[Content Warning: Mentions of/and attempted rape]

ﾟ❁ུ۪ °ₒ 𓂂 ˚ 𓂂 ₒ ° ₒ 𓂂 ˚˖⋆

CHAPTER xviii. 'One Swift, Finalizing Movement'

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             Bedanford was a hilly landscape smelling of cow manure, and piss – nevertheless, it was a spectacular destination for the greatest battle of all of their lives. They arrived early in the morning with a miniscule band of Edwards spared men – then, receiving a last warm meal from their encampment at High Wycombe, the group led off to the woods where the spy Jackdaw had claimed to withhold the traveling army of the Danes. Never before had Freydis tread through so much shite, or twist her ankle from neglected lands as such. The Irish-rogue cringed with every squelching step she took, trying to focus on the main matter at hand; they were going to war. And after months of traversing through England's unallied kingdoms, Freydis was to finally meet face-to-face with her abuser, and possibly kill him in retrubution for all he had done to her.

    If the Gods favored it, Skjold would be killed in this battle as well – for he conducted nearly as much, if not equally as much pain as Vikar had.

    They stood at the ready, hidden within the depths of the birchwood forest. Freydis' heart pumped vigorously fast as she listened to the clangs of armor, the voices of unsuspecting Dane's filling her eardrums as they watched, listened, and waited. Finan stood crouched beside the fiery-eyed Irish-lady, a similar dangerous expression embeded on his face. Freydis' ruby-hilted sword stood dug into the dirt, used momentarily as a balancing cane as she knelt in the manure-mixed mud. Sihtric glanced at the Great Dane army traversing through the wood, wearing a worried expression as he imagined fighting them whilst greatly outnumbered. "Lord, can you explain the plan again?"

    Uhtred, tightening his braids, glanced toward the younger man. "Nervous, Sihtric?"

    "No, I am merely opposed to dying today," Sihtric responded, "we've got two-hundred men, and they have only five-hundred in the back section – when are the Mercians supposed to come in?"

    Uhtred lowered his arms, and pulled coal from his pocket as he began dabbing it upon his eyelid. "Soon. We are to attract attention from the front, giving the rest of Edwards men a greater chance at succeeding. Then, the Mercians will come."

    Finan chortled, "And if Sigebriht ain't a hunk of lyin' scum, we'll have a thousand Centish as well."

    "You will be fine, Sihtric," Freydis soothed, placing a reassuring hand on his upper bicep. "Soon enough you will be back in Wessex, and humping another child into Ealhswith's belly."

     Sihtric groaned and pulled his arm out of Freydis' grasp, Finan laughed only to be halted mid-way through as Uhtred placed a hand on the loud Irishmans mouth. "Sorry, lord," he muffled, cringing at his garishness.

     A spy brouke through the treeline, and immediately Uhtred's front men lifted their swords threateningly – alas, it was not a Danish spy but one of Edwards men. His eyes grew largely widened, with all bloodflow vanishing from his pollar expression, Uhtred gestured for him to approach, which he reluctantly did despite his everlasting anxiety following his initial emergence. "What is it?" The Dane-slayer inquired, peering up at the man who failed to kneel.

    "It is time," the spy whispered, "His Grace says it is time to attack."

     Freydis looked to Uhtred, "Is it not your decision, lord?"

    Uhtred shrugged, unconcerned, "I suppose the aethling is impatient," he looked toward the surrounding men, and lifted his sword out of the dirt to signal the time to fight was near. "Archers!"

    A row of men behind Freydis stood out of their kneeling position and drew back the springs of their bows, they held their arrows readily as the army upfront took to a halt. "Must've stopped a while ago," Finan acknowledged, "found their men hanging."

    "Wonderful observation, Finan," Osferth uttered, tightening his grip over his large wooden club. "Did you have a private education, or were you naturally this intelligent?"

    Finan whacked the monk on the shoulder as Uhtred held up three fingers, and slowly counted them down. He looked to his main party, "Ready?"

    Sihtric spun his axe in his grip, "Ready, lord."

    "Aye," Finan nodded, "lord."

    "Not really," Osferth muttered, nevertheless, he nodded. He looked up to the sky, "Lord, forgive me if I kill a man – is it for Wessex, I hope you can understand."

     Freydis rolled her eyes at the monks plea, but gave Uhtred a tight-lipped nod. "I'm ready, lord."

    Uhtred nodded, and dropped his hand to his side, "Archers– RELEASE!"

    Wind-whipped squeals shot over Freydis' head, loud but short-lived as they imbedded themselves into the meat of Danes, or the trees by their heads. Immediately, the Dane's broke out in confusion and chaos – looking around wildley with their weapons unsheathed, and blood coagulating with the crave of violence. The Dane-slayer hopped to his feet, his men followed in unison as archers from the opposite treeline did exactly as Uhtred's division had – they shot a series of arrows, drawing the attention of the Dane's shieldwall from their left, to their right. At the short-lived distraction, Uhtred raised his sword Serpent-Breathe in the air and roared, breaking out into a run with everyone following behind.

    It only took a few moments before Freydis' collided Belenus into the back of the first Dane. It pierced his skin immediately, and the Irish-rogue was immediately relieved by her sharpening skills – initially, it had seemed like nothing changed. But now she hardly had to push for it to pierce through the man's ribs. She spun around the next wielded sword, and cut another man's side before plunging it into his spleen – a man can live without a spleen, so to ensure his death she unsheathed her saex and slid it across his throat. Freydis used the spurting blood to blind an axe-wielding shieldmaiden, and she proceeded to parry another oncoming foe whilst throwing her foot behind her original opponents knee and then slamming the hilt of her sword into the center of their face.

    The battle continued as such, full of battle cries, blood, and death – Freydis took many lives, whilst incompacitating many others. Her arms grew tired from the repetition of hook, pull, lunge, parry, and dodge, and her breaths grew heavy as the Danes closed in on the Saxons, and Saxon-allied. They were greatly outnumbered, and despite Edwards' addition mid-way through, Saxon numbers proceeded to diminish without taking the appropriate amount of Danes to relieve the disbalance. Whenever the Irish-rogue had the chance, she looked through the sea of men for her target; alas, Vikar was nowhere in sight. Skjold, moreover, was in a four on one battle with four, tiny, yet courageous, Saxon men with palace-wielded swords. The Irish-rogue sprinted past an archer wielding a saex, and cut open his belly as she jumped onto a rock to observe the chaos below. Uhtred was cutting down men as if they were stalks of maize, on his six was Sihtric duelling a big-breasted Dane that reminded Freydis of the late Ogna – not the horse, but the woman.

    Osferth was knocking his club against the heads of unsuspecting Danes in battle, his robes stained red with blood, and Finan fought nearby with his chainmail abandoned, and eyes full of an Irish-craze. A man with braided red-hair, and a cup across his face started toward the Irish-rogue ontop the boulder, his axe raised. Freydis expected him to climb up the rock, but the man rather threw his axe which started spiraling toward her chest. She blocked it with her sword, panting with wide-eyes and heavy breaths at her near collision with death. Quickly blinking away her shock, she ran and jumped off the boulder, and over the head of the weaponless Dane before swiftly turning, and jamming Belenus into his heart.

    A hand grabbed at her shoulder, and she turned with the intention to kill – her sword was quickly halted as it collided with another sword, and Freydis gasped when she spotted Myfanwy standing where she originally suspected to be a foe. "What is it?" Freydis pondered, lowering her sword so the Welsh woman could drop her own sword which weighed heavily on her untrained wrists.

    "I found him, lady," Myfanwy stated, cringing as blood splattered her dress. "I found Vikar – he is here."

    Freydis nodded, looking over the former-slaves shoulder and pulling out her saex to throw. It landed directly in between the man's eyes. Freydis marched around Myfanwy and crouched over the corpse lying in the mud, she placed a hand on his jaw as she pulled her saex out of his skull. Then, she stood, and looking up to the wide-eyed shieldmaiden-to-be, "Bring me to him."

    Myfanwy nodded, and began pacing through the sea of men as Freydis cut down anyone in their path. She passed by the baby monk, who turned to her with wide-eyes, "Where are you going?!" He asked, his voice unusually morose.

    Freydis reached a bloodied hand to his cheek, "It is time, Osferth. Vikar is here."

    His eyes grew soft as he gulped, and nodded. "I wish you luck, lady. I shall pray for your success."

    She laughed, shaking her head, "Do not do that now, Osferth! We are in a battle!" The monk frowned, and Freydis' eyes softened, "I will be okay, I promise. I shall find you when the battle ends."

    "Please do," he said, sincerity thorough in his tone. Freydis smiled, and gave him one last pat on the cheek before nodding to Myfanwy, and continuing their trek to wherever Vikar was. Fighting grew scarce the further they walked, and Freydis, for a moment, felt the calm reassurance to resheath her sword. Nevertheless, she did just the opposite – instead, she whipped it out in front of Myfanwy where she walked beside her.

    The Welsh woman gasped, her emerald-colored eyes widening to the size of pears, "Lady?"

    Freydis' face sneered as she peered at the warrior-barren landscape around them, "If you are lying to me, Myfanwy, I will cut open your belly and use your insides to hang you over branch."

    Myfanwy gulped, "I am not lying, lady. Nor am I betraying you – he, with four other men, are scouting the perimeter to alert Skjold of any more approaching armies."

    Freydis huffed, nodding. "They are straight ahead?"

    "Yes, lady, a mere four-minute walk."

     The Irish-rogue considered her words, "You will stay here. I shall go ahead alone."

    Myfanwy went wide-eyed, "But lady, there is a battle–"

    "Right here," Freydis repeated, "if you are still here when I arrive back, then you shall have all my trust. If you are not, I will hunt you to the four corners of the Earth, and wherever extends beyond the seas."

    She gulped, nodding, as she slowly collapsed into the leaves and sat with her sword in her lap. Freydis gave one more warning glance before turning, and heading into the direction where Myfanwy guided. She crouched behind the trees, pathing her way through the wood so she wouldn't alert Vikar, and his men of her presence. Her heart thumped loud as a horse's hoof, and she gnawed on her inner-cheek with inextinguishable worry. Nevertheless, she marched on – and when she found Vikar traversing through the wood heeded by four burly Danes, she inhaled a deep, preparitive breath before emerging from behind a tree and letting out a roar. She used one hand to throw her saex into the abdomen of a Dane, whilst she cut down another with her sword. The next man, their sword sheathed and unready, stumbled away from her as she swung her sword – he fell, and was then struck with the saex Freydis removed from a bleeding corpse into his neck.

    Vikar had yet to recognize his princess, and barked orders for his last surviving man to cut her down. Freydis spun around, blocking his sword with her own. She lunged to kick out his knee, an action she had grown awfully good at, but failed as he stomped on to her ankle and sliced her shoulder open with his iron blade. Freydis growled, flipping herself over to dodge another hit, and sliced her sword against his calf to force him down as she had hoped to do initially. She blocked another swing, moving behind him as she held his neck beneath her armpit and tried to unharm him. He bit her, and she quickly released him to halt the excruciating pain. The bleeding Dane stood, his white-haired braids swinging past his face as he used his good leg to kick Freydis in the stomach. It knocked the breath out of her the first time, but the second time she caught it – she twisted it, grinning at the crack that loudly erupted from the bone before throwing his foot on the ground and yanking his sword from his hand whilst he roared in pain, distracted. He reached for it, but she quickly raised it above his sticky palms. It stuck directly through his sternum, killing him immediately.

    When the large man's body collapsed upon Freydis pulling the sword from his chest, her eyes immediately met with the larger, furious irises of Vikar-the-Cunt. His eyes quickly filled with surprise, a wide-grin overtaking his bitter scowl, "Princess? It is you!"

     Freydis ignored the pain in her shoulder as she raised her ruby-hilted sword into the air readily. "By the will of Dagda, Vikar, I am going to kill you and hang your body for all your false Gods to see."

    Vikars smile vanished, "Oh, so you are not as happy as I – have you met my dear Myfanwy, Lady Freydis? Just recently I sent her to Winchester to overwatch the cowardly Saxons, and nearly a week ago she informed me of your arrival... She told me you were going to be here, but I expected you to have been with the other women and children at the Saxon encampment. My men and I were heading there just now, alas, here you are ahead of me. I see you have gotten good at swordskill, was it Uhtred who taught you? Or was it that insufferable Irishman... Finan, was it? I heard he was a slave, like you! Does he bed well? I am merely curious, for I heard Sverri was notorious for cutting off the cocks of his Irish slaves."

     Freydis coughed, blood rushing heavily into her ivory-white cheeks, "Do you ever stop talking? Or should I stuff it in your mouth when I cut off your cock?"

     Vikar snarled, his yellow teeth bared threateningly as he unhooked his axe and tightened his fist around its hilt until his knuckles were white from restricted blood flow. "I wish not to kill you, princess. I've yet to bed you! Perhaps, once you are bloodied and weakened, I can hump you then – afterward, I shall string up your naked body for that little Irishman of yours to see."

     Freydis tried her hardest to keep her expression unaffected, however, it grew increasingly hard as her lips curled vexingly and heart thumped anxiously ahead of fighting her greatest foe. Before her body language could betray her any further, she let out a mighty scream and charged toward the much taller, grotesque Dane. He easily dissuaded her attempt to plunge Belenus into his belly, and used his massive bear-foot to kick her onto her arse. Freydis rolled over before he could finalize his next move, and she swung her blade over the man's shin – it spurted blood, but he had no reaction. Whilst Vikar carried greater height, weight, and pain withbearance, Freydis was smaller, quicker, and better calculated when it came toward determining her next move. She kicked the wound she had created along his knee, and caused him to stumble and miss his attempt at pinning her wrist to disarm her.

    She quickly rose to her feet, cringing at the pain in her shoulder by the sudden exertion of physical strength. She swung her sword, and it collided with his side – he did not falter, and grabbed the blade with his monstrous palm and yanked the weapon from her hand. Freydis went wide-eyed, nausea sweeping through her belly as she looked around for the next closet weapon. The Irish-rogue dodged the swing of his axe, and threw herself into the forest-floor to retrieve her saex from the corpse of one of Vikars fallen allies. She attempted to turn, but was kicked in the ribs by Vikar's mammoth foot. Her breath was immediately taken from her, and her body involuntarily curled into itself. He kicked her again, which had not hurt as much seeing as she was already overtaken by the pain of the first kick. "This is pitiful, princess!" Vikar mocked, "You took down my men so formidibaly, yet here you are taken down not a minute into our duel."

    Freydis gasped as her breath was deliberately returned to her, and she covered her belly when she witnessed another kick coming her way. His foot collided with her knuckles, and Freydis had to bite her tongue to prevent herself from screaming – one, if not multiple, bones had definitely broken with the hit. Vikar laughed, "Do I even want to hump you?" He inquired, "Yes, you are a princess – but an awful one, at that. You were even a terrible slave! Skjold recieved no reputation from humping you, why should I?" He knelt down, and grabbed her chin aggressively with his fingers digging into her jaw. Her lips parted with a gasp, blood from her wounded tongue dribbling down her lower lip as she fought to look him in the eye. "You're not a princess, not a slave... you're shite at being a runaway, for you came to me despite my intention to kill you. Moreover, you are positvely ruddy at swordskill – again, I ask, why should I keep you?" He threw her onto the ground, stars clouded Freydis' mind as the back of her head collided with the hard ground.

     Of course she hit the one spot not coated in mud, or cow shite.

      Freydis was pulled out of her momentary daze as she felt her legs split open. She opened her eyes, finding Vikar between her legs as he meneuvered his belt. Freydis kneed him in the groin, scrambling to get away. Her eyes flickered around the area, searching for the hilt of her ruby sword within the grass – her ankle was grabbed, and she kicked. Her foot collided with his mouth, and he growled as he stood onto his feet. Freydis, not wanting to be stepped on, quickly scrambled to hers as well – she noticed her sword in the dirt behind Vikar. "Do not touch me." Freydis snarled, her eyes flickering from her sword, to his bloodied nose – when had she done that?

     Vikar leant down to lift Freydis' forgotten saex out of the dirt, "You are opposed to it?" He inquired, all amusement gone from his expression. "You must kill me then, princess," he took another step toward her and she stood a step back. "Because the Gods know I will not stop – I hear them cheering me from Valhalla. Can you hear them, princess? I suppose not... for you are nothing but akin to the Christian scum."

     Freydis huffed, and ran toward Vikar as he taunted her – she dodged his fist, moving so her back collided with his side and she was able to fly toward her sword on the ground. She grabbed it by the blade, cringing at the sudden pain as it cut her, and flipped herself onto her back with the sword raised to stop whatever Vikar attempted to throw at her. Alas, nothing came towards her as Vikar was busy regaining his footing – her sudden movement had knocked out his balance. Raising her sword, Freydis broke out into a sprint with the tip of her blade pointed at his back. He just barely dodged the attempt at his life, stumbling again but catching himself onto a tree. The Irish-rogue went in with another attack, this time cutting open his already-injured shoulder, and again, aiming to fully pierce his skin.

     He caught her blade with his axe, pulling in hopes she would lose her gripping. This time, however, she was ready – she kicked his knee, grinning at the loud crack as it dislocated into a deviant slant. For the first time that night, Vikar shouted. His acceptance, and withstanding toward pain had ceased as his knee became broken. The ugly Dane collapsed, swinging his axe wildly with one hand as he coddled his broken leg with the other. Freydis quickly caught his axe with her sword, and yanked the weapon from his hand. He looked up, moving to grab her, yet she quickly drove her blade into his fist – he screamed again, this one copiously more gruelling. Freydis pulled her sword from his tendons, earning another wail, and then swung her sword like a club from its blade – the ruby hilt collided with his cheekbone, shattering it on impact and knocking the Dane onto his back.

     Dazed, the enormous bully groaned as his vision fissured. Wanting him to look at her, Freydis stepped onto his wounded hand. His eyes shot open, immediately meeting hers as he let out a blood-curtling scream. "Does this hurt?" Freydis inquired, kneeling so her foot forced greater pressure onto his hand. His eyes rolled in the back of his head, and she groaned as she lifted her foot back up. "Vikar?" He did not wake, so she kicked him in the groin. His eyes opened, wide and screaming for his loss of voice. "There you are, my friend." Freydis grinned, wincing as she leant down by his head. "I apologize for your initial dissatisfaction with my swordskill, it was quite a conundrum. Alas, here we are, Vikar," she pressed the tip of her blade into the ball in his throat, "my sword to your throat, and you wailing like a pseuding whore! Shall I cut off your cock and then slit your throat, or the other way around?"

      He opened his mouth to speak, but winced as her sword dug deeper into his jugular. Freydis sighed, her heart hammering against her chest as she hesitantly lifted her hold. "M-My sword." He rasped, glancing toward a tree nearby. "Before you kill me – hand me my axe?"

     She piqued a brow, "So you can kill me?"

     "So I can go to Valhalla."

      Freydis glanced toward the man's iron-forged weapon, before looking back down at him. He was bloodied, and pathetic, salted-tears hinting at the crease of his eyes. His shoulder was mangled, nose and knee broken, hand pierced, his cheekbone blackened as it swelled with blood beneath his unbroken skin, and his front tooth was chipped. She glanced back at the weapon, her heartrate slowing as she realized that this was it; this was time for Vikar to die. She knew it, he knew it, the Gods and false Gods alike knew it – with one more pierce, Vikar would be dead amd Freydis' future would be vacant of any ill motivations. She was again reminded of her predicament when Vikar coughed, and shuffled beneath her, "Dying with your weapon... it grants you entarance to Valhalla?"

     Vikar nodded, coughing yet again as an answer of confirmation. Freydis nodded in understanding, She peered back into his eyes, a wicked grin overtaking her face, "You will not have it." As expected, the Dane began to writhe under Freydis' hold. She kicked him in the cheek, slowing his actions momentarily so she could speak, "You will not enter Valhalla, Vikar. For as long as I live, I will not allow it. All of these warriors today... those men of yours lying in the dirt, they will go to Valhalla. You will not, you will enter Niflheim... or, as I know it, Dubnos. You will freeze, watching as the Overworld goes by whilst unseen to the living, and invisible to the dead alike. You will watch as no one mourns you, and listen as we cheer and sing and fuck to the loss of yourself, and the Great Dane army." She placed her palm over the hilt, leaning down as the tip drew blood from his throat, "This is my revenge, Vikar. You hurt me, and now I shall hurt you – I pray the Gods show you no mercy, for what you shall face for the rest of existence will be excruciating."

    The Dane's lower-lip trembled, and tears fell down his bloodied cheeks with snot bubbling from his nose. "Please, Freydis. Show mercy!"

    Freydis sniffed, her expression unfettered, "I will not."

    And in one, swift finalizing movement, she pierced her sword through his throat.

°ₒ 𓂂 ˚ 𓂂 ₒ ° ₒ 𓂂 ˚˖⋆

        A/N: Um, Happy New Year? Here is my update for 01/1, another should come out within the next few hours for today (01/2)!

Posted: 01:02:2022
Words: 4,226