.・。.・゜✭✫・゜・。.

DROWNED
IN BLOOD

Year: 878
Location: Eoferwic, Northambria

.・。.・゜✭✫・゜・。

.・。.・゜✭✫・゜・。

"Why does he hide?" Guthred had asked, the King glancing between the three individuals that stood around him. "Do Ivarr and Kjartan not share a common interest?" Another question, based on the information Sihtric and Ragni brought back to Eoferwic.

Upon entering Eoferwic, Sihtric and Ragni wasted little time in finding Uthred and Guthred. An easy task, both of them holding a private council in the keep. No doubt, a conversation centered around either Eoferwic itself or the lands that lay further North. Hopefully, it was Dunholm. But alas, Ragni would never know for both of the men grew silent when she approached.

Sihtric told Uthred and Guthred both of Ivarr and the news Wyflaed shared. Ivarr was wounded, and hiding in the hills. He was defeated by the Scots left to lick his wounds, but he was alive. That was the only information Ragni found important, a detail she pondered over in the final hour before they made it to Eoferwic.

"They are old enemies," Ragni spoke up for the first time since she arrived in their presence, figuring it best to let Sihtric speak rather than herself. He was smoother with his words, spoke with audible confidence.

Uthred turned toward Ragni, his eyes following. "Ivarr is weak," Uthred began, his glowering gaze slipping past Ragni and upon Guthred. "It would be smart to kill him now. A better option than letting him live, for both us and Kjartan."

"We should leave Kjartan to kill him then." Guthred proposed, his weak feature lit with a smile.

"We cannot trust that Kjartan will kill him, and his son." Sihtric pointed out from beside Ragni, his mouth twisting with the words. "They are old enemies, but they are capable of uniting against a common one." He remarked, gesturing toward Guthred with a nod of his head.

Guthred's smile flattened into a frown. "Is he speaking the truth?" He looked to Uthred for an answer, eyebrows furrowing together.

"It would be better if we searched for Ivarr." Uthred agreed with Sihtric.

With Uthred's words, Ragni released a breath she did not know she held. A small exhale, one that was on the break of being unnoticeable. Almost unnoticeable, for Sihtric had sent her a brief cut of his eyes. He did not fall back on his word he improved it. Sihtric would keep to his promise, would attempt to save Ivarr from Guthred and Uthred's sword. Now, it seemed he'd save him from even Kjartan.

"Send a hundred horsemen north," Guthred regained his authoritative tone, his slouched posture straightening. "And Ulf." He noted, raising a ringed finger toward Uthred.

Uthred nodded.

"We will find Ivarr," Guthred demanded, at least attempted to. Even with his authoritative tone, he appeared as a fool, talking through his ass rather than his mouth. But Ragni was capable of holding those comments behind her teeth, at least then.

Uthred nodded, tilting back on his heels to watch as Guthred took to deserting the conversation. No doubt to drink his ale, and suck the tits of his holy men. "Where are the men who gave you this information?" Uthred finally asked once the King was out of earshot.

"Dead." Sihtric stepped forward toward Uthred, closing in on the circle they stood in.

Uthred's forehead crinkled, his infamous frown reappearing. "He would've been better kept alive. But the information you've brought back is enough. Go eat, and rest." He spoke to the both of them, though favored Sihtric. He took to patting the man's shoulder where he only glared at Ragni.

"Are we not joining Ulf?" Ragni asked, only to be rewarded with a harsher expression from the commander.

"You want to help find Ivarr?" Uthred questioned.

"I do."

Uthred smiled a bit, taking a step back breaking their circle. "Then you will stay in Eoferwic." He turned completely, walking away before Ragni could protest. "Go fill your stomachs." He called out over his shoulder before he disappeared deeper into the keep.

Ragni couldn't help but scowl at his fleeting figure, the urge to follow with a mouth full of curses on the verge of overpowering common sense. She had been patient so far, had tried desperately to stifle her hatred for the man. Needed to for Ulfhild, and yet every conversation she had with the man was making it increasingly harder. Her patience was withering, on the verge of dissipating.

"They will find him," Sihtric bravely reached for her shoulder, slowly pulling her to his side. "You should rest." He commented, guiding a bristled Ragni toward the door of the keep.

Tucked beneath his arm, she let him unglue her feet from the floor. "I am not tired." She grumbled as they passed through the main door of the regal building.

"Your temper says something different," he mused, keeping her stationed at his side as they moved into the shuffling crowd of men and women. "As do your eyes." He added, his other hand raising to shove aside an unnamed man that stood in their path.

"I am fine."

"Then you should eat." He countered.

Ragni didn't want to do either of those things, despite the heaviness of her eyelids, and the rumbling of her stomach. She wanted only to speed up the process that took place, find Ivarr, and reach Dunholm. Reconnect with Ulfhild, make sure she was safe. Time was running out, at least for Ragni. They had stayed in Eoferwic for a month and had walked as captives for weeks. And what did they have to show for it? Nothing. Not a single advancement toward Dunholm, and Kjartan.

"You aren't going to eat or sleep, are you?" He frowned, head tilting ever so slightly so he could take in her brooding expression.

"No."

"Then we will find something else to do," he squeezed her tightly, only to release her after. "Until you're ready."

Ragni rose a brow, taking in his growing grin and the wicked glint in his irises. "Do you plan on finding us a way to join Ulf's men?" She hoped that was what the duplicitous man had in mind, though she had a feeling it wasn't.

"I believe what I have in mind will be better."

It was not better, not in the slightest. Sihtric escorted her to the tavern, practically pushed her through the door, and sat her in a seat. Caught between him and a wall, she was trapped in a christian's purgatory. Before her Rypere and Clapa sat, the two laughing and downing every cup of ale that was sat before them. Sihtric contributed, offering a few jokes and laughs of his own. Some of which were comical, but it did not ease the frustration that swelled beneath her chest.

"You should've seen him, Ragni!" Rypere cackled, the stick of a man leaning against Clapa in a drunken slouch. "Redder than a beat!" He heaved, his breath ragged with his attempt to regain his breath.

"I was not," Clapa scowled, giving his companion a gentle shove. "It was hot." He excused, only for Sihtric's eyebrows to shoot up.

"It usually is in whore houses." Sihtric smiled while drawing his own cup of ale to his lips.

Rypere leaned into the table, his chest smacking its wooden edge. "You would know, wouldn't ya!" He cackled, throwing a bony finger up at Sihtric. "You dirty Dane." He murmured, nose crinkling with the teasing.

Ragni perked to the conversation at hand, her gaze drifting from the two fools before her and toward the dirty Dane at her side. "Wouldn't you like to know, Rypere." Sihtric mused, giving the man a toothy grin.

"We do not have whore houses, Rypere. We have thralls." Clapa educated, reaching outward to draw Rypere from falling further upon the table. "My reason for being red. Never been in a whore house and it was hot."

Sihtric leaned in toward Ragni, while the two men went back and forth about the very subject. Clapa explained thralls, and Rypere called him a liar. "Are you enjoying yourself?" He asked, his shoulder connecting with her own.

Ragni shook her head, keeping her focus on the two men that rambled back and forth. "In a way," she murmured, finally meeting his gaze. "Dirty Dane." She whispered, unable to hold back a smile.

Sihtric gave her a frown, eyes keeping their joyous glow. "No," he shook his head, drawing his cup back to his lips. "You cannot call me that." He stated, before taking a drink.

"Why?" She asked, his eyes remaining upon her as he took the slow swig.

Sihtric drew the cup away, setting it down on the table. "Because it's different coming from your mouth," he answered, before glancing over at Rypere. "You don't have the shitty accent." He further explained, reaching out to take one of the many full cups of ale Rypere had set out before him. "Here." He sat the cup before Ragni, tapping its wooden rim.

"We're not in Dunholm." She reminded.

"Pretend we are," he smiled, turning back toward her. "You deserve to forget the world around you. Even if it is only for a night."

"I do not know, Sihtric. One of us has to be sober-."

"I will keep you safe," he interrupted with a softening smile, pupils drifting between her own. "I swear."

.・。.・゜✭✫・゜・。

Ragni remembered the night before, did not drink heavily, did not end up slurring, or passed out on the tavern floor like Rypere. Clapa did not have to carry her out or apologize to the patrons for her behavior. She did not drink heavily, or hate herself for what little she did drink. Sihtric was right, she needed both the ale and the company. Had not realized how those two little things helped soothe her tension and worry.

She had been in Dunholm that night, allowed Sihtric to paint the picture. Naturally, once they were both cackling and heaving with laughter he painted the picture in detail. He was Earl of Dunholm, Ragni sailed to Danmark, and naturally, Ulfhild was with her free of her torture. It was a nice image, one Ragni allowed herself to believe in brief moments.

But more importantly, Sihtric was successful in his task, she ate more than her fill and finally let sleep take hold. The pair fell asleep in the home she had labeled as her own, hidden from world that lay beyond. For they were in Dunholm, surrounded by its high walls. A fantasy, that broke apart when Ragni awoke.

A pair of arms were wrapped around her, and a warm breath danced across her face. And against her chest the gentle beating of a heart, each steady thump matching her own. She did not need to open her eyes to know it was Sihtric. She knew it was him, found it in the familiarity of his touch and the beating of his heart.

Ragni could not bring herself to move, did not want to wiggle free of his grasp or slap him awake. No, she wanted to savor this moment. Had done so for minutes, until his arm shifted, and his finger drew across her cheek. "Ragni," he whispered, brushing a strand of loose hair behind her ear. "I know you're awake." He murmured, his breath feathering against her face.

"I'm asleep." She replied, squeezing her eyes shut. A few more minutes, just a few more minutes.

His finger gently drew across the shell of her ear, gliding down its length to run across her neck. Across her scar. "Who done this?" He asked softly, his finger caressing the length of the jagged imperfection.

A shiver tapped danced down her spine with the touch, her eyes slowly drifting open. There were inches before her face, eyes of brown and green dark with wrath and empathy. "It does not matter." She explained, his finger coming to a stop against the scar.

"It does to me," He frowned, his voice softer than silk. "Who was it, Ragni?"

Ragni didn't want to answer, didn't believe it was important. But being subject to the intensity of his gaze, and those rare words she found herself willing. "It was before I came to Northambria," she breathed, falling weak. "It was a Dane, he missed his mark and died for it."

Sihtric visibly swallowed, his hand drifting from her throat. "It is not your only scar?" He kept his voice low, always did in these moments.

Ragni shook her head against the straw-stuffed pillow, purposefully adverting her gaze from his. "I have many." She explained, admiring the wall that lay behind him.

"Will you show me?"

Ragni looked back to him with the question, the darkness gone. Nothing but softness and empathy in the emerald and oak pools. "Will you view me differently?" She had never admitted it, but it was those that lay beneath her clothes that haunted her. Each jagged, cruel, and ugly. Every slice and stab a cruel reminder of her father's defeat, and her life before Ulfhild.

"Ragni Sigurddóttir," his face turned serious, the softness he bore drifting beneath the surface. A powerful mixture of both, one that tugged brutally at her heart. "You could drown the world in blood, and I could not see you in a different light." He whispered, the sharpness of his expression dulling.

Ragni wanted to wiggle away from him, close down, and slip away. But something in her refused, tempted her to show him the parts of herself she loathed. It was then she realized, he was more than a wayward source of lustful infatuation. He was more. So much more. And yet, she couldn't find herself expressing it. Refused to break the fragile thing that connected them, such a tender and delicate thread based on blind trust. A thread that would be cut in Dunholm, left to be forgotten in the wind. And yet, she found herself pulling up the ale-stained tunic she wore revealing the scar that laid on her lower rib cage, exposing the raised skin to the man that laid before her.

Sihtric did not say anything, instead, he rose upward to examine the scar. His fingers tenderly grazed the length of the once bloody wound, before shifting to another that laid along her lower back. He spent a few moments observing the few that were visible with the low raise of her fabric, his fingertips caressing each without revulsion. "Do you remember who done these?" He whispered, his finger gliding across the last.

"No." A lie.

Sihtric peered down at her, as she drew her shirt back down concealing the healed wounds. "This will be the last." He explained, his finger running back across her throat. "I swear it, Ragni."

"You should not swear on something you cannot keep."

"You should not doubt the ability of my swears." He smiled, lightening the mood that danced between their sunlit room.

.・。.・゜✭✫・゜・。

INDEX

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