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As I saw Ubbe sat beside the body of the nun, I couldn't help but walk over. It was one thing to kill in battle, it was entirely different to slaughter innocents. It seemed that he had already made that distinction, and I could see the regret in his eyes. Slowly, I made my way over - avoiding the cold corpses and moaning injured - and finally sat beside him on the grey stone step.
"Are you alright?" I croaked out, my lips pursed as I attempted to push my innate concern back and stop any compassion from leaking out.
He looked back at me for a moment, a sorrowful gaze with the smallest trace of an appreciative smile. "She asked me to kill her." He explained. "Why?"
"It beats the alternative." I answered, watching as men dragged other women of the cloth out of the door. "She made the right call, I would've done the same." I nodded in respect for the woman, perfectly understanding her motives
"Sometimes, this is the cost of war. You can't torment yourself over it."
"Are you speaking from experience?" He responded, eyes still fixed on the dead woman.
Again, I nodded. "I've killed more people than I can count." I replied, my voice devoid of emotion, face cold and expressionless. "It never becomes easier to take another's life. Some are born killers, others are born good. Perhaps you should thank the Gods that you are the latter."
Again, he sent a small smile in my direction and nodded. "You're not so bad yourself."
At this, I scoffed, standing abruptly. "You don't know me well enough to assume such a thing" I answered, folding my arms and preparing to leave defensively. Again, those large stone walls seemed to rise around me, never letting anyone in.
"I know that you tried to save those boys." He answered with a shrug. "And I know that before you did anything else, you came to see if I was alright. Maybe you should take some of your own advice and stop tormenting yourself."
Again I huffed, hearing those words jarring frustration in me. Frustration because he was right. Frustration because I simply couldn't let go. Something in me kept clinging onto the pain and anguish of the past.
"You should talk to Hvitserk," Ubbe suggested. "He seems to truly care about you."
Again, I scoffed. "You Ragnarssons are quick with your emotions, aren't you?" My eyes rolled, a look of annoyance as Ivar crawled outside with Hvitserk beside him. "You people hardly know me, you certainly haven't known me long enough to form any affection for my person." But, as my eyes wandered back towards the door I couldn't help but feel a pang of something in the pit of my stomach. Guilt? An emotion that I simply couldn't place? I wasn't certain I even understood my own feelings anymore. They seemed clouded by something. Maybe, after all of my attempts to remain strong and alone, I had found weakness once more.
I flung my arm towards the door, storming outside into the brisk English air. The grey clouds rolled overhead, small rumbles in the distance. Men laughed and drank together, their things filling the city.
When I reached the two brothers, my features remained stoic and emotionless. But my eyes were never so skilled at hiding the truth. I paused for an eternity, the world around me moving as I froze in time. I couldn't take another step, I couldn't keep going. I'd come so far, but swallowing my fears and pride and walking over? I couldn't do it. I was stuck in time, stuck in that damn dungeon, unable to move forward - trapped forever in this cage of a mind that my father had created. And behind my mask of solidarity, I was terrified still. Terrified of myself, of feeling weak, of being a victim again.
Hvitserk saw me, looking away from Ivar. His bright smile began to fade as he looked over, noticing me stood still like some crumbling statue. I felt a sense of relief as he stood up, as though he was about to walk towards me. But the fear grew and I could feel myself turning on my heel, trying to run away. To keep everyone distant. With all my strength, I kept myself from running. I stepped forwards slowly, waiting to see if he'd do the same. He did.
