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Blood. So much blood. It poured through the streets like water on a rainy day. It filled the air with a coppery stench and painted the world in red.
All Alfild's life, that is all she'd known. Blood. So much blood. It was this never ending cycle of pain and misery that only got worse as the years passed. Thankfully, there were some releases from it.
Alfild knew how one should feel after taking a life. She knew they should feel remorse and sorrow, they should think "I did what I had to do" and no more. But she did not feel that. There was no remorse in her heart, no guilt. When she killed, it was a relief. A relief from all the anger that came from her suffering. In an odd way, the killing felt good. And she knew that was wrong.
Upon reaching the Villa in Wessex, the brothers were mildly confused and startled to see that Alfild's horse and ridden alongside Ivar's chariot as the talked on the way. Hvitserk thought he heard talk of torture, though he decided he didn't wish to know when they both began to smile. Smiling. That was something neither of them had done in such a long time. And yet, they were.
It was disconcerting to see the two enemies getting along so well.
When they arrived in Wessex, Alfild was quick to dismount her horse and grip the hilt of her sword. The town seemed silent, far too silent for her taste. Something wasn't right.
Soon, others poured in through the gates and began running around. The town was empty. The Saxons had fled. The Queen's gaze moved over to Ivar, knowing this would not exactly be the news he wished to hear. Though he looked displeased, she decided to look through the town to see if there was anything worth taking. If she could make her land richer, perhaps she could feed them. And if she couldn't regain her kingdom, she could always pay for help.
Alfild's fingers traced the stone walls of a large building that she had entered. The windows were stained in beautiful colours to show pictures of people she supposed were important. Perhaps a king or a god? Her eyes moved up to the ceiling, the tall and beautifully carved ceiling was a sight to behold. Pillars stood made of stone, pushing up the ceiling. Light of red and blue and green all shone through onto her face.
She had seldom time to herself these days, and so she thanked the gods for this brief moment of silence. However brief it may be.
"Queen Alfild." A familiar voice greeted her making her turn to look over. Her long hair fell down in waves over one shoulder, a small ray of sunlight shining through to illuminate her features. She wore no warpaint, no frown or look of anger. She simply stood there, curiosity washing over her as she examined this strange new world that she had never before seen. And Hvitserk had to admit, she looked beautiful.
"Hvitserk." She gave a small smile when she said his name. "What do you need me for?"
"Nothing." He answered honestly. "I didn't expect to see you in here."
She smiled, before her gaze wandered back to the magnificent building that surrounded her. "What is this place?" She asked gently, as though she hadn't even meant for the words to slip past her lips.
"It is a church to their god." Hvitserk answered her anyway.
Soon her eyes were filled with even more questions as she looked back at the young Prince. "You mean they only worship one God?" She gasped.
Hvitserk smiled at her sudden curiosity. "That is what I've heard." He answered.
Alfild looked shocked, "One God." She sighed. "How could one man do all this without a single woman?"
Hvitserk grinned, "We're not as useless as you think, my queen."
The girl's smile widened, turning into the smallest of laughs that she just couldn't hold in. "Not useless." She spoke gently. "Just in need of help."
The two stood in a blissful serenity. As Hvitserk looked over at the young woman, he couldn't help but notice her beauty. It was a rare thing to see her smile and he understood why. In that moment, she looked like Freyja herself. But their moment of peace was soon cut short by a loud and unmistakable scream of someone within the castle. Both their eyes jolted up as they ran as quickly as they could out of the castle.
Soon, their questions were answered when Floki emerged carrying his dead wife. His cheeks were stained with tears, eyes red and broken. Helga lay lifeless in his arms, a small amount of blood staining her dress. She seemed at peace.
Though Alfild was fairly unfamiliar with Helga and Floki, she knew that Helga was a good woman. Of all the people in this large group of Heathens, Helga was the one who deserved to die the least. She was gentle, and kind, and there were so few people like that in this world. Just kind. She knew that the gods had taken her because they were jealous of us for having her.
