Osferth had been the one to come find her, sent by Sihtric to tell her of Bloodhair and Haesten's arrival at the gates. The men had been playing games and drinking ale in the yard, but Ghylena found her solitude in the stables with Shaeda.
Her body felt tender, tired and broken. She hated it, hated what it couldn't do.
She hated the blonde witch who had done this to her.

Ragnar opened his gates to Haesten and Bloodhair's men, Aethelwold amongst them.
The ramparts were cold, but Ghylena stood silent and unmoving. Her skin was grey, her lips unsmiling. Her voice was heard few and far between recently, and only when she was addressed directly.
She stood behind Osferth, eyes staring blankly into the night. Sihtric wished she would look up at him— a glance, a glare, a blink. Anything.
He wanted her attention, but he knew he didn't deserve it. Not when he had failed her so monumentally. Not when he couldn't protect her.

His wife stood, a stone statue against the northern wind, eyes glassy and hollow. Sihtric had never seen someone look so stoically immovable and dangerously fragile, it frightened him. His wife was of glass now, and he feared that he was watching her shatter.

<>

They were gathered in Ragnar's hall now, a discussion of joint armies and a march south for Alfred's throne. Uhtred warned them of how their alliances would fall apart— with greed being all that minded them together— proposing Ragnar as the man to lead them.
Ghylena was sat in between Sihtric and Osferth, behind Uhtred on the benches. It was the closest she had been to her husband in days.

She stopped paying attention to the words being spoken, the wars being started, when she felt it; Sihtric's hand, calloused and warm like she remembered, slowly slid into her lap, an invitation. His gaze didn't falter from Ragnar, but as she looked towards him, grasped onto his hand and pulled it close to her.

He was warm, and his lips twitched slightly in relief, and Ghylena relaxed. He was here now, touching her and yet he didn't look to her. Lena felt less alone.

<>

After that, after the ceaseless and choking days of avoiding him, Ghylena clung to Sihtric, but still spoke little. He didn't push her to speak, only to eat and drink and sleep.
They shared a bed now, sleeping side by side again, and when her nightmares came he would wake her, whispering soothing words into her hair and rocking her until she fell back asleep.

The first night she laughed, a small huff at a stupid joke Finan made, Sihtric pulled her aside to give her it; a gift, he said, holding out the small wrappings of fabric, inside of which sat a pair of earrings. Gisela's earrings, the ones she had worn when she was married.
"Hild gave them to me. She thought you'd like to have them."

The Abbess' kindness struck Lena, and her hands trembled again as she put the jewellery through her piercings. She held back her tears now, having decided she had wept enough for Gisa. Gisela wouldn't want her sister's sorrow.

"Thank you." She croaked as her husband pressed a kiss to her temple.

"She is with you always, my love." Sihtric gazed openly into her eyes, pressing the truth into them as if applying a balm to her wounded soul.

<>

Beocca and Thyra arrived soon after that, a comforting sight to Ghylena who was slowly improving in health, though her pale complexion still made Uhtred cast worried glances.
Beocca brought news to them of Aethelflaed's plight, and not soon after, they were leaving Dunholm behind once again, the priest and his wife travelling with them for a time before they left for Wessex.

"Uhtred," Ghylena called from her horse, riding beside him, "Uhtred, you may not be Ragnar's brother any more, but Thyra is right. You will always be my brother too, despite..."

He smiled at her, a half-smile, "Despite everything that has happened. I know, Lena. You will always be my sister, know that."

A small, real, smile crossed her face then. A rare thing in recent weeks.

<>

The third night they made camp on their way to Winchcombe, the sky was alight. Greens and blues danced in the stars, shimmering like a blanket of water above them all as they watched on their backs.
Ghylena lay beside Sihtric, at the edge of the camp yet still close enough to their own fire.

Something about the sky brought peace to her, a calm she had not felt in an age. If she could not do it now, she knew she never could. Steadying her heart, she spoke into the night air, "I'm sorry, Sihtric."

He balked, twisting his head to look at her then, "For what?"

Pulling all her strength to her heart again, trying desperately to mend her soul alone, she replied, "For losing him. For... for failing you."

He sat up then, anger in his eyes as he grabbed her face, "No. No, Lena, don't ever say that."
She looked at him, and he was beautiful; the sky a radiant halo of colour behind him, he was ethereal.

"Ghylena what happened to you— to us— it wasn't your fault. Losing Gisela, Skade's curse, the will of the gods... whatever it was, never would I blame you." The anger drained from him then, anguish replacing it, "I'm sorry I left you alone for so long. I'm sorry I let you believe this lie for so long."

"You needed time. I underst-" she whispered, grazing his face with her palm.

His eyes closed, tears escaping from below his dark lashes, "I didn't know how to help you. I watched you break, and I— I couldn't fix you. But I know now.. you are your own strength, Ghylena. You never needed me to fix you, because you are not broken. It is why I love you. You are strong enough to get through this, and you are strong enough to heal."

"It doesn't feel like that, I don't feel strong."

He drew close, ghosting his lips over hers, "Then I shall remind you every day, I will never let you forget just how strong you are, my love, I swear."

Lying back down, he drew her close by her waist, encouraging her to pillow against his arm. They fell asleep entwined together under the dancing lights in the sky, and Lena slept better than she had in weeks.

<>

"Your guards are not, Lady."

"Not what?" Aethelflaed questioned the men at the nun's table.

"They're not guards," Sihtric elaborated for her, glancing at his wife over the meat he ate.

Lena turned to the Lady of Mercia, "Their swords are trinkets. I'm sure they're loyal, but they are not guards."

Uhtred spoke then, "They are barely men."

As it turns out, they were right. When Haesten arrived, he had taken Aethelflaed's men hostage and killed them one by one. The Abbess who reminded Finan of his mother proved herself braver than initially thought when she agreed to speak to the Danes outside their doors. When the spear struck her chest and killed her, Ghylena winced.

"Lord, now?!" Sihtric asked, begging to fight.

Uhtred tamed him, "We do nothing, yet."

Haesten's demands for Aethelflaed prompted yet another argument, but Uhtred managed to convince her that turning herself over was redundant.
Haesten's men advanced inside the hall, surprised when they were met with a shower of arrows and a wall of men upon opening the doors.

Ghylena fought with her axe this time, striking harsh blows through the air and moving quickly to avoid the same. When they had killed the first wave of men, Haesten's men blocked all doors but the main entrance.
"Uhtred, we need a plan." Ghylena cautioned.

"Osferth, you will open the door on my word and retreat. We form a shield wall and then we negotiate."

"Negotiate?"

"Haesten will want his prize." Uhtred's words sparked realisation in Ghylena's mind, and she looked to Skade before resting one palm against Sihtric's chest, a gesture of comfort and home.

"To the door!" Uhtred's orders stood, and as Finan and Sihtric stood at the door with their shields, Ghylena found her bow in the hall, readying herself behind her men again. A familiar feeling returned to her, the worn grip of wood a comforting weight in her hand; another part of her mended, the typical violence strangely healing. She was back on her path, realigned with her fate.

As the deal was made, Ghylena found her soul pulling together, emptier than it had been, but whole again. She would fight.
They left the next morning for Saltwic, Aethelflaed's Mercian estate, as the sun rose.

Word Count: 1464

up next: 'edward's army'...