I hated the end of Season 1 (why did Gyda have to die?!) and so, naturally, I decided to make it hurt even more. Because that's what I do, apparently.

Sometimes, I think I really suck.

The title is Old Norse for "family," if you were wondering.

Disclaimer: I don't own Vikings.

The first thing Lagertha noticed when she entered the hall was that Athelstan was no longer senseless on his cot. The sudden burst of joy at his recovery was quickly tempered when Lagertha realized he was bent over another cot in despair.

Lagertha knew whose cot that was.

"No!" she screamed, running over. She shoved Athelstan out of the way, not caring that he was weak from his illness. Gyda was lying on the cot, her eyes open and unseeing. "No!" Lagertha cried again, gathering her daughter up in her arms and rocking her, hoping against hope that she would feel her daughter's heart beat against her chest. Athelstan was sitting again after falling when Lagertha pushed him, his face solemn. Lagertha lay Gyda down gently and closed her eyes before whirling on him.

"Why are you alive?" she hissed. "Why are you alive when she is not?"

"I do not know," Athelstan replied quietly, hoarsely. He still looked half-dead, but when Gyda was lying still and would never stir again, Lagertha could find no pity in her heart for Athelstan.

"You should be dead, not her," Lagertha spat. She was being cruel. She knew she was being cruel. Gyda had been worried for Athelstan, had wanted him to live. And now Lagertha was telling him he should have died, wishing that her daughter's last wish had not come true. It was terrible. Lagertha said it anyway.

"I know," Athelstan whispered. "And I would give anything for her to be alive right now, but there is nothing I can do."

"This is your fault." Lagertha didn't mean a single word she said, but the cruelty spilled out anyway. "This is your fault, you Christian. You have made the gods angry. You were supposed to be sacrificed at Uppsala, but you were not. You were supposed to renounce your god, but you have not. It is because of you that this plague has fallen on us."

"The Lord works in mysterious ways," Athelstan replied weakly. Lagertha wanted to scream.

"I don't care about your god!" she snarled. "I don't care about his 'mysterious ways.' My daughter is dead!"

Lagertha's voice broke on the last word. Athelstan reached out to comfort her, but instead, she struck him, battering her fists against his chest. Athelstan did nothing to stop her, although she knew he was weak and her fists were strong. "Why are you alive when she is not?" she demanded angrily. "Why did you survive this plague when it killed her? It should be you that is dead and she that is alive, not the other way around." Lagertha continued to beat Athelstan, not caring that she was causing a scene, not caring that he was weak and she was only making things worse. Still, Athelstan did nothing to stop her. Another maid tried to approach, obviously intent on helping, but Athelstan shook his head slightly. Lagertha knew what he was doing and hated him for it. Despite everything, he was still helping her; despite her beating, despite her cruelty, despite his own weakness and sorrow. Athelstan was putting Lagertha before himself, and the ensuing guilt made her hate him even more.

"Why?" Lagertha demanded. Tears were streaming down her face, she suddenly realized. She had not noticed that before. And Athelstan was crying silently too. She could hear as his breathing grew more and more labored with every hit, could hear his breath leave his lips in a whoosh every time she struck hard enough. And still, she could not bring herself to stop.

Slowly, Lagertha's fists slowed until she was no longer hitting Athelstan, just leaning against him and sobbing. He wrapped his arms around her, rocking her as she had rocked Gyda minutes before. He did not offer any ridiculous platitudes, no words of comfort telling her everything would be alright. They both knew it would not.

"Come with me," Lagertha whispered, when she had no more tears to cry. She stood, holding out a hand for Athelstan. He accepted the help, hissing quietly in pain as he moved. Guilt gnawed at Lagertha's insides. She led him to her room, practically untouched for the past few days. She had spent nearly every moment with Gyda after her illness, and even before that, she had been helping the sick.

"Sit," Lagertha told Athelstan, gesturing at the bed. He did, looking confused. "Take off your shirt."

"My lady, I don't-"

"Take it off," Lagertha commanded firmly. She could see Athelstan swallow hard as he reached for the hem of his shirt to do so. "I am not going to harm you," she added gently. "I wish to tend to your wounds."

"I don't understand," Athelstan replied hoarsely. He looked ready to collapse; his skin was pale, his eyes were surrounded by bruise-like rings of purple, and his hands were trembling. Guilt roiled in Lagertha's stomach. She knew Athelstan would not tell the truth if she asked how he felt. That was why he had gotten so sick, she believed; he continued to treat the others and hide his illness until he had finally collapsed. No one had even realized he was ill. He had helped Lagertha treat Gyda, staying by her side whenever Lagertha could not. It was only when he was ill that Lagertha could truly appreciate all he had done for them, all he did for them without them even noticing. He was part of their family, but she hadn't realized until he almost died. And then, she had beaten him to the point that he didn't understand why she would help him.

"I should not have hit you," Lagertha said softly. It was the closest she would come to an apology. "I wish to tend to the bruises I gave you." Lagertha's hand rested gently on Athelstan's knee. "Please. Take off your shirt."

Athelstan did, slowly and painfully. Lagertha was flooded with shame. Athelstan's entire torso was bruised or bruising, everything slowly turning a mottled purple. Lagertha reached out to touch it, but Athelstan flinched away almost before she could.

"Why did you not stop me?" she whispered, reaching for a few of the herbs she kept in the cabinet by her bed. She could not do much, but if she boiled the herbs in water, it would help with the pain.

"I am but your slave," Athelstan replied in an equally quiet voice. "It is within your rights to beat me if you wish. You were mourning and not yourself. I do not blame you for it."

"You are not just a slave," Lagertha corrected. She couldn't understand how Athelstan continued to have such a low opinion of his role in the household. "You are a member of our family now. Don't you understand?"

"I am but your slave," Athelstan repeated, confused. Lagertha shook her head.

"No, Athelstan. You are much more than a slave." Leaving him with that, Lagertha began boiling water over a small fire, putting the herbs in a small cup. "This will help with the pain," she told Athelstan as she measured them out. There was no response. Lagertha looked up to see Athelstan beginning to fall forward off the bed. She lunged forward and quickly grabbed him before he fell, laying him down on the furs.

"I may still be ill," he whispered. "I should not have left the hall."

"You have recovered," Lagertha replied. She could not allow herself to believe anything else. "You will stay and sleep here, with me."

A touch of panic appeared in Athelstan's eyes. "I cannot… I must not…"

"You need not do more than you wish," Lagertha whispered comfortingly, understanding Athelstan's worry. She could still remember how he had looked when she and Ragnar first offered him a place in their bed; his face had been not unlike that of a wild animal staring at a hunter's bow. "If it makes you uncomfortable to share the bed, I will sleep elsewhere."

"I will not take your bed," Athelstan replied. The water had begun to boil, so Lagertha poured it into the cup and pressed it into Athelstan's hand, helping him to drink.

"If you do not sleep in this bed, neither will I," Lagertha told him softly. "You need it more than I do."

Athelstan looked ready to argue, but he was interrupted by the entrance of a young girl who couldn't have been much older than Gyda. "Lady Lagertha?" she asked quietly, looking quickly from Lagertha to Athelstan. Lagertha stood, holding her head high.

"Yes?" she asked. The girl would not meet her eyes, seeming a bit afraid.

"The man has come for the bodies," she told Lagertha in a small voice. "What shall we do with the body of your daughter?"

The simple question felt like a blow. Lagertha closed her eyes.

"I shall deal with it."

That night, after the funeral, Lagertha stood by the water, hoping, praying. She wanted Ragnar to come back, she wanted Gyda not to be dead… There were many things she wanted. Lagertha didn't know if any of them would come to pass.

Lagertha was alone, although Athelstan had tried to stay with her. He had barely been able to attend the funeral; she could see the pain and weakness in his eyes. She had sent him back with strict orders to rest. She did not expect him to actually do so, but she thought it was worth trying. The chance that she would return and find him in bed were slim, she believed.

She was right. When Lagertha finally returned to the hall, Athelstan was helping with the others, kneeling by the side of another young man that had fallen ill. Lagertha put a gentle hand on Athelstan's shoulder. When he looked up, she said only one word. "Come."

Athelstan obeyed without question, passing the damp cloth he had been using to another helper. Lagertha led him out of the hall and back into her room. "You must take the bed," she told him firmly. Athelstan shook his head.

"I will not take your bed from you."

"You need it more than I," Lagertha replied. Still, Athelstan stubbornly shook his head. Lagertha sighed. "Very well. We shall share it."

"My lady-"

"I shall not even touch you, if you do not want me to," Lagertha replied. A ghost of a smile appeared on her face. "Come, priest. This time, I will not ask you to join me as Ragnar and I have done before." A faint flush appeared on Athelstan's cheeks.

"If you insist," he replied. Lagertha nodded.

"I do."

There was a careful distance between the two when they lay down to sleep. But when something woke Lagertha in the middle of the night, she found that both she and Athelstan had curled towards each other during the night, both seeking comfort. Lagertha smiled slightly, ran a gentle hand through Athelstan's curls, and fell asleep again.