Alfild wakes up in a cell, alone and not actually dead. Without Ivar there, she feels she might not survive after the birth of their child. Nevertheless, she remains loyal to the end. Even if it kills her.
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"Why do you imagine they're keeping us here?" One of the men asked his friend. "Why not just kill us?"
"They plan to make a spectacle of us." The brown haired man replied, his green eyes finding Alfild's in the darkness. "To punish us with a fate worse than death. They wish to shame us, prevent us from dying with honour."
Alfild had listened to them talking for days, their fear mongering doing little to calm her nerves as she attempted to find an alternative to the situation that they proposed. But her logical mind knew they were right. What alternative could they be? Bjorn was not like her, cleanly disposing of his enemies as she would. In his mind, perhaps he thought himself merciful. But mercy would've been to let them die. Mercy would've been far more intelligent.
"Will you stop gossiping like women?" She groaned, turning onto her side. "You sound like Bjorn's men."
A few laughed while the man in the corner fell silent, his gaze moving to the floor. "I'm sorry my queen, this is just not how I imagined I'd die."
No, she doubted any of them imagined this for themselves - being locked in this tiny room, degraded, cast out by their own people. She doubted any person at all could imagine such a thing for their future.
"I have been close to death many times in my life." She began, the men all listening intently to her wisdom. "I have been betrayed, usurped, thrown to the wolves. Let me tell you this, our story does not end here. I have not overcome all of that for nothing. The Gods have a plan, and so does Ivar."
The men smiled at the woman, weak smiles of men who'd lost everything. She knew they would follow her, remain loyal to her, as they'd remained loyal to Ivar. These men in this dark dingy cell were all that she had left. Alfild rested her hand on the growing bump of her child, gently rubbing soothing circles in the hope that she may calm the impatient baby. It seemed, even before it was born, the child resembled it's parents. It was a restless and angry little spirit. And, although Alfild wanted to be proud and smile down at the little creature, she also wanted rest in this godforsaken hovel.
"We believe you, my queen." One of the men continued their conversation, looking over to the pregnant woman with a frown. "You'll be free from this soon. You're married to one of the greatest rulers in all of Scandinavia!"
Alfild's emerald eyes shot towards the young man like balls of fire. Though he'd heard of her infamous glare, one that few lived to tell of, he'd never experienced such ferocity and rage in one singular look. He was certain that she could kill a man with just that glare, and that even Ivar's famed anger was nothing like the cold hell that Alfild was considering reigning down upon him.
"No." She answered with a venomous tone, eyes narrowed at the boy. Had Bjorn not taken her sword, she would've made a show of him there and then. "I am one of the greatest rulers in all of Scandinavia."
The boy gulped, nodding at his queen in understanding as she turned her eyes back towards the ceiling before closing them. If Ivar couldn't help them, Alfild was going to have to find a way out on her own. That is how she had always done things before this point. She'd survived years alone as a slave and escaped that, she'd escaped her mother, she'd escaped foul men and torment. She'd been stabbed, betrayed, lost everything that ever mattered to her - including her freedom - and after all of that, she had still become Queen of two kingdoms and conquered lands far and wide. After all of that, she had survived.
And no matter what happened in the months to come, Alfild would survive this too.
After the birth of her child, Bjorn likely wouldn't keep her around. He would most likely kill her. She couldn't blame him for it, but she couldn't allow it either. Her whole life, Alfild hadn't truly wished to kill. But it always seemed to come down to one simple fact; it was her or them. And in the end, she'd always pick herself.
So let them come. Alfild wasn't afraid anymore. She would get out of this. She was no damsel in distress, no pretty princess that needed Ivar to come and save her. She was a queen in her own right and she would get out of this - with or without him. And when it was all over, she would burn every last traitor to the ground and dance upon their ashes. She swore it.
