Unknown location, unknown time


A great and cold darkness surrounded Oswald, nearly crushing him within its oppressing depths.

Shock rippled through him, startling him out of unconsciousness, but he only earned himself a mouthful of water for all of his efforts. Oswald struggled, limbs flailing about despite the scorching pain flaring in his right arm. Panic began to overwhelm him. The sea hungered for him; salt water threatened to invade his mouth and nostrils, seeking to smother his lungs. With all of his waning strength, Oswald clenched his jaw shut, but darkness poured into his eyes, and an ice-cold pressure crushed his chest. He thrashed in the water; fear had finally won against all else. It was ever so tempting to just let go and—

Swim! Oswald suddenly remembered a woman's voice, warm and kind, with a touch of worry at the edges. Move your legs, my love, keep your head out of the water! Lady Eadith. His mother had been so fearful every time he even approached the river's edge. Oswald kicked his legs, trying to propel himself to the surface. That's it, my sweet, that's it! You're doing so well, Oswald!

Look at him go! A man's voice, proud, affectionate, benevolent. Lord Osmund. A regular little fish, isn't he?

A tinkling laugh. A stubborn one! His father's son, I tell you!

Oswald fought, with all that he had. He fought despite the veil of darkness threatening to fall upon his mind, despite the agony searing through all of his body. He could almost feel his parents' steadying touch upon him. Oswald swam, ever upward, vision dimming. The surface seemed so, so far away. His movements began to slow; now, advancing even the barest of inches seemed an impossible feat.

Still, Oswald continued to swim, the memories of his parents' encouragement echoing in his ears. He missed them so much, the pain of their loss ever so raw—but he was not quite ready to join them just yet.

And finally, blessedly, Oswald broke the surface of the water, gasping and panting. God, that first mouthful of air was sweeter than any mead. Still there was no time to savour that little victory; the waves were tossing him around, threatening to send him back to the depths. Oswald had to reach the shore, and fast. He set a course, struggling to propel himself forward with only one arm willing to work. The rocky sands of the shore seemed so close and yet so far. Still, Oswald was not about to give up, not yet.

The whole of his body was shaking when he grasped that first fistful of sand. Oswald dragged himself forward, unable to muster enough strength to stand. His eyes stung from the salt, while dark spots danced at the edge of his vision. Oswald's ears picked up the sound of voices shouting. Yes, now that he focused his eyes a bit more, he could see figures moving about on the shore. To his left, there was some frantic movement. What were those two men hauling out of the water? Oswald could not tell.

There was the noise of crunching sand nearby, and a pair of feet settled near Oswald's face. He struggled to look upward, only seeing a figure shrouded in shadows. The man crouched. Oswald caught a whiff of a fetid smell as he opened his mouth to let out a low chuckle.

"Well, well," the raider said, in the Dane language, "what have we here?"

Before Oswald could make a sound, the man struck him with the heel of his boot.


Unknown location, unknown time


Oswald weaved in and out of consciousness.

The first time he'd awakened, he had retched copiously, the bile burning his throat. His wet tunic clung to him, making him shiver. Soon a fever overtook him, and he began to writhe and moan on the cold metallic surface where he'd been left by his captors. Reality and nightmares, nightmares and reality—all of it blended together, until Oswald's frenzied, panicked mind could not tell one from the other. Laughter and jeers flared around him, hellish sounds that made his skin crawl, while frightening figures moved about, stalking like beasts on the prowl. He curled into a ball, shaking and panting, and squeezed his eyes shut, as if that could make those phantoms disappear. More distorted laughter rung out in the air, tightening terror's grip on him.

Then, the fever receded, and Oswald fell deeper into the dream.

In this imagined world, he was a simple man living a simple life. Perhaps he would tend to a farm, raising livestock to provide for his family. It would be hard work, yes, but all that toil would be worth it to see the smiles of his sweet children. Oswald would show them how to swim, and he would teach them the names of the flowers in the fields, just like his mother had done for him. His sons and daughters would grow up to be as carefree as he had been as a boy, and Oswald would cherish them with all of his heart.

Their mother would be—

Well, of course, she would be tall and dark-haired, with proud eyes and the graceful physicality of a wolf on the hunt. Oswald's wife would rule over the household, stern and protective as only a queen could be; she would rule over his heart as well, though he would only admit it in the shared intimacy of their bed. Her smiles would be ever so rare, but that would make them all the more beautiful in his eyes.

A corner of Oswald's house would be devoted to the comfort of his aging parents, who would spend their silver years watching over their grandchildren. Osmund would gather them around him to spin all manners of stories, while Eadith would sit beside him, ever so busy as she sowed new clothes for the little ones.

Osgyth and Osburga would often visit for special occasions. Of course Oswald's sisters would also bring their little families along. On these nights, the air would be filled by the giggles of children at play as the adults would sit and speak of mundane matters, their bellies warmed with good ale. Friends of the family would come as well, and perhaps that rascal Aethelred would challenge Oswald's in-laws to a drinking challenge; his wife's brothers would learn to their dismay that the old priest could drink them well under the table.

Once his guests would be gone, Oswald would retire to his bed, exhausted, but content. Afterward, he would fall asleep in the protective embrace of his lady as their little ones slumbered nearby.

Except—

Except such a sweet dream could not come to pass, couldn't it?

With a violent gust of wind, those pastoral sights turned into a vision of horror. Flames scorched the fields, painting the sky a hellish shade of red. Through the smoke, people screamed and fled, only to be cut down in their flight by beastly figures with feral grins. Oswald tied to step backward, but his feet slipped on the blood pooling at his feet, and he fell to the ground.

From the dark depths of the forest up the hill emerged three wolves, fur black as soot. Two fixed on Oswald grey eyes heavy with judgment. The third wolf had his muzzle deep in the torn-open throat of a fawn with red-gold fur. It raised its head, disfigured by a great scar, to look at Oswald. The scarred wolf opened its maw, fangs dripping with gore, and laughed.

The maddened sound rippled through the air, crawling under Oswald's skin. He attempted to flee, but his fingers kept slipping on ground wet with blood, unable to find a good grip.

On a nearby fence, a raven perched itself on a broken piece of wood. It turned a single eye toward Oswald, bright in the wavering light of the flames.

What are you going to do about it? said a woman's voice.

From the forest came an army of shadow-clad figures, axes as sharp as their smiles. More screams heralded their arrival. The raven fixed its stare on Oswald, insistent.

Who is going to take responsibility for this land?

With trembling arms, Oswald managed to push himself off the ground. He felt his face twisting into a snarl. When, finally, Oswald had drawn himself to stand upright, his father's sword was weighing heavily in his hand.

The raven cocked its head. Oswald met that single black eye without flinching.

Who can carry that burden?

Oswald raised his sword with a scream, strained and scraping at his throat—and was answered by hundreds of voices shouting from behind him. The ground shook with the stamping of their feet. From his left and from his right poured warriors in the dozens, some calling for Valhalla, others crying the Lord's name. Any moment now they would crash into the other army and—

And Oswald woke up with a long, pained gasp.

He clutched at his chest, nostrils assailed by a fetid stench. It took him some time to realize that this foul odour came from him. Oswald was shivering on the floor of some cage, his body curled up over a layer of filth. Sweat and grime made his bangs cling to his forehead, while dried vomit stained the topmost part of his tunic. But worst of all was the pain; he could barely move his right arm without stars exploding from behind his eyelids.

Oswald moaned, blinking back tears. His vision was so blurred he could barely make out his surroundings. Great stone walls rose on all sides, though above there seemed to be only open sky. Oswald managed to stretch enough of his left arm to feel the ground outside his cage; it was stone as well. Were they still in Dunwic? His memories of the past few days were muddled, but he could almost remember a moment where someone had hauled him on a horse. Could they have gone to another fortress, then? Oswald held his head, giving another grunt of pain as he tried to make sense of all of this.

Through clouded eyes, he saw several figures moving about. One grew closer, and Oswald's blood iced in his veins at the sight of the axe in his hands. The man was speaking, though Oswald could barely make out his words.

"He's awake—" was all he could understand.

"Go fetch—" another voice added, a little further away.

Oswald tried to lift his head, but the effort only caused him to fall into oblivion once more. When he came to himself, some time later, the sky had gone dark, and a tall figure was standing in front of Oswald's cage, while the rest of the raiders watched from behind.

Oswald's breath caught in his throat as he finally recognized the man towering above him. No, no, that cannot be. No, no, no…

"Finally awake, are you?" Rued said, eyes gleaming with cruel amusement. The wound on his cheek, where Oswald had bitten him, was still swollen and raw, and a film of perspiration shone on his face. Obviously, Oswald had not been the only one to battle a bout of fever for the last few days. "Are you enjoying your new accommodations, lord?"

Oswald could not respond. He'd failed. He had accepted to die at Rued's hands in the faint hopes that he could bring the warlord along with him in his fall. And now he had failed, thoroughly, utterly failed; he'd brought the others in the wolves' den in Dunwic only to—

Oswald's heart started to pound madly. The others. Eivor, Finnr, Brothir and Broder. Valdis. Had they managed to escape Dunwic? Had they been captured because of his stupidity?

In his mind's eye, Oswald could see Eivor lying in a broken heap, blood trailing from her mouth. He could see Finnr, his body pinned to the ground with blades and spears. He could see Valdis's lovely green eyes, bereft of their inner fire, staring sightlessly ahead.

Had they all paid the ultimate price for his foolish mistake?

Rued hit the cage with his sword, making the bars rattle. Oswald flinched, shaking and hiding his face with his hand. The man's raiders laughed even louder.

"Answer when I speak, sheep!" Rued shouted.

Again, Oswald found himself unable to say a word. He mouthed the names of his companions, grief and fear holding him in a tight grip. Still, eventually his mind started to clear. If the others had been killed or captured, then Rued would surely have taunted Oswald with that knowledge. He would not have passed an opportunity to torment Oswald some more.

"Maybe he's lost his wits," a man said, to the amusement of the others.

"Look at him!" a third raider added. "To think the Christians wanted this to be their king! No wonder they let themselves be slaughtered so easily!"

Oswald turned his gaze away, ignoring the laughter flaring around him. Now his fog-filled brain fought to understand why they had not simply killed him. Rued must have been more desperate than he appeared to be. There was only one reason he would try to use Oswald as a bargaining chip.

Valdis and the others were still out there, fighting.

"No," Rued said, spitting at Oswald feet, "he's no true king. You're a puppet, aren't you, little lord? A puppet dancing at the behest of Halfdan Jarl. At the behest of the brother of the man who murdered your precious martyr king."

Oswald shuddered at the memory of mad Ivarr Ragnarsson. He closed his eyes, but the sight of poor King Edmund's corpse, riddled with arrows, seemed to be etched on the back of his eyelids. He remembered Aethelred's half-rotten head, his eyes pecked by crows. He recalled all the brave thegns who'd served with him on the royal council—all of these good, God-fearing men, dead at the hand of people like the devil standing before him.

Oswald was the last of them. The least of them. Why had he survived while better men had not?

"Hit a nerve here, did I?" Rued said, the sneer evident in his voice. "That's the people whose bed you are going to share, little Saxon. Thieves, rapists and killers. Your crown is given by a warlord who razed your precious East Anglia to the ground, leaving you to rule a kingdom of ashes and ruins. Your bride is kin to the man who killed the last of your true kings, setting you on the fate that would see you dead at my hand—and giving my lads every opportunity to complete what the Ragnarssons started. Even your pet raven must not be without fault. How much Christian blood does she have on her hands, I wonder?"

Nausea surged through Oswald, and he clamped his hand over his mouth to keep himself from retching. Rued's men kept laughing. Oswald could not stop shaking. Rued reached through the cage, grabbing him by the front of his tunic. The man's stench brought bile to Oswald's mouth, and again he fought not to vomit.

"I don't call a man who would accept all of this a king," Rued said. "I would call him a slave."

The world spun around Oswald's head, and if Rued had not been holding him by the collar, he would surely have tumbled into the filth piling at his feet. It seemed as if he was hearing Ivarr Ragnarsson's cold laughter joining the cruel guffaws of Rued's men. The mad killer had been right; what kind of coward brought peace by offering his neck to the wolves salivating over him?

"To think you believed yourself worthy of Valdis!" Rued continued. "She would have eaten you alive!"

Valdis. Oswald's exhausted mind struggled to think of his betrothed despite the pain clouding everything. The indifference she'd shown when Finnr had displayed Aethelred's rotting head. The apathetic way she'd dismissed him when speaking to Eivor the morning after that disastrous feast. The cold look in her eyes as she had stabbed that scout, even after Oswald had promised to keep him alive. She had warned him, after all. My hands are more stained than you can imagine.

And yet—

Oswald thought of the smile that had teased her lips when he had given her the handkerchief. He thought of the hollow look in her eyes as she had spoken of her harsh past, and how she'd promised to ask her gods to watch over him. He thought of the way she'd screamed his name in that moment before he'd fallen to what should have been his doom at Dunwic.

Oswald opened his eyes, inhaling sharply. He thought of Eivor offering her hand to help him to his feet, and of the easy camaraderie her crew had shown him when they had raided that camp together. He thought of Valdis's ever-protective brothers, and how fiercely they must have loved her to act in such a manner. He thought of the smile that had shown on Finnr's lips when the sea wind had whipped at their faces, and how that grin had grown when Oswald had returned this earnest expression.

Oswald thought of many, many things—and came to a simple, but potent realization.

"You're… wrong..." he said through gritted teeth.

"Wrong?" Rued scoffed. "What madness are you speaking now?"

"Valdis is not kin with Ivarr Ragnarsson. She's kin with Halfdan's mother. She despises Ivarr Ragnarsson." Oswald summoned all of his anger to spit out, "Just as she despises you."

Rued bared his teeth, growling like an animal.

"You don't speak for all of your people," Oswald continued, not knowing where those words were coming from. "I've met Dane fishermen. Dane merchants, Dane farmers. Good people who suffered dire lives." Oswald licked his lips, swallowing. My hands are more stained than you can imagine. How weary Valdis had sounded when saying those words... "Good people who are forced to do terrible things for their survival, and the survival of their loved ones. You're not a wolf. Even wolves care for their kin! You're a parasite, a maggot feasting on the spoils of better warriors! Don't you dare drag them at your level."

Rued shoved him back into the cage with a curse. Oswald ignored the pain, mustering all of his strength to glare at him

"As thegn of Elmenham—as king of East Anglia, it's my duty to protect and provide for the people who come to my land in hopes of a better life. Else I do not deserve that position." Oswald grabbed the bars of his cage to hoist himself up. If you do not stand for the people of Elmenham, then who will? Who would stand for East Anglia? "I'll be king of sheep and wolf. Saxon or Dane, it makes no difference to me if you're true and have a good heart."

Rued's raiders laughed and laughed at these words, but the man himself only shook with anger. Oswald managed to stay standing, meeting Rued's hateful scowl without flinching.

Then, a man came rushing from up the stairs, out of breath—and clearly in the throes of panic. "My jarl!" he exclaimed. "Outside… outside, the lookouts at the gate saw…"

"Speak, man!" Rued growled. "What did they see?"

"A-An army! Coming up the hill! They'll be here any moment!"

"An army?" A hint of true shock replaced Rued's anger for a moment. "And you've just noticed it now? Are all of you blind as well as witless? Why have our scouts not advised me of this?"

"L-Lord, you had still not woken and—"

Rued struck the messenger across the face, and the man fell like a stone. "Don't just stand there!" he roared to the others. "Prepare for battle!"

Above their heads, dark clouds were gathering, and thunder rolled ominously. The wind rose as rain began to fall; soon, they were all drenched to the bone. Then, several bolts of lightning crisscrossed the sky. Rued's men let out exclamations of fear and shock. Storms were caused by the fury of ill-tempered Thor, Oswald remembered. This battle had not even begun, and already they had lost the gods' favour.

From his cage, Oswald could not see nor hear much. In the distance, men were screaming, and a dull sound tore through the air, again and again, as loud as thunder. A battering ram, surely. Rued kept pacing not far away, barking orders at the men that came and went. He had his hand wrapped tightly around the hilt of his sword, but otherwise he made no move to join those protecting the ramparts or the courtyard below.

"Your jarl is not fighting alongside his men?" Oswald mused out loud. The two raiders guarding his cage turned to face him, eyebrows furrowing. "My predecessors Edmund and Aethelred were always in the thick of the fight. Is Rued showing less bravery than a pair of soft Christians?"

"Shut your mouth!" Rued snapped, stomping toward Oswald's cage. "If you don't stop wagging your tongue, I'll give you back to them—but in pieces!"

Oswald met Rued's eyes only briefly, then looked at Rued's men as they stood behind him. "Then why have not done so?" he asked. "What are you waiting for, Rued? Surely that's not doubt stopping your hand?"

Rued made an inarticulate sound of rage. Before he could do anything, however, a resounding crash drowned out his words. In the distance came more screams and shouts. Rued visibly paled, whirling on his feet toward the entrance of the fortress.

Another man ran up the platform. "They've breached the gate! They've more men than we thought and—"

"Then keep them from reaching the courtyard!" Rued screamed. "With only one point of entry, they'll be—"

"My jarl!" A third warrior was rushing over to Rued. "Over the sea, there is… there's a fleet. A dozen ships, and there might be more!"

Rued's eyes widened in shock, but soon enough he was laughing. "Let them come! The harbour is sealed by the gate! We'll slaughter them in the water before they can reach land."

"A Saxon fyrd," Oswald said, almost in disbelief. "Accompanied by a Dane fleet."

Rued shot him a scornful look. "You're delusional. Danes would not fight alongside Christians, and you know it."

"Wouldn't they?" Oswald said, tilting his head as he spoke. "They've found common cause. Protecting their home. Why should they not fight together?"

In response, Rued's scowl only deepened. "No matter!" he said. "It does not matter! They will all be dead by the night's end—and you with them!"

Again, Rued reached to shove Oswald back into his cage. The latter winced as he fell on his rear, clutching his right arm. The noises of violence were louder now—the shrieks of metal against metal, the shattering of shields, the screams of the dying.

Oswald had always hated being in battle, but now he found that waiting on the sidelines, not knowing how his allies were faring, being unable to even help them, was even worse. He closed his eyes and prayed. For now, it was all he could do to help the brave men and women fighting for the sake of East Anglia.

"Pater noster qui es in cælis," he intoned, "sanctificetur nomen tuum…"

"What is he mumbling about?" a guard asked, with some uneasiness.

"Who cares?!" Rued responded. God, he sounded almost unhinged. "You all have bigger problems to worry about!"

Oswald's eyes snapped open, and he suddenly remembered how superstitious Finnr and Eivor had been when he'd spoken of his reccuring dreams.

"Adveniat regnum tuum," he said, mustering all of his remaining strength to raise his voice, "fiat voluntas tua, sicut in cælo, et in terra!"

"What in Hel's name…?" another warrior muttered.

"Is he cursing us?" a third one said.

"Panem nostrum cotidianum da nobis hodie!" Oswald was nearly shouting now. "Et dimitte nobis debita nostra!" Before sword clash and blood flow, Oswald remembered Eivor's words, we destroy our enemies with well-timed words. This was not as graceful as a bout of flyting, but he was more comfortable with scriptures anyway. "Sicut et nos dimittimus debitoribus nostris!"

"Shut him up!" a warrior yelled. "He's driving me mad, shut him up!"

"Et ne nos inducas in tentationem!" Oswald continued, addressing him a wide grin, blood all over his teeth. "Sed libera nos a malo!"

By now, Rued had marched over to his cage. "Silence, I say! SILENCE!"

Oswald forced his gaze into Rued's cold eyes, and the man nearly flinched.

"AMEN!" he shouted, at the top of his lungs.

And then the very world itself seemed to explode.

Oswald was thrown to the back of his cage by the force of the blast. For a moment, his ears rang, and everything swam in front of his eyes. It took some time before his eyes could focus properly. Debris littered the area near his cage, and many figures were crawling on the ground, moaning in pain and shock. Others ran about, screaming. If Rued's men had been agitated before, now they were clearly beset with panic. A great column of smoke and flames was rising in the direction of the harbour; that was the source of their fear.

Oswald remembered Eivor's tales about the old gods. He forced his bloodied mouth to form another predatory smile. "The great Surtr himself has come to lay waste with his fiery blade," he said, in a startlingly loud voice, "bringing with him your own personal Ragnarok, Rued…"

"Gods!" one of Rued's raiders exclaimed, stumbling backward.

"How does he know about…" another muttered, eyes wide.

Rued used his great sword to push himself off the ground. "It does not matter!" he growled. "Let the worm wallow in his own filth for now. We have more pressing matters elsewhere!"

"My lord!" a man shouted from the courtyard below, "they have—gah!"

A sword had burst through his chest from behind. As the raider fell to the ground, Oswald caught a brief sight of the one who had killed him: the man did not wear the garb of a Dane warrior.

Then, it's true, he realized, relief rippling through him. The army invading the fortress was a Saxon fyrd. His people had banded together with the Danes of East Anglia to fight Rued's clan.

In the distance, he could hear shouts. "For East Anglia!" the fyrd kept calling. Oswald's heart swelled at these sounds. "For East Anglia! For the Angles of Britannia!"

Then, came another chant: "For King Oswald! For Elmenham!"

Oswald sat up, so suddenly he was nearly beset by nausea. He could not believe his ears. His people could not be shouting his name as they fought, they couldn't. And yet there was no mistaking those words. Rued's men stared back at their leader, faces pale and haunted.

Rued let out another curse. In a violent motion, he broke the lock of Oswald's cage with his broadsword, then reached to grab him. Oswald could not stifle a scream of pain as the warlord pulled him by his broken arm, toward the edge of the platform. Rued threw him at his feet, and Oswald grabbed his arm with a trembling hand.

Finally, he could have a good view of the battlegrounds below. What remained of Rued's men were being pushed on a hopeless retreat, encircled by Saxon soldiers and Dane warriors alike. He could see Brothir and Broder among those fighting, and Eivor as well. And that shieldmaiden standing proudly beside them… was that…

Green met blue, and Oswald felt, for all of a heartbeat, that the world had grinded to a halt. He was very much aware that the battle was still raging on, but it all seemed very distant to him now, like a half-forgotten dream. Valdis stared back at him, brows raised in—surprise? Relief? Oswald wasn't sure.

Eivor was looking up, mouth hanging open. "Oswald…" he could hear her saying. "He lives…" Then, she turned to the fyrd behind her, raising her axe in the air. "Oswald lives!"

His people's shouts were deafening. "He lives, our king lives!" God, Oswald could almost feel the reverberation of their voices in his very bones. "Our king lives!"

Oswald mustered all of his waning strength to call out, "Eivor! Valdis! Is that…"

Rued backhanded him, and Oswald's face exploded in pain. "Shut your arse, twig-spine!"

"Stand fast!" Eivor cried from below. "This will be over soon."

"Worry not for me!" Oswald shouted. "You must stop—"

Rued grabbed Oswald's throat, choking the words before they could get out. "Silence, fool!"

He dragged Oswald across the ground. Oswald struggled, suffocating in the man's tight grip. Finally, Rued threw him in front of the cage. Oswald raised his head, managing a glare.

"That did not…" he wheezed, "go as you had expected… right, Rued?"

Rued seemed too incensed to give a coherent response. He paced in front of Oswald, appearing more and more like an enraged animal rather than a man. What a pathetic creature, Oswald thought. How could he have been ever afraid of such a wretch?

"The people of East Anglia have spoken, Rued," Oswald continued. "Give yourself over."

"To be taken prisoner to a Saxon? To you? Never! Preachy little bastard. You think yourself above the Danes, don't you?"

"I think no such thing," Oswald answered, half-rising from his feet. "Only God is above us, of Saxon and Dane alike."

"You and your slaver god. Pathetic! I tire of this nonsense! Why should I suffer insults from the filthy whoreson who'd dare try and bed my Valdis?"

This time, Oswald's blood boiled within his veins. "She's not yours to do as you please!"

"Of course she is! Just as East Anglia is!" Rued lifted him by the neck, pinning him on the wall. Oswald kicked uselessly in the air, choking as Rued's hand squeezed his throat. "I'll kill you in front of her," he hissed, "I want her to see as I gut you like a pig, I want her to look at your corpse while I take what I am owed—"

There was a muffled sound accompanied by a strange hiss of air, and Rued stumbled on his feet, face twisting in pain. He released Oswald, who fell to the ground. An arrow was embedded in Rued's shoulder.

Across the platform, bow in hand, was Eivor. Sýnin swooped from above, landing on her shoulder as she tossed her bow aside, taking out her axe and shield. Again, Oswald could hear shocked murmurs going through Rued's men. The Geat warlord himself seemed to stumble on his feet at the sight of her majesty. Oswald knew a powerful omen when he saw one.

"The High King of your gods," he said, loudly enough so all would hear, "here in mortal flesh to judge your worth as a warrior, Rued. Will you be found lacking, I wonder?"

With a shriek of rage, Rued struck Oswald across the mouth. "Silence, slave! SILENCE!"

"OSWALD!" Eivor screamed, rushing toward them.

Two men ran to meet her with bared steel; the first she bashed with her shield, sending him flying. She parried the second's blade with a wide swipe of her axe, then kicked him in the chest. More raiders surrounded her—far too many of them, Oswald thought with horror.

"Let her come to me!" Rued shouted. He ripped the arrow from his shoulder, before marching toward Eivor, sword at the ready. "I want this bitch to die by my blade!"

Eivor rolled her shoulders, straightening her spine to her full height. "I accept your challenge," she said, with unusual gravitas.

"Is that what you truly want?" Rued jeered. "Two Danes, fighting over a filthy Saxon whoreson like two mutts over a half-rotten scrap of meat? If this swine is your prize, come and get him!"

Another roll of thunder crashed through the clouds as the two warriors' blades clashed. A bolt of lightning illuminated their faces: Rued, twisted in near inhuman rage, and Eivor, calm and still as a lake in winter. Axe against sword, skill against brute strength, righteous anger against feral madness—Oswald expected that Norse sagas were made of such moments.

As the two were lost in their fight, Oswald crawled away, searching for a weapon. Not far away, a group of fighters were struggling to climb the steps leading to the platform. Oswald saw the figure at their front, and his breath caught in his throat. It was a dark-haired shieldmaiden bearing a blue and gold shield. For a brief moment, she turned to face him. Oswald's heart fluttered as he beheld the glorious sight she made.

"V-Valdis," he managed, "you're here, you're…"

She whirled on her feet, just in time to block an incoming attack with her shield. Her opponent never had the time to launch another offensive. Brothir erupted from behind him, burying his axe between the man's shoulder blades.

The dead raider toppled near Oswald, who crawled to take the man's discarded sword. He pushed himself off the ground with the blade, rising on unsteady feet. Valdis looked at him in shock.

"W-Well," Oswald explained, "if I have to die, I would prefer to be standing on my own two feet, you see?"

He heard a bark of laughter; Broder had joined his two siblings, it seemed.

"What is this?" the man exclaimed. "You're starting to sound like a Dane!"

Valdis placed herself in front of Oswald. "Stay behind me. I will protect you."

She had seemed so fierce when saying these words—looking more like a warrior goddess from an ancient legend than a woman of flesh and blood. Oswald stared at her with his mouth open, finding it impossible to tear his gaze away.

Valdis swung her axe to his right, cutting down a raider Oswald had not seen. "Remain focused, Oswald!" she said. "This is not the time to be gaping like an idiot!"

"Yes, of course," Oswald said, meekly. By God, what a vision she was!

He remained by Valdis's side as she led the rest of the men up the stairs. Night began to yield to day; soon enough, Rued's men were broken, scattering in the face of the fyrd's fury. By then, only two fighters were still exchanging blows: Eivor and Rued.

The Geat warlord was in a pitiful state, drenched in sweat and wavering on his feet. "Why?" he snarled at Eivor. "Why does a Dane fight tooth and nail for a Saxon? This Saxon of all?"

"He has in abundance that which you do not," Eivor answered. She was bloodied and panting as well, though she retained all of her dignity, unlike the foul scum facing her. "He is fit to rule, fit to lead. You are naught but a murderous plunderer."

With another shout of rage, Rued launched himself at her. Oswald's heart lurched as the man's great sword sped toward her head. Eivor deflected it with her shield; he could see her gritting her teeth at the effort. She was faltering.

"Eivor!" Oswald cried. "You can't give up, not now!"

"Make an end, Wolf-Kissed!" Broder added. "Rid us of that wretched cur once and for all!"

"Wolf-Kissed, Wolf-Kissed, Wolf-Kissed!" his warriors roared beside him. Oswald took up the chant as well, shouting until his voice was hoarse.

Eivor's eyes flashed with unsettling intensity. She cried out, pushing forward with all of her strength. Rued stumbled backward; that was the opening she needed. With another shout, Eivor struck him with her shield.

Rued staggered at the blow, falling to his knees. His sword sank into the ground, though he made no move to grab it. In fact, he was not moving at all. He simply kneeled, eyes empty, blood and sweat dripping from his nose.

Oswald finally felt as if he could breathe again. The rain had stopped; the sun had broken out of the clouds. He was not a superstitious man, but such auspicious omens had to mean something.

The battle had been won. Rued's reign of terror was finally over.

Rued raised a pair of hate-filled eyes toward Eivor. "You'd throw in with these wastrels, these argr swine? For what, a scrap of land and a promise of peace?"

Eivor did not answer. Instead, she lifted her axe, no doubt ready to give the killing blow.

"Eivor, no!" Oswald exclaimed, moving to her side. "He should be tried before God. A lawful assembly."

In response, Rued laughed and laughed. Oswald scowled at him, shaking his head. Again he was filled with contempt for this miserable wretch of a man. Oswald faced Eivor, declaring, "I won't have my reign begin with more blood spilled than is needed."

Something showed in Eivor's eyes—a flash of anger. Yes, Oswald realized, Eivor was furious that he had asked such a thing of her. Of course she was; he'd just stolen from her a glorious kill, shaming her in front of the rest of the warriors. And yet Oswald could not back down, not on this. He could not retract on his word without losing his own honour.

Oswald held on to Eivor's glare. Eventually, her gaze softened, and she put her axe and shield away. "The rightful King of East Anglia has spared your life today," Eivor said, with some bitterness. "And so it will be."

Oswald's shoulders sagged, as if a weight had been lifted off his back. Beside him, Rued roared, lunging toward the two of them. Oswald flinched, but Eivor refused to move, simply folding her arms across her chest. Two men of the fyrd caught Rued before he could reach them. Rued screamed as they dragged him away, struggling to wrestle himself from their grasp.

When finally they could no longer hear the sounds of his rage, Oswald let out the breath he'd been holding. "Thank you," he told Eivor. "Compassion is a virtue suited for anyone, Eivor. Including you. Thank you for heeding me. I know the worth of such a gesture."

She considered him for a moment, before saying, "Saxon and Dane. We fought well, side by side."

Oswald briefly returned her smile. Then, his expression grew grim. "Still, if there is to be a future for both our kind in this land, people like you and I will have to change the most to live with it. Even if that makes us... uneasy."

"When you are crowned king," Eivor said levelly, "the laws of this land will be yours to decide."

Oswald felt a dull thud in the pit of his stomach, remembering the first conversation they'd shared.

A minor weight to bear, isn't it?

Who else if not a king should bear it?

And bear it, he would. Oswald owed it to all the brave men and women who had lost their lives today. He sighed once more, limping to the edge of the platform. Already, the men and women of the Boar clan were tearing down Rued's banners, replacing them with the blue and gold emblem that was now so familiar to Oswald's eyes. He could not fail to notice the large number of corpses littering the courtyard. How many people had died this night? Oswald was almost afraid to find out.

"All of this is like…" he said, as Eivor took place beside him, "like a dream…"

"But you are not asleep," Eivor said, sounding a tad amused.

Out the corner of his eye, Oswald noticed that Finnr and Valdis were approaching. The old man seemed to have a new spring in his step, and Valdis…

Valdis was smiling.

"Well fought, well fought!" Finnr said, clapping Oswald on his shoulder and startling him; he'd been sorely focused on Valdis's lovely face. "All of you!"

"You came as well, old friend?" Oswald said, with a baffled smile.

"If I had known you were still alive," Finnr said, with feigned gruffness, "I would have stayed in Northwic."

"Look around you!" Eivor exclaimed. "A happy occasion. And a glorious victory."

"Indeed," Oswald agreed. He took a deep breath before turning to Valdis. She was still smiling. "And soon, something grander to take place. Our wedding, my love…" Valdis's eyes widened a little, and more heat bloomed in Oswald's cheeks; those two words had slipped out of his mouth all on their own... "If you will still have me, that is."

Valdis's smile was replaced by a frown. "And why would I not?"

"I fought poorly," Oswald said hurriedly, "I melted under the heat and anger of that brute. And I never—"

Valdis put a hand at the nape of his neck. "Oswald, stop. You fought. With all your heart and soul. That is all you need ever do."

For a moment, Oswald was unable to meet her gaze. He was acutely aware of the feather-light touch of her fingers on his bare skin—and how scruffy he must have looked to her eyes, with his filthy hair and ragged clothes. Still, he managed a slight smile, eventually finding her gaze. "Come, then. We have much to prepare for."

Valdis returned his smile, leading him away from Eivor and Finnr. He was glad for her help; his legs felt so weak he was surprised they could support his weight. She guided him to a tent, where he was forced to sit and strip out of his garments so a healer could tend to his wounds and set his arm into a splint. To Oswald's great relief, Valdis left before he could be too indecent.

Still, once Oswald had cleaned up and eaten a little, Valdis returned. She exchanged a few words with the healer before he left the tent, then approached Oswald's cot. As he hurried to find something to cover his bare chest, she rolled her eyes.

"Are we not to be wed soon?" Valdis said. "Will you come to the marriage bed fully clothed? Is that how it is with Christians?"

"No," Oswald croaked, still unwilling to meet her eyes. "Certainly not."

Valdis moved to sit on the edge of his cot. "Good."

Oswald chuckled, shaking his head. She frowned at him.

"You're always so pragmatic," he told her. "It's something I admire, in truth. I tend to lose myself in my worries, as you might have noticed." He was glad to see her frown easing. "You wished to speak with me, Valdis? Is something the matter?"

"No. I simply wanted to see how you were faring."

She'd spoken with practised indifference, yet Oswald could hear something else in her voice. Concern, he realized with surprise. She had genuinely been worried for him. Again he remembered how she'd screamed when Rued had been dangling him over that castle wall. How her brothers had to drag her away so she wouldn't rush to his aid. Oswald smiled, touched in a way he could not quite properly express in words.

"I am well," he answered, once again feeling like he'd stepped into a dream. Valdis had led the people of Elmenham to fight in his name. She still wanted to marry him despite the shame of his loss to Rued. She had grown to truly care for him—or, at least, he entertained the boyish hope that she had. "After all, I am not lying in a cage, awaiting certain death." Oswald bounced his eyebrows, hoping to inject some levity into the conversation. "Not to mention, I am in quite better company."

This time, Valdis could not suppress her smile. "Then, your wounds…"

"…do not bother me so much, really." It was absolutely a lie; Oswald still felt like someone had cut a mad jig over his chest. But he did enjoy that smile and did not want it to disappear. "I'll heal in time to perform my duties as your groom, do not worry."

Valdis raised her eyebrows. It took Oswald some time to realize that his words could be interpreted in a different manner than he had intended. He blushed to the tip of his ears.

"Are you…" he began, "are you angry that I stopped Eivor from killing Rued?"

"No," she said, sounding surprised. "I'm simply glad that we have won the battle. And… and I'm relieved that you are…" Valdis shook her head, looking away. "Rued's fate was the farthest thing on my mind."

"I see," Oswald said. She was averting her eyes, which was unusual. "I'm happy that we prevailed as well. And I am ever thankful to God that you were not hurt during the battle."

She finally met his gaze. "I've kept it," she said, rather abruptly. "I've brought it with me, even."

Oswald blinked a few times. "Kept what?"

"The handkerchief you gave me. With the embroidered flowers. I've carried it with me to battle." Valdis patted the pouch hanging from her neck, right above her heart.

"The handkerchief…" Oswald said in half a whisper, suddenly remembering. That dreadful dinner. The brawl between Eivor and the brothers. And more importantly, the smile on Valdis's face, the very first one Oswald had seen on her lips. "I'd almost forgotten it. I've had a lady in town make it for you. My grandfather gave a handkerchief much like this one to my grandmother. One that she passed to my father, who offered it as a bridal gift to my mother."

"So it's something of a family tradition," Valdis replied. "The gesture is even more thoughtful now that I know how significant it is."

"Ah, well..." Oswald hesitated, feeling overwhelmed and thrilled all at once. His heart was beating so fast. He was seized by the idiotic fear that she might be hearing it; she was sitting awfully close… "I'm glad you were touched by it."

"It's strange," she said. "We are strangers to each other, and yet when we believed you dead… I felt grief. I was mourning something I had never experienced. Someone I barely knew."

Oswald did not know how to respond to such a heartfelt confession. "I'm sorry," was all he could blurt out.

"Again with the unneeded apologies…"

Valdis's hand had gone to his cheek. Oswald leaned into her touch, suddenly unable to do anything but stare into her eyes. She was still smiling. Oswald tried to say her name, but neither his brain nor his mouth were cooperating. Valdis caressed his cheek. She brought her face close, and then… then, she was kissing him.

His pain, his fears, his insecurities—all seemed to fade away as he felt the gentle pressure of her lips on his mouth. Oswald closed his eyes with a shiver, reaching for her as well. He stroked her hair, and Valdis let out a soft, sweet sigh in response. She ran her hands along his back, making his bare skin prickle with goosebumps. Aethelred had been wrong; she was not ice, she was fire incarnate. She was a warm hearth in winter, she was a candle chasing away the darkness, oh, she was a taste of sunlight.

Eventually, they broke off the kiss to rest their foreheads together. "That was…" Oswald said breathlessly, "that was better than anything I've ever imagined…"

"You've imagined kissing me?" she replied, voice laced with amusement.

"At the risk of sounding rather pathetic, I have," Oswald said. "It seems my wildest dreams pale in comparison to the real thing."

"Hm," she simply said, moving to capture his mouth again.

Oswald leaned forward, hoping to feel more of the warmth of her body, only to stop, hissing out in pain. Valdis frowned in concern.

"It's… it's all right," Oswald told her. "I don't think my ribs agreed with my enthusiasm…"

To his great horror, Valdis pulled away. "I should let you rest, then." She stood up to leave.

"No!" Oswald protested, prompting her to look at him in surprise. "Don't go, Valdis. Stay, please, stay." He licked dry lips before adding, "Would you… would you lie in bed with me?"

Valdis looked at him with her eyebrows raised.

"No, no!" Oswald stammered. "Not in that way. It's simply…" He dropped his voice a bit. "Now that I've tasted your lips and held you in my arms, I've no desire to be parted from you. I'll sleep better if you are near…"

Valdis continued to stare at him and—wait, was that a blush on her cheeks? No, it couldn't be, Oswald's mind was surely playing tricks on him.

"All right, then." She began to strip out of her leathers, and Oswald hurriedly looked away. Thankfully, she did not tease him for his prudishness. Now clad in a simple tunic, she lay next to him, coming close enough that he could feel her warmth.

Oswald breathed in, deeply. Sensing his nervousness, Valdis kissed his cheek, before carefully wrapping her arms around him. As she nestled her head in the crook of his shoulder, Oswald felt his tensions easing away. He could not remember the last time he'd been comforted in such a manner; if he had not been so bone tired, he surely would have started to weep. Beside him, Valdis let out a sound, something like a soft, shuddering sob. When was the last time she had been comforted, Oswald wondered? He put his hand over hers, drawing circles on her skin with his thumb.

Not long after, the two of them were sleeping soundly.