It was a cold winters day and the snow was falling thick outside of the great hall. Lagertha blew warm air onto her knuckles, pausing her weaving briefly. She glanced at the woman who stood across from her, Torvi, and her thoughts wandered to her daughter, Gyda. They were about the same age, the two young women, and similar in more ways than Lagertha wanted to acknowledge. She missed her daughter, and deeply regretted leaving her all alone in fragile state. She knew that her daughter was strong and resilient, but she, more than anyone else, knew what a broken heart could do to a person.
Again, she glanced about the room, her eyes falling on Torvi's child, the heir of Jarl Borg. She smiled softly, considering how much her own grandchildren must've grown since she had last seen them. She hadn't journeyed to Kattegat since returning from Paris, she thought, bitterly. She hadn't received any sorrowful news about the child that Gyda had been carrying when they had departed for the raid, but she hadn't received happy news either. Now that winter had come, messages were rare and few and it was not unusual for her to think of her other family more at this time of the year, but today they had been weighing especially heavy on her mind.
She was drawn suddenly from her thoughts when the door to the great hall flew opened to reveal a man, clad in furs. As the doors closed behind him, he strode further into the room as he pushed back his heavy hood. "Bjorn?" She breathed, wondering if she were just imagining him.
Her heart raced wildly in her chest as she rushed across the room to embrace him. "My dear son, how are you?" She asked, touching his face and clinging to his furs as if to ensure that he was truly there. "How is my dóttir, my Gyda? The child..."
"Both Gyda and her new son are well." He replied shortly, glancing at her briefly before returning his eyes to Erlendur and Kalf who stared at him dumbfound from across the room. Giving his mother one last squeeze of acknowledgement, he continued his advance on the two men, acknowledging them each curtly. "Kalf. Erlendur." His eyes then shifted to the young woman who remind by the loom and lingered upon her as he uttered her name. "Torvi."
"We heard you took yourself away into the wilderness." Earl Kalf began, drawing Bjorn's attention away from Torvi. "Why?"
"I went to find someone." He stated simply.
"Who?" Kalf returned, staring at him quizzically.
"Myself."
Kalf chuckled uneasily, brushing off his answer as humor. "What is wrong with you? Bring the son of Ragnar Lothbrok a drink." He said, making his best effort to play the role of the welcoming and obliging host. "We must celebrate your arrival." He insisted as a servant presented the son of Ragnar a cup of ale which he finished in two large gulps.
"I would not be so quick to celebrate." He said, wiping the ale from his beard. "I have come for two reasons." He went on. "First, to see my modir. Second, to take Torvi with me back to Kattegat."
Erlendur stood, pursuing his lips in distaste. "You're talking about my wife." He stated, sizing up Bjorn with his beady eyes.
Bjorn nodded in acknowledgement, but stood his ground, nonetheless. "She is your wife, and yet you treat her like a slave." He countered, meeting Erlendur's stare with equal intensity.
"Torvi is free to make up her own mind. What do you want to do?"
Torvi looked between the two men nervously, her grip tightening on her son's shoulders. "I want to go with Bjorn." She said after a time, the certainty and strength of her voice surprising everyone, even her. Lagertha had always known her to be a timid girl, but now, seeing how she looked at her son, she began to see the girl in a new light.
"Very well," Erlendur relented, "but you must leave the child." A wicked grin spread over his lips as he swaggered over the boy, kneeling before him as the boy cowered closer to his mother. "Guthrum will stay with me, huh?"
Wrapping her arms around her son, Torvi shook her head furiously. "No! No, no! I cannot leave him!" She wailed, tears forming in her eyes as she clung desperately to her child.
Erlendur smiled smugly as he came to his feet, knowing all too well that this would be her answer. "Then I refuse to release you from your vows."
"Bjorn!" Torvi's eyes darted wildly and pleadingly to Bjorn who hesitated momentarily before retreating towards to door. Tears began to form in her eyes as she watched him leave, her fingers turning white as she clung to her son as tightly as her strength could muster. "Bjorn!" She called weakly.
Lagertha observed the scene, seeing the sense of helplessness in the young girl's eyes. She knew of Erlendur's cruelty and she pitied her. Years ago, she had done all in her power to save her daughter, Gyda, from the fate that Torvi had suffered these past years as Erlendur's wife and when Lagertha looked at Torvi, she couldn't help but think of her own daughter and the endless lengths she would go to protect her. Glancing at her son, she indicated for him to wait. "If you want to go with my son, then go with my son." She said, speaking softly to Torvi, "I will look after your child." She would do what she had always done, protect those who could not protect themselves. Just as she had saved Gyda then, she would save Torvi now. "We have on life, Torvi. So go and live it."
As she watched her leave with her son, Lagertha chose to ignore Erlendur's anger and outrage. She chose to ignore Kalf's eyes, barring into her back, his surprise and discomfort. She wished that she could've left with them. She wished that she could also escape, as Torvi had, to be with those that she truly loved-her children and grandchildren, who seemed so very far away. She reminded herself that she would, one day, have the chance to return to them, but she must remain here for awhile longer and finish what she started. Taking Guthrum's hand, she smiled down at him, reassuringly before she glanced back at the two men. Fools. They had no idea that she could see right through their facade. They had no idea what what she was capable of. Good.
The room was filled with people, eating, drinking, merrymaking at the onset of Yol. Gyda had always loved this time of the year, despite being forced to stay indoors for the majority of the season. She loved the festivities and how Yol brought people together and the good feeling that settled itself in her heart every holiday season. She smiled to herself as she watched her sons playing with their young uncles across the way. It warmed her heart to see them so happy...she only wished that their father were still there to see it.
She was suddenly drawn from her thoughts when she found a pair of strong arms wrap around her waist. Her smile broadened as Roarke pressed his lips to her neck, holding her close to him, pulling her into an unoccupied corner of the room, out of view from the main festivities. "I've been looking everywhere for you." He said as she placed her hands on his which he had rested upon her middle. "I've no reason for merrymaking without you." Her heart tightened pleasantly as his breath caressed her skin and her lips curled into a smile.
Whirling her around, he pressed her against the wall, pinning her between it and his body. Her heart raced wildly as he traced his fingers over her face, her cheek, her chin, her lips. He leaned down to kiss her, but instead of claiming her lips, she sighed pleasantly as he trailed kisses along her neck, shoulder, and collarbone. Her finger tangled in his hair in her rapture, encouraging him to continue. Moving periodically back up her body, he eventually claimed her lips with his which she accepted eagerly.
In the time that had passed between their first kiss and the beginning of Yol, they had wasted no time stealing as many kisses from one another as they could manage, but Gyda had been hesitant to escalate any further than that. It had been years since she'd been with a man...Athelstan. She loved Roarke. She had known that for quite some time, but she couldn't bring herself to tell him. Admittedly, she was afraid. She had only ever loved one other man, her late husband, and she was afraid that if she were to open up her heart to another man again, that she would lose him as she had before.
Pulling away from him, Gyda rested her hands on his chest, stilling him as she chewed her lip thoughtfully. "We ought to get back to the festivities..." she said halfheartedly. "My sons...my family will wonder where I've gone..."
"If you insist." He whispered, his breaths still coming in short spurts, still recovering from the intensity of their kiss.
Grinning, Gyda stood on her tip-toes to place one last kiss on Roarke's cheek before they slipped back into the crowd. From where he sat on the dais, overlooking the crowd, Ragnar observed as his daughter made her way back to her children, taking the youngest, Mathias, in her lap. It also didn't escape his notice the young man who always seemed to maintain a rather close distance to her. It was quite comical to watch, really. Watching them reminded him of when he was young, naive, and helplessly in love with her mother, Lagertha. It was true when they say that we are all fools in love.
Beckoning over a servant, he ordered the girl to bring him his daughter, watching the young man as the servant girl relayed the message to Gyda and she made her way to him. Yes, the poor fellow was helplessly in love with her, it was clear to see. He had always prided himself on his ability to read people and he knew his daughter. As much as she was like her mother, strong, intelligent, and resilient, she was also a bit too much like him, which worried him. Although there wasn't much he could do about his unhappiness, perhaps the same wasn't true for hers.
"You summoned me, faðir?" Gyda asked, sitting upon her knees before his chair.
"Yes, so I did." It was a struggle for him to remain expressionless. "It hasn't escaped my notice that you've shown a certain...preference for a certain sworn-sword of mine. Roarke Henrikson, is it?" Her blush told him everything he need to know.
"It's nothing, really." She insisted. "He's just...been there for me. The boys seem to have taken a liking to him, I think it might be doing them some good." Her face fell slightly. "I try, as best as I can, but...they need someone to look up to, a man to show them what it means to be a man and with Bjorn gone..."
"It's okay." Said Ragnar, his mouth quirking into a small smile as his eyes darted between his daughter and the young man across the room. "But I don't think it's just the boys that have taken a liking to him." He said, smirking suggestively. He leaned back in his seat, pausing momentarily as she began to blush profusely. "Go." He insisted, waving his hand at her in dismissal. "I will watch the children tonight. They can stay here, with us."
"But, faðir..."
He shook his head, silencing her. "I want you to be happy. It's been much too long since you've done something for yourself and, as you've said, he's a good man." He leaned forward, lowering his voice so only she could hear. "Even so, it's not him that I trust, it's you and if you say he's good enough, then that is enough for me." He placed a hand on her cheek and smiled down at her.
Gyda's lips grew into a grin. "Thank you, faðir." She said, placing a kiss on his head. As she hurried down the dais in pursuit of Roarke, she felt as if she were a child again, giddy with excitement. When, at last, she found him, she took him by the hand pressing her lips to his skin and looking up at him with a smile that resonated into her eyes playing upon her face. She hadn't felt so happy, so absolutely smitten since...no, she decided not to think it, of him. Tonight was about her and Roarke, this moment, now, she didn't want to think of the past nor what was yet to come. All that mattered was here and now.
"What did your faðir want to speak to you about?" He inquired, glancing down at her uncertainly.
"It doesn't matter." She insisted, casting aside the question as she advanced on him once more. "Be with me tonight." She said suddenly, squeezing his hand. "I don't want to be here any longer. I just want to be with you, only you."
He paused for a moment, looking at her with confusion in his eyes. "But...what about the children? You said..." He asked. "I want to...believe me, but I couldn't...they're so young and...I'm not their faðir..." Even in the candlelight, his blooming blush was visible on his cheeks, "I couldn't..."
"Oh, hush," said she, suppressing a laugh, "You needn't worry. Ragnar has offered to watch them for tonight."
Roarke tried to suppress his excitement and surprise as Gyda left him momentarily to find her children. He watched from afar as she took each boy in her arms and kiss them each on their cheeks. He smiled to himself as he observed the exchange. He had known for some time that he loved her, maybe before he had even really known her. As a boy, she had intrigued him, when he was a young man, he had been impressed with her intelligence and strength and enamored with her beauty. He had always known that she had a kind heart, but when he saw her with her children, there wasn't a doubt in his mind that she was the most perfect woman in the world and everything he had ever wanted. He knew that she cared for him, but could she ever love him like she once loved the priest? Could he make her happy again? If he could marry her that moment, he would, but would she have him?
He pushed aside these thoughts when she had returned and hid his emotions behind a grin as he accepted her out-stretched hand. She seemed as giddy as a child as she led him down the streets of Kattegat, pausing every so often to pull him behind a cottage or shed to pull him into rather heated kissing sessions and he had been only too happy to oblige her. Needless to say, it had taken them significantly longer to arrive at her door. She laughed as whirled her around, trapping her against the door once it had properly been latched. His skin tingled with want as she ran her fingers over his skin, kissing him along his neck and chin. The effect she had on him so powerful, he couldn't help himself. Cupping her cheeks with his hands, he kissed her, with all the passion, need, and want for her that he had been suppressing for so long.
He had been so lost in the kiss, in her, that he was hardly aware of himself anymore. All that existed in that moment was her and him, but, at the same time, he wasn't entirely sure where he ended and she began. Something strange raged within him, something almost animalistic. He'd been so enthralled with her, with the moment and the passion between them that he wasn't sure how or when, but somehow, his hand had found his way her breast, prompting them to cease their advances. "I'm sorry, I-I didn't mean to..." he stuttered, heat coming to his neck and cheeks, unsure of what might be going through her mind. Her face was completely devoid of any reaction other than, perhaps, surprise, but he couldn't decide whether or not it was good or bad. He swallowed nervously, timidly moving away from her. "I didn't want you to think...You mean far more to me than just...that...I would never..." he sighed, "I'm sorry..."
"No, please." She said her voice soft and even, her grip tightening on his well-muscled arm. "Stay. With me."
Her heart pounded wildly in her chest as she felt his warm breath on her forehead. Her own breath was heavy and uneven, a poor attempt of calming the nervous butterfly feeling which raged within her. He stood close, as close as physically possibly without actually touching her, as if he first needed her permission before he dared to. Grinning to herself, she peered up at him, finding that he was already watching her, his soft gray-blue eyes dark with love and desire. Realizing that he refused to put his hands on her before she made it clear that this was what she wanted, she tentatively reached to touch his face, running her fingers in soft, feathery patterns over his bearded cheeks and jawline. Drawing a deep, ragged breath, he sighed, covering her hand with his own, wanting the warmth of her hand to linger a moment longer before bringing her palm to his lips and pressing a kiss to it. Wordlessly, she captured his eyes, exchanging a silent agreement with him before leading him to her bed.
Pausing before the lumpy straw mattress, he released her hands long enough for her fingers to venture to his tunic. He watched her as she made quick work of undoing his laces, and, when she had finished, slipped her hands underneath the heavy fabric, pushing it off of his shoulders. He hardly registered the garment making contact with the floor as he continued to observe her as she examined him, running her fingers over his muscled chest and arms, his scars visible in the flickering firelight from the hearth. If she were anyone else, he might be ashamed of his imperfect body, of the scars he had borne since he was a boy, but he didn't shy away from her, she was different. "Stay." She whispered again, taking his hand and returning it to her breast. Unable to contain himself any longer, captured her soft lips with his, kissing her eagerly, hungrily.
Wrapping his arms tightly around her waist, he pulled her closer to him as she pressed her hands to his chest. Each time he kissed her, a warmth, a pleasant, enduring warmth overwhelmed and energized him. He had kissed many women before, had several past lovers, but none had come close to comparing to her. Feeling her fingers running through his hair as they kissed deeply, passionately, he could feel himself quickly losing control, quickly succumbing to whatever power she had over him. Despite himself, he broke their kiss, brushing a strand of her hair behind her ear and cupping her cheek. "Are you sure?" He asked, his voice low and husky.
She hesitated for a heartbeat. She wasn't a girl any longer, and she certainly wasn't a virgin, but it had been many years since she had been with a man and, if she were completely honest, the prospect made her slightly nervous. She cared about Roarke, she truly did, maybe even loved him, and there was no doubt in her mind that she wanted him, but his words made her hesitate, consider whether she was truly ready. The last man she had been with was Athelstan, her late husband, who had been brutally murdered just over three years ago. That's what prompted her reluctance, but, she knew that the more she thought about it, the more she would only convince herself against intimately being with Roarke, so, she decided to push the thought away, to enjoy him now, and worry about the consequences later. She knew that she must move on, she must learn to live, to love, to trust again, and...she felt that, maybe, she could learn to do that with Roarke.
For a moment, he thought that she had changed her mind, that she wasn't ready. Though, inwardly, his heart sank with disappointment, he kept his face emotionless as he began to retreat, but she stopped him, grabbing him by the arm to still him, silently asking him not to go. "Stay." She whispered, meeting his eyes momentarily, as if to assure him before her gaze fell upon her own clothing. Her fingers shook slightly as she began to unlace her dress, glancing up at him every so often, noting the intensity with which he watched her, his own nervousness revealed only by the periodic movement of his Adam's Apple, which raised and fell in anticipation. When at last she had finished, she paused before shrugging the fabric off, letting the gown pool at her ankles. Again, she met his eyes, feeling heat coming to her cheeks as his eyes roamed over her, resting on the large scar just beneath her breasts which, a second later, she, as if by instinct, covered with her arms. She was embarrassed, not of her nakedness, but ashamed of her imperfection. She didn't want him to think any less of her. He was so beautiful, so perfect and she was...broken and damaged.
She was afraid, had been afraid to let anyone in, because she was scared of being abandoned. She knew that she didn't deserve him; he had been so good, so kind to her, more than she could ever ask of anyone, all out of the kindness of his heart, and she was frightened that at any moment he could disappear, decide that he deserved better than her but, instead, he stayed. Cupping her cheeks in his hands, he kissed her again, running his hands down her arms, gently moving them from where they hid her large scar. "It's okay." He whispered as he trailed kisses along her jaw, neck, and collarbone. "You've nothing to be afraid of, not with me." She could feel herself yielding to him, both physically and emotionally as a pleasant sigh escaped from her lips. "You're beautiful and I love you."
She couldn't bring herself to return the sentiment to him, not yet, so instead she responded with a passionate kiss, increasing the intensity as she lowered herself onto the mattress, pulling him down with her. She paused her advancements long enough to rid him of his trousers before continuing to run her hands over his flesh possessively, showering him with kisses and granting him with sweet gasps and sounds of approval as he reciprocated her ardor.
Years ago, she might have hesitated, might have shied away from him, as she had with Athelstan, but she wasn't the same girl that she had been then. Much had changed since then. She was not the naive girl that she once was. Since Wessex, since Athelstan's murder, since being left alone with two young children, she had changed, grown. Though part of her, the part of her that still loved Athelstan, felt guilty for this...for loving another man. She knew that she would always love Athelstan, but she knew that she was doing nothing wrong in loving Roarke, in being with him, or, at least, that's what she told herself. Because of that, she pushed away her guilt and reluctance and devoted herself entirely to that moment, to him, to herself, to whatever hope there was of her being happy again.
When Gyda awoke, the sun still hadn't risen. She didn't recall falling asleep, but she was pleased to find Roarke sleeping soundly behind her, her back against his chest and his strong arms wrapped around her protectively. Shifting as subtly as she could manage, she turned to face him, analyzing him as he slept. She was half tempted to touch his softened features, but she didn't want to wake him, not when he looked to peaceful and content.
She blushed as she recalled the events of the previous night. Biting her lip, she suppressed a grin as she allowed herself to mentally reply the night in her mind. In truth, she couldn't remember the last time she'd felt so happy, so fulfilled. For so long she had to be so many things: mother, sister, daughter, warrior, that she'd nearly forgotten what it was like to just be a woman. It felt...good, better than good, she felt that, perhaps, she could allow herself to hope again, to believe that it could be possible for her to be happy. For so long, she had been afraid to allow herself to be happy for the fear that it would all be ripped away from her again, but now, with him, it all suddenly felt possible again, that goodness, the pure kind of goodness, could last.
Moving his hand from her waist, she pressed her lips to his palm. She began to settle herself into him again when she noticed a strange sort of light painting the floor, leaking from the other side of the door. Knitting her brows together, she glanced at Roarke briefly, to ensure that he was still sleeping peacefully, before she carefully untangled herself from him and rose from the bed. As quickly as she could, she dressed herself in a shift and wrapped Roarke's heavy cloak around herself, having been unable to find her own. She glanced again at the door as she slipped on her shoes. Despite herself, she wasn't afraid of whatever awaited her on the other side. Something felt almost comforting and beckoning rather than strange and foreboding.
However, despite the strange light, when she opened the door, she was met with the ink blackness of night. The thick winter clouds had even blocked the stars from sight. It was oddly still. Around her, the world, itself, seemed to be sleeping. The only sounds that met her ears was the periodic gust of wind, the gentle crackle of torches lining the village streets, the crunch of the gravel beneath her feet, and the soft lapping of the water against the docks that she slowly approached. She wasn't entirely sure what drew her there, but, despite the freezing temperatures, she removed her shoes when she reached the water's edge. The water nipped and pricked at her as she stepped into it, but she ignored the pain as she walked ankle deep into the water. She stopped when she saw something small and white under the surface.
Carefully rolling back her sleeves, she reached down and extracted the smooth stone-like object, turning it over twice in her palm before she realized what it was. A sand dollar, Athelstan had called it and her heart shuttered at the memory of that day at the docks, before everything had gone so...so wrong. Biting back her emotions, she gripped her hem tighter in her fist as she retreated back to the beach. She had barely taken a step out of the water when she noticed a figure a few feet away. It was a man, dressed in plain brown robes. "Hello?" She said uncertainly, staring back as he watched her gather her shoes. "Who are you?"
Against her better judgement, she walked closer to him, despite not yet receiving an answer as to his identity. She didn't, however, feel threatened by his presence, rather something about it felt safe and secure. When she had come close enough to make out his features, she stopped cold, her breath catching in her throat. She must be dreaming, she had to be, unless she had died in her sleep. But, when her shoes hit the ground, falling nearly directly on her foot, she could feel the throb of pain from the impact, but that didn't matter, in fact, it hardly even registered in her mind as she stared at the ghost of a man before her. Athelstan. As if he had risen from the grave.
Falling to her knees before him, she was overcome with emotion: joy, sadness, love, confusion, and guilt. Her chest tightened and her face flushed in her shame, remembering what she had just done. Is that why he was here? To condemn her for insulting his memory by being with another man. She could feel tears burning in her eyes as she glanced up at him. "I'm sorry, Athelstan, I am, truly." She sobbed. "I never meant to betray you or..." she shook her head, "I'm so ashamed of myself f-for...please, please forgive me." She wept. "I-I love you, Athelstan, and I'm ashamed of even thinking that someone could ever replace you."
She watched as he sank to his knees before her, his gaze unwavering as he reached out and took her hands in his. The sensation was strange. She was aware of him touching her, but it was not the same flesh contact that would've been if he were still living. It was present, but cold and faint, as if just a shadow of the man he once was. He frowned as she continued to weep and placed a hand on her cheek, gently wiping away her tears. She sighed, as if from relief, as she leaned into his touch. "I feel so guilty for what I've done...I was so selfish...I didn't consider him or you or the children, only what I wanted and...and I'm sorry."
"It's okay." He said softly, his lips curling into a soft smile.
"But it's not." She insisted, shaking her head. "The children are still young and they need me. I can't give them everything they need when I'm off with Roarke and you... they don't even know their father and I was just going to let him into their lives and what? Allow him to assume your role? As if you could be replaced...it was a terrible, awful thought...he can't replace you...nobody can."
But he shook his head. "It's okay." He insisted once more.
"I'm trying." She whispered, clinging harder to him. "But it's so hard, Athelstan. I try to be strong, for Ragnar, for Bjorn, for our sons, but it's so hard..." She reached out and brushed her fingers over his cold cheek. "Why did you have to go?" She breathed, her tears falling silently down her cheeks. "I think of that night all the time. I should've be there, I should've gone with you. Maybe then...maybe then you'd still be here."
He paused for a moment, taking the hand which cupped his cheek and bringing it to his lips, placing a soft kiss on her palm. "It's okay." Although that was all he said, she knew and understood the underlying message he was trying to convey. She knew that he wasn't there to shame her or to punish her, but rather to bring her peace. This, this was the closure that she had never had, yet had always wanted, needed. Upon realizing this, the weight, the burden that she had been carrying for three long years began to lift from her chest.
"I understand." She said, squeezing his hand. "Thank you." She watched as he nodded and let their hands fall back into her lap. "He's a good man," she began, thinking of the young warrior who still slept peacefully in her bed, "I love him, despite myself, I do love him, very much," she admitted, relieved when Athelstan grinned, "but, I will always love you and nobody will ever replace you in my heart." A grin which matched his formed upon her lips as more tears brimmed in her eyes. "But you already knew that, d-didn't you?" Again, he smiled as his cold fingertips traced over her hand. "Thank you." She said after a time, her voice beginning to tremble as she struggled to hold back her emotions. "I don't know if I could ever...move on if you had not come and reassured me. I think...I think I'm ready to begin again, but I'll never forget you, I promise. A part of me will always love you."
His smile began to turn sad as he began to stand, letting her fingers slip from his. She could not help the tears which fell from her eyes and, she could almost swear that tears brimmed his eyes as well. Before he rose to his full height, he bent down to her, taking her cheek in his hand and gently pressing his lips to her forehead. Her eyelids fluttered closed as she savored the moment and she dreaded the moment that she should open her eyes, because she knew that he would be gone. She probably would've stayed there, kneeling in the sand with her eyes clenched shut, until dawn, had she not heard her name being called from a distance.
When she finally dared open her eyes, it was not Athelstan, or his ghost, or apparition, or whatever it had been that called her name, but, rather, Roarke. She stood quickly as he approached. He appeared rather disheveled, apparently having dressed and rushed out of the door in quite a hurry. His features softened as she closed the distance between them, wrapping her arms around his middle and pressing her cheek to his chest. She didn't know what brought the emotion upon her, but she soon realized that she was weeping as she clung to him. They were not tears of sorrow, but rather, something more like relief. She didn't realize how heavy the burden of Athelstan's death still weighed on her and now that it was gone, now that she knew that he wanted her to move on with her life and to be happy again, she felt...free. Something that, she realized, she hadn't felt in much too long.
"What is it?" Roarke cupped her cheeks, tilting her head so he could better inspect her his thumbs to wipe away her tears, his eyes filled with concern. "Why are you upset? Is it something that I've done? If you weren't ready, I completely understand...I just...I..."
"No." She said quickly. "You've done nothing wrong." She assured him fervently. "You've been doing everything right...more than right. Last night...I wanted that. I want this...I want you." Her heart pounded wildly in her chest as she felt her lips forming into a grin. "I love you, Roarke." Tears brimmed her eyes, but they were not tears of sadness or pain, but pure joy. The joy of knowing that she could at last be a peace with herself.
First, I apologize for the long wait between my last update and this chapter. I am currently in college and, the fall semester starting days after I returned from my trip to Europe, it's been difficult to find time to write (non-school related material, that is). If y'all were curious, part of the reason for my absence was, as I've already mentioned, I had the opportunity to travel to Europe for the first time. My family has friends that live in the Netherlands (Friesland, specifically) and we finally had the opportunity to visit them this past summer. It was amazing to see places that I have only ever read about or seen in movies or TV before. So, for those of you from Holland or France (we also made a side trip to Paris), we had an amazing time visiting your countries and hope to make another trip sometime soon!
In regards to the story, I'm afraid that updates will continue to be sparse. In addition to being behind in writing, I am also embarrassingly behind in the TV series. I'll probably have more time to write in the summer, but I do have some ideas for future content. Thank you SO much for being dedicated readers, it really means the world to me! I know this chapter isn't much, but it's mostly a transition chapter and focuses on how Gyda allows herself to finally move on and begin a new chapter in her life. Up until this point, she's been in a very liminal position in which she was stuck in her grief, yet guilty for her desire to move on from the past. This chapter was meant to serve as an escape from the limbo in which the majority of the characters have resided at this point of the series, and hopefully that is what I succeeded in portraying.
Anyways, I hope it was worth the wait, if not, I apologize! Until next time, happy reading!