figure emerged from the distance, walking steadily toward us. As he drew closer, the details became clear—the blonde hair, the determined expression. It was the same boy I'd seen before.

"I am the son of Thors—Thorfinn," he announced boldly, stopping a short distance away.

"Thor...finn," I repeated, the name unfamiliar in my mouth. My accent had improved over time; I'd learned to soften the harsher sounds, but new words always took a little effort. Names were especially tricky.

The boy didn't seem to notice my struggle. Instead, he reached for the weapon at his side—a small blade, sharp and glinting in the light.

"In the name of the almighty Odin," he declared, his voice steady and unwavering, "I challenge you to a duel."

I blinked, taken aback. "A duel?" I whispered, the word feeling foreign on my tongue.

I studied him more closely. He wasn't much older than me. At least, he didn't look it. Maybe a year, at most. I was almost six, which meant he was probably seven—or, at most, eight. Even so, there was something about the way he stood, the fire in his eyes, that made him seem older than he looked.

Turning to Björn, I leaned in close and whispered, "Is he crazy?"

Björn smirked but didn't answer, his attention fixed on the scene unfolding.

I glanced back at Thorfinn, my frown deepening. Did this boy really think he could fight Askeladd? A man who had to be at least thirty-five—no, maybe even fifty years old? The idea was ridiculous.