The worst part of drowning, he thought, was not the burning deep within his lungs; it was not the mind numbing cold, nor the stark realization that with each passing second he was being dragged closer to his grave.
It was the silence.
Inside he was screaming, desperately trying to push his way towards the surface, to air; yet surrounding him was nothing but deafening silence it's weight heavier than even the waves that drug him down. His thoughts screamed at him to swim upwards as did his lungs air he needed air.
"faðir!" He screamed as loud as his hoarse lungs would allow "hjál—" the word didn't even leave his lips before a wave came, sending him tumbling over and over again until he could no longer tell up from down
He would die alone with his thoughts, not to say that they were particularly coherent at that time, he thought frantically of his need for air, his chest burning from lack of it
He could swim, not well, but enough to keep him alive if necessary. He struggled to undo the bonds around his legs, to keep afloat while at the same time, sever the rope that kept him bound to the mast he thrashed and clawed at it with all of his strength but it was no use, he would die. Just as mother had predicted.
He hated proving her right.
He thought of her as his sight began to cloud, of father. She would blame him, of course. She would never forgive him.
And what of his brothers? Would they care? Would they mourn his death or celebrate the loss of their burdensome cripple brother?
He thought of all the things he would miss: bickering with Sigurd, chess and studies with Floki, archery with Ubbe, Tanaruz.
Tanaruz, beautiful, kind Tanaruz.
He would be a fool to think she loved him, perhaps even cared for him at all but he loved her, maybe not as a man loves his bride but in the way his father loved Siggy. He truly enjoyed her company, despite her status she was intelligent and was one of the few people who would speak to him. Sometimes he would call her to his chambers, and his brothers would laugh because they thought he would have her. Really, he just needed someone, a friend if she would even call him that. Someone that would listen.
He had had enough time on Midgard, besides, he should've died fifteen snows ago in the forest like father had wanted. Just as he thought this, a strong arm wrapped around his waist.
Aegir. He thought lucidly, resigning himself to whatever fate the sea god had in mind and allowed himself to fall prey to the darkness.
Based on the events of season four episode twelve.