ﾟ❁ུ۪ °ₒ 𓂂 ˚ 𓂂 ₒ ° ₒ 𓂂 ˚˖⋆

CHAPTER xii. 'His Choice'

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            Freydis' arms weighed heavy as she carried her sword with one hand and her shield with the other. Both herself and Finan had been practicing swordskill since the early morning, now it was well past lunchtime and the Irish Lady was heavily regretting her decision to negotiate with the virtuous bastard. Freydis side-stepped as Finan swung his sword in her direction, she turned in the mud with her foot catching on a stone as she then blocked her back-end with her shield and swung her own sword back at the Irishman. He caught it in his shield and tugged it to the point that Freydis was hastily unarmed; before she could have a moment to prepare, she felt the point of a blade pressed against her jugular to which she angrily sighed.

"Dead." Finan smirked, "What did yu' do wrong?"

Freydis lifted her foot out of the mud, losing her shoe in the process, "I agreed to practice swordskill with a bastard."

"Ha-ha," Finan mocked, "yu' kept yu'r foot in the mud to avoid splashing mud on yu'rself, Lady. In a swordfight yu' cannot worry about such atrocities."

Freydis rolled her eyes, hopping on one foot as she leant down to retrieve her boot from the sunction of the mud. "Good to know , I'll be sure to apply this knowledge to our practice tomorrow."

Finan shook his head, "No, we keep going. We may not be here much longer, we must practice before Uhtred gets back and tells us where to go next."

Freydis sighed, "Fine, Finan," she said, strapping her boot back around her foot. "But after all this I must be the greatest warrior to ever live."

The Irishman smirked and stood at the ready with his sword in his left hand and shield in his right. Freydis, equally, cracked her wrists to relieve some pressure before mimicking his actions in a ready stance. Over their course of training there had been many onlookers, most of which had been intimidated men subjugated by the concept of a woman wielding a sword. Finan took a step forward, swinging his sword backward as Freydis lifted her own protectively to counteract his attempt. She drew back her sword, allowing his to collide with her shield as she swung the blade at his legs. Finan jumped, knocking her sword out of her hands with the smack of his shield and placing his blade, again, against her neck. He laughed, "How did yu' survive the battle, Lady, if yu' are so easily defeated?"

Freydis' face flushed red, "Quiet, soith." Bitch. "I'm tired, Finan. I cannot fight well if my arms challenge to deceive me!"

"And what does that matter?" He inquired, "do yu' think a warrior has never grown fatigued in battle? Do yu' think I  have never grown fatigued in battle?"

"If you had I would be particularly rested as of right now."

"Ouch," Finan mused, clutching his heart. "Sinful, Lady. Truly."

"Freydis," the woman begrudgingly corrected, "do stop calling me 'Lady', Finan. Or I shall begin calling you 'Lord.'"

Finan rolled his eyes, "Will yu' be less pissy if I allowed yu' lunch?"

Freydis crossed her arms over her chest, "Are you insinuating that food will beget me deftly tolerable in your grueling practices?"

The Irishman tilted his head, wearing an obnoxious grin that encouraged the rogue to throw a mud-pie in his face. "We could always skip lunch, as I had planned."

Freydis' nostrils flared and she discarded her shield in the mud with her sword balanced on top. "I will eat, and if I am able to I will rejoin you in practice. Otherwise, I will condemn you until I am no longer irate."

Finan piqued a brow, "Yu' are the one who asked me to help yu' practice, remember?"

"Unfortunately," she said, "and for that I will teach you of the Gods. Are you eating or shall I leave you in the mud?"

Finan placed down his gear just as Freydis had and walked beside her as they rejoined the inn of Æthelflæd's Saltwic estate. "I will eat," he agreed, "Have you seen the Lady Æthelflæd today as of yet?"

Freydis opened the door, allowing Finan through before closing it and barring the wood to prevent any cold from entering the fire-warmed alehouse. A coterie of Mercian guards sat at a table drinking and betting against one another with silver and gold pence. "Broðer!" Brother! A drunken man called, then looking to Freydis who walked beside the Irishman, "Sweostor! Join us!" Sister!

Finan laughed, softly wrapping his fingers around Freydis' newly-healed elbow as he directed them toward the table of drunken guards. Freydis much preferring to acquire herself some ale and stew than joining whatever charade the Mercians amused themselves with. "Æsc," Finan greeted, "what game are we entertaining?"

Freydis looked toward her companion accusingly, "We?"

"We're betting," said another man, "enter two silver into the pool and you can join us! One for yourself and one for your woman."

Freydis glared at the rodent-eyed bastard, "I am no one's woman, bó." Cow.

As Freydis corrected the arse, Finan dug into his pocket and pulled out two pieces of silver as directed. She crossed her arms, raising a brow, to which he answered, "Yu' go first."

Freydis rolled her eyes but obeyed, "What are the rules?" She inquired.

"Pick a number through one and twenty," Æsc directed, "if you roll a number within two digits you get the entire pool."

Freydis nodded, lifted four dice out of a wooden bowl and shook them in her hands as she chose a number. "Twenty," she chose, throwing the dice in the bowl. All of the men crowded around the dice, counting the dots that appeared upright. Having counted them already she frowned, "fourteen." She turned to Finan, "There goes your money, Irishman."

Finan ignored her, taking the dice within his own hands for his own turn, "Ten," he chose, throwing the carved-cubes in.

Freydis leant over, quickly counting the numbers. She raised her eyes in surprise, "Seven!"

"Bastard!" Finan swore, grabbing the rodent-eyed Mercian's jug of ale for himself. He looked toward Æsc directly, "I'm neva' betting with yu' again, Mercian."

Æsc grinned mischeviously, "Farewell, Irishman!"

As Finan turned toward the door leading into the kitchens when someone slammed their cup against the wood. Swiftly, both of the Irishmen unsheathed their saex's and turned toward where the sound originated, "I need ale, slave!" Ordered the culprit: Osferth. Freydis grinned, trotting toward him as Finan took a last swig from his stolen ale and handed it toward the wounded Saxon.

"I see you are doing well, Osferth." Freydis grinned, "Sleep well?"

"Like a baby," he grinned, looking toward Finan who glanced out the window. "What is it?" He inquired.

Freydis' heart stopped, "Who do you see?"

The Irishman did not speak and eagerly moved toward the door of the inn. Timely, the door swung open to reveal Uhtred Ragnarsson dressed in an overabundance of furs with snowflakes tied into its microscopic hairs. "Yu're back!" Finan excitedly stated.

"I'm back." Uhtred grinned, hugging his brother.

Finan laughed, "That's good!"

Freydis walked toward him, smiling and greeting him with a nod. "How did your travels fair, Uhtred?"

"Cold," he answered, displaying a contradicting smile, "miserably cold."

"Fair enough," she smiled, "the Gods do not to sympathize with mortal quarrels. Nevertheless, your trip was well?"

"Aye," he nodded, turning to Finan. "Sihtric... is he here?"

Freydis frowned as Finan looked to the ground, "Uh, gone."

"Long gone," Freydis chimed, "along with the prisoners."

Uhtred nodded, glancing to Osferth who pressed a hand against his healing ribs as he stood to his feet. "I know what I must do now," he stated to no one in particular, now glancing at Osferths attempt to support his wounds. "Still alive then, Osferth?"

"Of course," Osferth smiled, allowing his Lord to pull him into a hug.

Freydis jumped as a hand was placed over her shoulder. She turned to find Æthelflæd watching Uhtred, overlooking the scare she had given to the Irish Lady. Moments later, the two nobles embraced and Finan knowingly prepared them all a clear table. A barmaid brought over bowls of meat and cheeses, placing them down for the visitors to snack on. Freydis leaned into Finan, whispering, "He has said nothing about Sihtric or his threat of death," she acknowledged, "does he not care?"

"He does," Finan promised, stealing someone's furs that hung on a hook and wrapping them around himself. "But he mustn't distract himself. Sihtric chose to leave, we cannot do anything about it now."

"He did not choose," Freydis frowned, "Uhtred threatened to kill him if he stayed, he left to save his own life!"

Finan shook his head, "They were quarreling, Lady. No one was going to kill anyone."

She sighed, sitting down beside him, "It did not appear that way, Lord."

He rolled his eyes, "Eat, Freydis. We will discuss this later."

Begrudgingly, Freydis reached her hand out and acquired herself some cheese chunks and sliced bore jerkey. Uhtred and Æthelflæd, finished with their private conversation, sat at the table across from them as Osferth sat at the end on a better-positioned barstool to fit his needs. "We must destroy this curse," Uhtred began, "has there been any news on Skade?"

Freydis shook her head, "Nothing," she said, "she is still with the Danes."

Finan spoke next, his voice fearfully low, "Reaching Skade will be near impossible, Lord. She is in the middle of two-thousand Danes or more."

Uhtred did not look at him, instead, he ripped a piece of bread off of his loaf and placed it in his mouth. "It can be done." He merely stated.

Osferth piqued a brow, "How?"

"With God's help." Replied Uhtred, looking toward the monk. Æthelflæd glanced at him curiously and Uhtred smiled. "I'm kidding, I've yet to decide."

Æthelflæd rolled her eyes, "When?"

"As soon as I am rested," answered the Dane-slayer.

"As soon as you are rested," Æthelflæd began, her voice authoritative. "You will walk with me. That is a command."

The Lady of Mercia continued to stand up, placing another hand on Freydis' shoulder as a 'goodbye', before smirking at the Dane-slayer and taking her leave. Finan coughed, blinking away his surprise, "Uhtred," he turned to his Lord, "Sihtric's departure–"

"Betrayal." Osferth corrected.

Freydis glared at the monk, "Departure."

Finan ignored the two, "It had disturbed the men," he said, "They feel that you are to share the blame. You and your quest for Skade."

"A few have left already," Freydis stated, "the others, they become less and less eager to stay."

Finan nodded, continuing, "Some may not want to go looking for her all over again. Think on it."

Uhtred nodded, finishing his loaf of bread before standing up and leaving after Æthelflæd. Freydis glanced at Finan, "Will he listen to you?"

"Most likely not," the Irishman truthfully told. He then smiled, "But you have gotten what yu' wished for." He stated. "An evening off."

Freydis smiled, looking toward the ceiling of the alehouse, "Praise the Gods!"

Uhtred returned hours later, pushing through the doors and drawing his men to urgency. Finan, who had been resting with his head on the table, jumped onto his feet lethargically and nearly stumbled onto his back. Freydis, prepared to catch him, grabbed the underside of his chainmal and pulled him into her chest. He laughed, startled, "Yu saved me," he drawled, "thank yu', kind shieldmaiden."

Freydis rolled her eyes, pushing him off of her with a contradicting smile. She glanced at Uhtred who held an unfamiliar man in his grasp with the Lady of Mercia, coated in blood, following him. "Finan," Uhred called, lifting a pair of bone-pliers from a different table and throwing them to the Irishman. "Heat them up, we are going to need them."

"Lord." Finan nodded, moving toward an active fire and placing the steel pliers on top of the heated flames.

Uhtred forced the man down to sit and Finan sat opposite to him whilst balancing the pliers readily in between his callaused fingers. The man, wide-eyed, spoke, "Ask me anything and I will give you the truth," he pleaded. "I swear."

Freydis stood behind Finan, giggling as she chewed the cuticle off of her nail, "Brave man." She mused.

The Saxon prisoner glanced between Finan, who weld a fire-torture device, and Freydis who bore a shite-eating smirk. "I am no fool."

Uhtred looked down at the man, "You were at Dunholm," he stated matter-of-factly, "You are Æthelwold's man."

Freydis frowned as the Saxon nodded, looking to Uhtred, "I am, Lord."

Finan tapped his foot on the ground,  leaning forward, "He has sent yu' here to do what?"

The man glanced between Finan and Freydis, finally allowing his eyes to permeate on Uhtred, "To kill you, Lord." Uhtred scoffed, crossing his arms. "And I am glad to have failed,"

"Miserably." Finan mused, Freydis rested against the Irishman with her chin planeted on top of the fingers she had laced through his curly black hair.

The man raised his voice, "I am glad!"

"Do not raise your voice," Freydis stated, "It is ugly."

"I would like to see my wife and children once again," the man pleaded, "is that so wrong? When we left Winchester I hadn't known we were going to the Danes."

Æthelflæd approached with her arms crossed, "Why did Æthelwold send men to kill Lord Uhtred?"

"Because Uhtred is Alfred's sword and shield," the man honestly informed, "Have mercy, Lady. I had no choice."

Freydis straightened her posture and approached the bound man. "Did you bear chains, ser?"

He scrunched his bald head, creases appearing above his eyes. "I did not."

"Did Lord Æthelwold threaten your wife?" She asked, "Your children?"

He shook his head, "N-No."

Freydis smiled kindly, kneeling in front of him and resting her hand on his knee. "Did he promise you riches? Titles? Reputation?"

He gulped, nodding. "He did, Lady."

Freydis' kind smile fell, and she removed her hand from the elder man's knee. "Then you were not forced, ser. You did have a choice." She stood up, looking toward Æthelflæd and Uhtred. "And what shall we do with that information?"

Uhtred thought for a moment before looking at the bound, shaking man, "Offa, you will carry a message to the Danes and I will let you live."

Freydis returned to her previous spot resting against the Irishman just as she had, "Pity."

Uhtred continued, "Your family in Winchester will be my hostages should you be tempted to lose your way."

"No, Lord!" Offa fearfully exclaimed at the prospect of his family injured. "Y-Yes, Lord. What is the message, Lord?"

"You will return to Æthelwold and to Hæsten, Cnut, and Bloodhair," Uhtred explained, "You will tell them that Uhtred of Bebbanburg is coming as a shadow-walker and they will die as my brother died. I will send them all to Niflheim."

Offa nodded, "I can do that, Lord. I swear."

"You will do that," Uhtred said matter-of-factly. He stood off the table he sat on, turning to his men who had been silently and earnestly listening to the interrogation before them. Finan stood, mimicking his actions as Freydis positioned herself beside Osferth in the background. "Like Sihtric, some of you may doubt me." Uhtred said, speaking to his remaining men. "I understand why. There have been times of late when I have doubted myself. Those times are behind me now, I am a Lord without wealth, without land. I cannot offer silver nor the walls of a fortress behind which you can grow fat and lazy. Follow me and I will take you down a hard, brutal path. But it is a path that leads to one thing every true warrior desires: reputation. Follow me and you will have my sword and my oath. For whether you are Dane or Saxon, Norseman or otherwise: I swear I will die to protect each and every one of you. My mind is clear about what must be done, but I cannot do it without you."

Uhtred's men glanced between each other and one-by-one stood on their feet. The Dane-slayer grinned, and turned to look at his Irishman who wore an identical proud expression, "I think they are with yu', Lord. We all are."

The next day, Uhtred awoke his men at dawn; they would be leaving Saltwic for the Mercian town Crowland. Breakfast between Uhtred, Finan, Osferth, and Freydis was quiet, an obvious element missing from their midsts. Once they were done they prepared to leave, Osferth was not meant to be going with them, nevertheless, the stubborn monk approached them dressed in furs with his gear strapped to his back and rode with them anyway. Freydis was forced to return to her forsaken horse Ogna who had grown fat and stout since their arrival to Saltwic, the drasted thing hurt her legs even more as Freydis had a larger expanse under her arse.

Moments after leaving Saltwic a new horde of travelers approached. Vikar, assisted by eight other men, nodded for his rider to ride forth and snatch a Saltwic spy from the wood. When the Dane returned with a frightened Mercian in his company Vikar grinned, "What is your name?" He inquired, twirling a saex between his fingers.

"Alnoth." The Mercian spy answered, shaking.

"Alnoth," The Dane said, cringing at the complexity of the Saxon Dane. "Have you ever heard of the Dane-slayer?"

The spy hesitantly nodded, "U-Uhtred Ragnarsson."

"Presicely!" Vikar smiled, clapping his hands together. "I had recently acquired information telling me Uhtred Ragnarsson and his men, are currently residing at a Mercian village known as Saltwic. Is this Saltwic?"

"Y-Yes, my Lord," the Mercian answered, "b-but Uhtred is no longer here."

Vikar's smile fell, "Well where is he then?"

"He left this morning," Alnoth said, "please don't kill me." He begged.

Vikar ignored him, "Who was he accompanied by?"

"His Irishman, monk, and a woman, along with some of his guards." Alnoth stated. "I have a son and a daughter, both without a mother--please show mercy, Lord!"

Vikar's expression did not change, "Where are they heading now?"

"Lord, please!"

Vikar swiftly lunged forward and pressed the point of his saex against the spies neck, "Where are they heading? Tell me!"

"Crowland!" The spy cried. "They are going to Crowland. That is all I know, I swear!"

Vikar nodded, studying the mans pleading bloodshot eyes. "I believe you, Alnoth. Truly, I do."

"Bless you!" Alnoth praised, "I will be let go?"

Vikar sighed, "No, you will not." He turned to his right-hand, "Ubbein, kill him and string him up. We will allow the Mercians to stumble upon their man when the time arises."

"Yes, Lord," Ubbein stated. Before the Christian could plead, Ubbein pulled back the string of his bow and released an arrow into the jugular of the man. Blood poured from his neck and his face grew sickly pale before he sputtered, and fell flat on his face dead.

Vikar turned to his men, "Set up camp! Rest the horses and yourselves, when the sun begins to set we will travel to Crowland without pause." He turned back to the corpse on the ground, his face contorting in a shrill of disgust, "I will retrieve my princess and no man can stop that."

°ₒ 𓂂 ˚ 𓂂 ₒ ° ₒ 𓂂 ˚˖⋆

Authors Note:

       I just learned that "mused" does not mean to say something in a sarcastic or joking manner. What the FUCK do I do now? 

Posted: 12:26:2021
Words: 3,298