Warning: Graphic descriptions of battle, gore, and character death.
Disclaimer: I do not own One Piece or the characters, they belong to Eiichiro Oda.
The Spirits of Fate
Nami was given little time to sink into her worries once the men left. After she finished her meal that first morning, she was hauled away by Kalifa to continue the training they started in Álasund. Gunda returned while she went through Glíma drills, practicing close, weaponless combat in the hopes it would round out her defensive skills. Kalifa had noticed during their fight that her speed and agility, and her utilization of escapes, would make the additional skill more useful to her. Arlong hadn't trained her much in hand-to-hand fighting, he didn't think someone as small as her would stack up against his men well enough to make the training worthwhile. She'd only end up hurt more than axe and spear training left her.
The exercise was exhausting, though Kalifa didn't push her nearly as hard as she had before. She couldn't be too sore if they went into battle, but her body needed to learn how to ignore the aches and pains. Every day it was becoming a little easier, her body adjusting, so she didn't complain too much over the newest bruises she earned.
When she wasn't training, she was keeping the men entertained. They were itching for a fight, filled with envy for those chosen to help in the raid. They needed distraction as much as she did, so she happily took Finn's suggestion and told the men whatever stories she could think up as they sat around their fires.
The first night, at Finn's request, she told of Freyr and the magic sword he gave away to earn the hand of his wife, the giantess Gerth he had fallen madly in love with at first sight. She told of how, even lacking the sword said to fight on its own, Freyr was still able to slay the giant Beli with but a single antler. She told them of Alfheim and the realm of the light elves that Freyr had been gifted in his infancy. She told of his ship that always found a favorable wind, and could be folded up and carried in a pouch. And she told of how he was fated to die battling the fire giant Surt in Ragnarok.
The next night Hróarr took up the task of storyteller to tell the tale of Fenrir's binding. The great wolf that was Loki's son had been bound in magical chains crafted by the dwarves. Because of his strength and ferocity, he was only contained through a trick. The gods wagered that they could find something he couldn't break through, while Fenrir remained confident that nothing in existence could hold him. After breaking through two attempts, he became suspicious of the third, the dwarves' chain giving him pause. He refused to continue unless one of the gods put their hand in his mouth, a sign of good faith that they would release him should he not break free on his own. And when he failed to shatter his fetters, and the gods refused to release him, he bit off Tyr's hand before he was secured to a boulder, forced to remain, howling and thrashing, his slaver flowing into a foamy river called Ván, until Ragnarok when he finally broke free to signal the end of their world.
The third night the men demanded more of Fenrir's tale, this time the story of how he would fall to Odin's son, Vidar. In the great battle, he would fall upon the wolf to avenge his father's death, wearing shoes specially crafted for this fate so that he could kick the wolf's jaws open and slice his mouth apart until the wolf died. Vidar was to be known as the slayer of the great wolf, the one who brought an end to his maddened rampage.
And when she wasn't telling stories, or listening to them, Heat stole her away to tutor her as best he could in the use of her magic. Without anyone better to help her, she decided to take a risk and share more of her story with the healer. He had been the first to notice the binding spell within her tattoo, had known the story of her false clan and even guessed that there were lies in the tale. He had understood the reason for her amber and gold bracelets, and she was certain he was close to guessing her lineage with just that alone.
They sat away from camp, speaking in hushed tones about her conversation with Kokoro and the hints she gave about Nami's abilities, and Heat came to a decision. She needed to embrace everything she was already capable of, utilize the tricks she had practiced for so long. They were truly a part of her, as much one of her senses as hearing or seeing or smelling. She needed to open her mind to all that the world of magic had to offer, something he regrettably was not as capable of helping her with as he wished, but he would help where he could.
That first night, after she told her stories, the healer asked her to walk with him to the beach, claiming that he wished to check the boats. While their own men knew of her visions, they still had to do their best not to rouse too much suspicion among Jarl Iceburg's men. Gunda kept Kalifa and the other shieldmaidens distracted for them, while Hróarr and Finn took up guard along the path to the ships.
At the beach, Heat handed her a stick and told her to draw all twenty-four runes in the sand and clearly state the name of each one. She honestly felt like a child again. Her village's healer, Nako, would sit with her for hours when she was younger and teach her every rune with his set of carved stones.
Runes were used in two ways. More simply, they were letters, symbols representing their spoken language. They were carved into wood and stone in their basic forms as linear inscriptions. Most Northmen only used them in such a way to lay claim of land, inscribed their name or their family's name onto a piece of property – a sword, a house, a farm, a cask of honey wine. Some would write poems with runes, tales of their gods and kings and heroes, inscribed into temple pillars and stone tablets.
The second use for them, and the one most pertinent to Nami's growth, was their use in magic and divination. While she knew the names of each rune, the meaning instilled into each symbol beyond the sound they were attributed to, she was sadly lacking in any education in their mystical properties beyond the simplest or most widely known staves, such as the sleep thorn Heat had crafted for her weeks before.
Each individual rune represented something. A god. A giant. A piece of nature. An element. An emotion. A condition. They were said to be sacred magic, gifted to mortals by Odin after he sacrificed himself on Yggdrasil to learn their secrets. They held wisdom far beyond what sounds they might spell out. They could foretell storms, or stave them off. They could bring blessings, or dark omens. They could protect, or they could curse. The runes could be joined together, woven into staves, some simple, some elaborate, but each imbued with their own magical properties dependent upon the one who crafted it. Some sigils were commonplace, others unique to a clan or creator, their meaning lost to those unable to translate the intricate designs.
Once she drew out and named each rune, Heat took her stick, pointed to each rune in turn, and asked her what they symbolized. Nako hadn't taught her as much about the mystical properties of the runes. He was a healer, not a sorcerer, he had no use for such magic. Instead it was Arlong who had taken up those teachings when he took her into the household he stole from her jarl. He said she might one day need to know them, though he had never seemed quite as serious about those lessons. She supposed he was only keeping up appearances. Her usefulness to him had less to do with her magic than he had led her, and even his brothers, to believe.
When Heat was satisfied with what she knew, he grunted quietly and brushed away all the runes she had drawn out. He then took her wrist and led her to the water, until the chilly tide lapped at her leather boots. With a small tug, he ordered her to kneel in the water, ignoring her skeptical and confused look as he wandered off toward a pile of driftwood littering the beach nearby. She didn't immediately do as told, not until he returned to glower at her with a stern frown. Sighing, she sank down and winced at the water soaking through her wool trousers. She wasn't sure what he was planning, but she hoped it was at least a little helpful to make the sogginess worthwhile.
"What do you feel when out at sea?" he asked while he pulled out a knife to carve into a small chunk of the driftwood he collected.
She furrowed her brows at that question. What did she feel? She felt all sorts of things that she was rapidly realizing few others did.
"When the storms came, you said the wind had changed," Heat prompted that first night. "All sailors have felt the gale that comes with a storm, but none feel it as soon as you do. What do you sense in those early moments that others do not? Focus on those senses." He tossed the driftwood down to her lap, gesturing at the rune he carved into it. "And focus on the meaning of that rune tonight. Weave it into your unconscious sense of the weather. Feel it in every breeze. Smell it in the salt. Listen to it in the waves. Tomorrow night we will do the same with a different rune until their magic is woven with the magic of the sea you inherited from Njord."
She scowled down at the damp piece of wood and the ansuz rune carved onto it. She thought on why he picked that rune as the first for her to meditate on. It was a rune connected to the gods, Odin above all. It symbolized wisdom, inspiration, communication, and a link to one's ancestral line. It would open a channel to her own abilities, and hopefully encourage her to unlock the magic still trapped within and out of reach.
"If this is meant to connect me to Njord, then this should be on gold," she huffed. "He was a god of wealth, too."
Heat lightly smacked the top of her head with the stick. "Do not confuse your ancestral great-grandfather with your mother or grandmother. He is a god of the sea and seafaring, and the wealth attained from the seas, not material wealth like gold and treasure. And it is his gifts that have been in your grasp the longest. Strengthen what you know, and you might find the rest become more attainable." He turned away from her. "Sit, meditate, commune with the gods, with Njord, and feel what you do while at sea. I will fetch you in an hour."
She huffed and grumbled as he walked away, leaving her to sit in wet, sinking sand while the ocean pulled at her legs. She knew that she should take his suggested teachings seriously. It was all she had to work with, after all. It was her only hope of controlling her visions and possibly altering their course.
Altering their course. When that thought came to her, she sat a little straighter, staring wide-eyed at the ocean. It was just as she would do to avoid the worst of a storm. Her senses told her which way to turn. Her instincts told her what to do so they might weather a storm they couldn't completely avoid. She might not be able to stop the storm entirely, but she could lessen the impact by changing their course, and finding a new way to get where they needed to be.
It was just like navigating, and when she thought of it that way, she felt excitement bubble up within her, filling her with energy and determination.
So, that first night she sat, staring out over the darkening horizon, and focused on all her senses. She breathed in the briny scent of the sea, mixed with the musk of the driftwood in her hands. She felt the gentle lapping of the water against her knees, the shifting sand beneath her legs, the breeze rustling the sails of their ships nearby. A low haze sat far off the shore. She felt no storm in the air, but there was pressure, a dampness that hung a little heavier with each passing minute. They would wake to fog again, but it would burn away quickly.
She shut her eyes to the sound of gulls, and listened to the groans of their ships' hulls as the sea rocked them against the shore. She heard the gust build far out over the waves and the air above her. It rustled the very top leaves of the trees first, then grew louder until the sails snapped and what hair she left unbound flew about her face. The heavy wind vanished as quickly as it came and the world around her settled peacefully once more.
Her fingers danced over the uneven edges of the carved rune, a mark symbolizing their ancestral gods, the wisdom of Odin. He seemed to have a hand in the path she was set on now. He had been the one Freyja sought for counsel, the one who suggested the clan her family was hidden within, and the one who sent valkyries to choose her family's shieldmaidens. And now it was his warriors she relied on. They were the ones who offered her not only protection, but guidance and companionship she had lacked for so many years.
The wind blew through her hair like fingers combing out errant locks. She could almost feel the comforting tickle of fingertips grazing her scalp. It reminded her of the nights when Bellemere would comb her hair, humming quietly as she smoothed out the tangled strands. When she and Nojiko would run over the hills around the village or play in the river, their hair always turned into a nest of knots. Their mother had to spend nearly every night combing out their hair. Nami once thought the task might bore her, or be too tiresome to do, but Bellemere said it was as relaxing for her as it was for the girls.
She breathed in deeply as the fond memory filled her with the same peace she knew those nights long past. The wind continued to play through her hair, letting the moment of serenity remain and gently lull her into a daze.
"Who are the valkyries?" she heard a youthful voice ask upon the wind. It wasn't her own, though it was painfully familiar. Nojiko was far away, and no longer the child the voice belonged to, but Nami remembered the night her sister asked the question. Bellemere had been combing Nojiko's hair, long done with Nami's. She had been curled up in their bed, sleep about to claim her when her sister made her innocent query.
How old were they then? She couldn't have been more than eight, well before Bellemere had told them the truth of their home and the valkyries sworn to protect her.
Bellemere had chuckled at the question while working at a knot with her comb. "They're the female spirits that pick from the battlefield's slain, seeing half off to Odin in Valhol, while the other half are sent to Freyja. You already know this, though. Why are you asking?"
Nojiko scowled, tilting her head back to glower at their mother. It was so rare for her to give their mother such a frustrated look that it made the woman pause in her combing. "I know what valkyrie are. I was asking who they are," she explained. "Were these spirits shieldmaidens in life? Were they daughters of the gods?"
Bellemere frowned pensively and then returned to her task. "There are names given for many, such as Brynhildr. Some are said to be shieldmaidens, others the daughters of royalty. But not much is known of who they were in the mortal realm, and when they visit the dead on the battlefield, they are often shrouded and indistinguishable."
"Are they pretty?" Nami chimed in sleepily.
Bellemere laughed while Nojiko huffed and rolled her eyes.
"I'm being serious, Nami," scolded Nojiko. "Who cares if they're pretty?"
"I do," she huffed, sticking her tongue out at her sister. "I want a pretty one to take me to Valhol."
"You would have to die in battle, and you might not go to Valhol, either," Nojiko pointed out. "You might be taken to Fólkvangr."
Nami scowled in thought until she remembered the goddess who oversaw the field. She perked up immediately. "Freyja's there and Freyja has gold. And she's pretty. I'd be glad to go there."
"Still have to die in battle," Nojiko sighed.
Bellemere continued to laugh at the tangent. "Well, at least you have to die honorably," she explained once her mirth subsided. "But to answer your question, Nami, there are tales of valkyries more beautiful than any woman in Midgard. And there are tales of valkyries shrouded in darkness and malevolence, a terror for any that may look upon her. But all of them are strong, are warriors in their own right. Many are said to run amok on the battlefield, creating chaos and fueling the war so Odin might reap the best warriors for his hall."
"So how do you become a valkyrie?" Nojiko asked next. "If there are stories that say they were shieldmaidens or royalty, then how did they become valkyries?"
Bellemere hummed at that question. "I suppose they were picked for the task when they died, just as the warriors are chosen to fight for Odin at Ragnarok."
"But why were they picked? Were they the best fighters? Did they practice seidr? Did they make the most sacrifices?" Nojiko's questions came out in a flurry that stunned their mother. She had been so curious, so adamant of learning the answers, that Nami wondered the reason as she thought back on that night. Nojiko had always been calm, more mature than even the woman that took them in. Bellemere once said that her sister held a spirit wiser than her years, aged by circumstance and need.
When the relentless questions stopped, Bellemere sighed and tugged at another knot in Nojiko's hair. The force made the girl wince as the comb's teeth snagged on the knot. "Every person has their strengths and weaknesses. I don't know what the strengths of those chosen are, but I can say that if you seek to be such a spirit, then you need to be the best version of yourself you can be. A great warrior is not only strong of body. They are also strong of mind and strong of heart. Some have more skilled minds, are talented tacticians to make up for a lack in brute strength. Some have hearts filled with love or loyalty or determination, striving through all obstacles, even when the odds stand against them. If you wish to be honored by the gods after death, then sharpen all three parts of yourself, for a great person cannot prosper with only one." She smiled wistfully. "Body, mind, and spirit. You fight with everything you have and nothing less than that."
Nami opened her eyes and let out a long breath. Kid's words before he left camp had echoed Bellemere's own. She had to fight, she had to get stronger however she could. She would not fail.
Free of her trance and memories, Nami took notice of the man calmly sitting beside her. Heat had returned without her being aware, and when she asked how long he had been waiting, he merely shrugged. She hadn't responded to his initial calls, so he chose to sit with her rather than break her concentration.
He said her smile was one he had only seen her wear while she slept in his hut under the sleep thorn's magic. He didn't want to force her from something that made her so happy.
After that first night, they agreed that her meditation should become routine, so they continued it the next night. Heat chose sowilo as the rune for her that night, saying the sun suited her well, and once again carved it into driftwood.
Her mind carried her to days lounging in a longship, soaking in the warm sun as she listened to the oars splash in the water. It was such a vague memory, but still it brought her peace. She remembered a trip to Hedeby with Genzo, when she had been able to relax on the ship, reclining over his chest until the wind shifted and she gave a lazy suggestion that they turn eastward so their sails might fill better. She had never been so calm while voyaging with Arlong. She would never dare let her guard down around him or his men. The tension remained even while sailing with Kid, it was ingrained in her after so many years. But she had been able to find peace aboard his ship, even if it was in the middle of a storm. She knew she was safer with him than with Arlong.
The third night was strange. Nami felt a restlessness she hadn't felt before as they made their way to the shore. A nervous shiver seemed to play along her spine, one filled with ill omen. It reminded her of the sensation that came before a storm, the odd charge in the air that made the hairs on her arm stand straight. But as she stood on the beach, staring off at the sea, she felt no shift in the wind, no extra moisture in the air. There was no storm, yet the unease remained.
Heat gave her eihwaz carved into the driftwood and she did her best to shake off the anxious feeling. This rune held more meaning to her after her dream of Yggdrasil and the Norns sitting on her back in judgement. As she focused on the tide lapping at her knees, she conjured images of the great tree until the salty smell of the sea fell away and was replaced with the scent of centuries old rain.
Her meditation that night led her back into the dreamlike world beneath the tree. As she shut her eyes to the sea before her, she opened her mind to the vision of Yggdrasil and the incomprehensible runes carved on its trunk. When she woke in that other realm, she no longer sat upon the roots. She found herself lounging upon a thick branch, the fresh water wells far below. The old scent of the yew filled her senses and she breathed in deep to savor the heady aroma of the evergreen.
She stared up at the carvings on the trunk and calmly picked out the most familiar, reminding herself that the language was ancient and not as straightforward as it appeared. The runes she had once deciphered as blood and death were given more context. They did not all refer to the end of life, but the end of a journey, the death of a monster, the blood shared between kin. The stories written upon the trees were poetic in nature, filled with kennings that required more consideration rather than taken at face value.
As she studied the writings, she felt the ancient rain drip down on her brow and lips and nose. One fell upon her eye and she realized that where she sat was still far below the very top of the tree. The rain falling on her had hit those branches ages ago, far before she had been born. Perhaps even before her clan came into existence. Each drop fell upon millions of leaves and branches before finally finding their way to her. There was so much history behind her, and far more ahead of her.
A whole tree with branches reaching into times and worlds she would never live to see.
The Norns were there. She could feel their breath upon her neck and cheeks. She heard a bemused hum, curious and expectant. They said nothing to her this time. They merely watched and waited, anticipation filling the air around them.
Thunder crackled loud above her. The tree quaked so fiercely, she had to cling to her branch to keep from falling. The calm she had found in the boughs left her as lightning flashed through the leaves and the air turned bitter cold. She let out a ragged breath that turned to fog before her. She watched, stunned, as it swirled and grew dense, surrounding her until she could no longer see the tree trunk she had been studying. Thunder shook the tree again, a booming roar that deafened her and made her slip from her perch.
She crashed down through the branches. Pain lanced through her shoulder when she hit the roots. Her cry was drowned when she fell into the water.
She clawed for the surface as panic consumed her, but the surface seemed far out of her reach and growing farther every second. When her last breath rushed out in a gasp, she opened her eyes to what she feared was her watery grave.
She found herself standing upon a misty field and fell to her knees as she drew in a desperate breath. The air was rancid, a putrid smell that made her stomach flip and boil with vomit. She fought against the nausea to take in another breath and found smoke filling her lungs. That was when she realized it wasn't mist that shrouded the field.
Their tents glowed with brilliant flames. The grey mist turned black each time the fire found new kindling. Everything was silent around her. She couldn't hear the ocean. Nor the rain. No dogs howling. No wolves crying. All she could see was fire and mud…
And a shrouded figure standing amidst a field of corpses.
The buzz of a fly filled her ears, the only sound in that world. She blinked and when she opened her eyes the figure was standing before her, towering over her as she sat on her knees. Their face was shadowed by their hood. The shadows within the hood seemed to move and flow as they bent down. A hand dripping with black blood reached for her. The buzzing grew louder and louder, deafening her to all else.
The figure inhaled a raspy breath as their hand brushed over her hair. Their exhale came, as noxious as the death around them. And then the darkness broke free of the shroud, bursting into a thousand black flies with a thousand black eyes that swallowed her whole.
She jolted from the vision as abruptly as she had fallen into it. The buzzing silence fell away at the sound of her scream. A hand clamped over her mouth to silence her. An arm held fast around her shoulders. Heat held her tight, even as she fought and thrashed against him. She tossed the driftwood rune away and attempted to scramble from the water. Heat helped pull her onto shore as her screams gave way to muffled sobs.
He held her as she shivered uncontrollably, wishing it were Kid's fur cloak wrapped around her, not the healer's arms. She felt vulnerable, naked. Her heart ached as though it were flayed within her chest. Pain seared her scarred shoulder, just as it had the last time she dreamt of Yggdrasil.
Nami feared to shut her eyes lest she find herself in that world of death again, but as she willed her heart to stop racing, she forced her eyes to close while drawing in deep breaths of clean air. The sea had never smelled so sweet to her. She greedily inhaled the scents until she fell limp in Heat's arms.
"What did you see?" he quietly asked once the panic subsided.
Her lip quivered. There was only one thing her vision meant. "Death has come for us all."
The mad monk had gathered his troops with haste. Dumah's message had come two days late. There were no assurances that the heathens would still be at their camp in another two days' time.
Urouge led his men on a march through the night and the next day. He only allowed them to stop for brief respites until well after the sun vanished on the horizon again. He stopped that night at the shrouded monk's behest. The man waved his hand, signaling he halt, then hastily pulled out a small roll of parchment. He had to squint and scowl at the black ink, angling it to catch some light from the moon to make out the new message.
They were not far now, it said. Less than a day's march. Urouge was uncertain, so he sent three of his knights off to scout ahead, advising that they be wary of the Northmen's guards, while he allowed the others to rest and prepare a camp.
As he sat by the fire, fingering a string of prayer beads, he carefully watched his silent companion settle far from the others. He was steeped in darkness beneath a tree, his head down and hands tucked within the billowing sleeves of his robes, hunched around a long, knotted walking-staff he had acquired before they left. If Urouge had not been watching him, he would have lost him in the shadows entirely.
He did not trust this monk. The name he gave was from Hebrew lore, one more familiar to those who had studied all the Bible's teachings, old and new, and read the stories of the angels and demons that visited their world. To take such a name, by choice, promised ill omens to all who came upon him.
"Monk," he called, grinning at the man when he caught his robes' movements. He waved for the monk to join him by the fire and waited until he got settled on the ground beside him. Even without seeing his face, Urouge could tell the man was only sitting there grudgingly. His amble was slow and stubborn, and when he sat his shoulders slouched. He tilted his head up and Urouge could feel the weight of a glare on him. He brushed it off and held out his skin of wine. "Have some," he offered. "You must be parched."
The monk shook his head and waved the offer off. Urouge laughed, then gestured toward the meager rations he brought. Dried meats and a loaf of bread. A pot hung over the fire filled with an onion and cabbage stew.
"Then eat, at least," he suggested. "The bread is stale, but the broth will soften it nicely."
Again, the monk shook his head before moving as though to leave. Urouge halted him with a raised hand.
"Stay," he ordered with a grin that didn't waver when he once more felt the weight of a glare escape the darkness of the monk's shroud. "What more can you say of this woman you seek?" he asked, prompting the man to relax with the barest sound of a sigh escaping him. He remained silent, and Urouge laughed. "I suppose you can't say anything, but that does not change my curiosity. If this woman be an angel upon our earth, as you claim her to be, then what are your intentions for her? Do you wish her ill?"
The monk shook his head in answer.
"If you are truly a devout monk, then you obviously cannot wed her," Urouge mused. "But I still feel the need to ask. Do you mean to make her your bride?"
This time the monk's shoulders shook with a silent laugh. He shook his head once his mirth passed.
Urouge hummed in thought. "You do not wish her ill. Do not wish to wed her. I doubt your intentions are of a carnal nature." He heard a vague snort escape the hood, but the monk said nothing. "Do you mean to take her into your monastery? To protect her from these heathens? Possibly give her to a convent so she may be close to the Lord Father through prayer and devotion?"
That question gave the monk pause. His head tilted to the side, considering. No answer was forthcoming, though.
The interrogation was interrupted by the clomp of horses' hooves in the distance. Urouge stood when he heard his men hail the camp and turned to greet them with a grin.
"What news do you bring of the heathen camp?" he asked as his steward dismounted before him.
"They are still there, just as the monk Dumah claimed," he said.
"What of the woman with amber hair? Did you see her among the heathens?"
His man frowned but gave a curt nod. "We saw her, but briefly and from a distance. One of the heathens was carrying her from the beach. She appeared unwell and distraught and pretended to sleep when some of the women gathered around them before they disappeared into one of the tents."
The silent monk stood from his place by the fire as they spoke, and vanished back into the shadows beneath a tree. Urouge watched him settle against the trunk, curling around his staff. His head bowed, as though intending to sleep, but Urouge doubted the man had any such intentions. He was watching them from a distance. He was not a part of their group, and would not join them any more than necessary. If it were not for the woman he had need of, Urouge knew he would have long ago slipped off into the night. He would remain only until he had the one he sought.
Urouge turned to his men. "Spread this message to all the soldiers – The girl with the amber hair. That is the one we take. These men that have her are no better than wolves. We will hunt them and slay them… But see that no harm comes to the woman. We will take her alive, and preferably unharmed. If she proves not to be what our friend Dumah claims, then we will send her off to join her heathen friends in their hell."
He waved for them to pass the message along, turning back to the fire and his meal. He would need the nourishment and rest for the battle to come.
"We march at dawn's light," he called after his messengers.
Battle could not come soon enough.
Nami slept fitfully that night. Heat had carried her back to camp, ensuing an onslaught of interrogation from the women. Gunda was especially displeased with the state Nami returned in. It took a number of reassurances before she stopped looking at Heat with such a disapproving glare, and even after, Nami still had to whisper one word to Gunda to make her understand.
Her shieldmaiden knew far too well what Nami's visions did to her mind, and she didn't stray from Nami's side for the rest of the night. Except when Nami slipped out, tired and desperate for sleep, and snuck off to the tent where Kid had left his war chest. She didn't have his fur cloak to draw any comfort from, but she found an extra fur blanket to steal off to her bed.
She also helped herself to a spare knife he had tucked within his clothes. It was only a dagger, but she decided the extra weapon brought her more security in the face of death than a blanket.
She returned to her bed to find Gunda awake and frowning deeply. The shieldmaiden sighed when she noticed the fur and waved for Nami to get back to bed. Once Nami was settled, Gunda tucked the fur around her and laid at her side to comb her fingers through her hair. Any other night it would have lulled Nami to sleep, but every time she closed her eyes, she was greeted by the cloaked figure and his flies.
By the morning, her eyes ached for sleep and there was no ignoring the pit of dread in her gut. She wrapped her stolen furs around her shoulders, tucked the dagger into her belt, and wandered off to walk along the edge of their camp's fence.
Just as she dreamed, the morning was filled with fog so dense she could hardly see the trees around the field. The ocean was obscured, but she could still hear the gulls and the occasional clatter of their ships upon the tide.
Unlike her dreams, Kid's men were alert. Some were sharpening their blades, others seeing that their shields were handy. Archers were filling their quivers and checking their bowstrings. The shieldmaidens were following Gunda's lead and doing their own preparations. The other warriors from Álasund did the same, only a few daring to question the sudden unease in the camp.
"You should eat, Lady Nami," Gunda called to her as she walked another pass along the fence, her gaze straining against the fog for some sign of attack. "You will need the sustenance."
Nami scowled before grudgingly joining the shieldmaiden by the fire. She nibbled at a piece of fish, her attention held by the fog and unseen enemies she felt lurking. Her stomach roiled with anxiety, making her meager breakfast sit unpleasantly. She washed it down with water, handed the rest to Finn so he could finish it for her, and went back to her nervous pacing.
As the sun rose higher in the sky and the fog began to burn away, Nami wondered if her visions were false. She would gladly see that the stories she had been told were nothing more than myth and superstition. Even if it meant she was cast off as a fraud, she would rather see their lives spared.
But then she heard the horn.
She was on her way back to her tent to discard Kid's fur when the sound echoed through the trees. She stopped in her tracks. The whole camp came to a halt. It had been a short blast, nothing more, cut off in the middle of what they knew should be a longer bellow. She strained her ears while the men began to snatch up their shields and swords.
It felt like an eternity of silence, a perfect stillness unnatural in their world.
The men formed a wall at the fence. The women fell into formation behind them. A handful came to circle around her, led by Gunda as she tossed Nami her shield and axe. Her shieldmaiden still shoved her to the back of them. She might be armed for battle, but they would fight before her.
The clomp of hooves broke the silence first.
The thrum of a bowstring came next.
One of their own fell back with a shout as an arrow struck him in the arm.
Their shields raised just as the army burst through the trees at the top of hill and chaos fell upon them.
Nami had seen battle more times than she cared to in her life, but she had never taken up arms in one. She was always kept back, protected, forced to watch the slaughter. It was always ugly, no matter which side she was on.
The Saxon army that found them had them outnumbered. Not quite two-to-one, but close enough to make the situation look bleaker than it already did. If caught unawares, those numbers would have brought them a swift defeat, but their readiness gave them some chance.
Heat signaled for the archers to loose their arrows on the enemy bearing down on them. They struck down three men before the army reached the fortified fence around the camp. There four more fell to spears, and another two were struck by arrows in the neck and eye. They lost two of their own men to the enemy's arrows. When the fence fell, Nami couldn't keep track of the battle any longer.
Her instinct told her to flee, but she fought back her fear as their shield wall began to break apart under the Saxon assault. Her shieldmaidens took to the battle when it came upon them, and Nami had no choice but to join. She couldn't just stand there in the middle of carnage and hope to come out unscathed. If she ran from them, she would only earn an arrow in her back. A craven's death. No ancestral blessing would save her from the cold pits of Hel's realm if she abandoned her people. Her friends.
If she wanted to live, if she wanted to save them, then she had to fight.
The world within battle was foreign to her. She could hear people shout and scream, swords and shields clattered all around. It turned into a deafening cacophony as it blurred together and soon she couldn't quite say she heard anything at all. She could only hear the pounding of her heart as she scrambled and fought and tried not to get lost within the sea of warriors and blades threatening to drown her.
Her axe clashed with a sword once. The man drew back as soon as he met her eyes. He raised an alarm, lowering his guard to shout at another man. He was struck down by Gunda's sword as it sliced through his neck. Nami tried to ignore the splatter of blood from the attack, even as it slipped down her nose and cheeks. She managed not to retch at the sight of his lifeless body falling in front of her. She didn't have time to think of it. Another soldier bore down on them, one eye on her, another on the woman loyally remaining at her side.
His sword rang when it tangled with Gunda's. He slashed and countered, knocked her sword free before shoving the woman down. Nami acted without a moment of thought as she watched him arc his blade down, intent on impaling her guard. Her axe met his wrist before it could strike Gunda. He staggered back as Nami slashed again. He clung to his sword to defend, but one hand was useless and bleeding steadily, and his attacks hardly seemed lethal to her.
He stood no chance when Mozu came running in behind him. Her sword pierced through a seam in his armor at his side. He fell to his knees coughing up blood when she drew the sword back out. Nami didn't watch him fall into the mud. She turned to help Gunda back to her feet and shoved her shield into her hands.
Nami had a feeling she would not need a shield in that battle.
Her guard of shieldmaidens became scattered as the battle wore on, but Nami felt no danger for herself. Each Saxon that came near her merely batted at her axe, as though she were no threat to them. They only tried to disarm her. Never once did they come at her with lethal intent. No, any time they found an opening, they made to grab at her. One man got his hand on her wrist, but he was met with an axe to the back of his head, thrown by one of Franky's men. Another man lay dying on the ground, but grabbed at her ankle. His eyes could hardly see, his skin ashen. Yet still she felt remorse as her axe chopped at his wrist to force him to relinquish her.
She had been so focused on survival that she had forgotten about her vision until an arrow flew into her shoulder from behind. Pain lanced through her arm, up her neck, and she fell to her knees clutching at the arrow embedded in her flesh. Her weapon fell into the mud, forgotten in her pain. She cried out when a hand snagged her hair and pulled her back into his grasp. He shouted words she could only guess were in victory. Her eyes widened at the sight of a man on horseback barreling toward them, waving at her and the man who had her captive.
Panic welled inside her as she realized why her battles had seemed so easy.
They didn't mean to kill her. They meant to take her.
She refused to be taken by them. She had no idea what they wanted her for, but she knew it could not be good. She had heard enough stories about her clan to know that any man that desired to capture her did not mean to treat her well.
She fought at the man's grasp. Her left arm was useless with the arrow still in it. Every movement she made caused a shock of pain to lick up her neck. She ignored it as she pulled out her stolen dagger and slammed it into her captor's side with all her might. He shouted and his hold loosened. He staggered back. Blood slicked over her hand as she pulled the dagger out. She spun around, slashed at his face. He fell to the ground in surprise, clutching his wound as he scrambled away from her.
The grunt of a horse was her only warning before a hand grabbed at her injured shoulder. She screamed out as the rider clutched her arm and began to pull her away from the fallen Saxon. She turned to slash at his hand as he tried to tug her up on the horse. The scratch she gave him hardly deterred him, but it did anger him. His boot slammed into her temple and the world spun.
She was too disoriented to think anything of the shout that carried over the fray. The rider's hold on her abruptly vanished and Nami fell to the ground with a groan of pain. The shaft of the arrow snapped off with her fall, but the head remained and sunk deep into her shoulder when it struck the ground.
She stared up at the horse as the world righted and she gasped at the sight of Finn on the flank of the horse, grappling at the rider from behind. Swords clattered as the boy tried to get his blade to the Saxon's throat, only to have it blocked by the soldier's sword. The horse reared and tossed the men off.
"No," Nami gasped as she watched the scene unfold, her body frozen where she sat.
Finn's head struck the ground in the fall, his sword flew from his hand. The rider lost his sword and had to duck before his horse could strike him with a hoof. He scrambled away, grappling through the mud for his weapon. Finn shook his head, trying to clear the shock of his fall.
Nami was wide-eyed, filled with fear and panic when she noticed the rider's hand find the shaft of a broken spear. Finn was recovering still, searching for his sword. He found it at the same time the Saxon's hand enclosed around the spear.
Time seemed to slow to her as she watched the Saxon sit up, spear in hand. Finn grabbed his sword and jumped to his feet. He turned to arc his sword down on his opponent at the same time the Saxon brought the spear up.
Nami heard a scream that filled her ears. She realized it was her own.
She couldn't let her vision come true.
Energy carried through her and she forced herself to move. Grim determination got her to her feet, drove her forward. She crashed into the Saxon's back and wrapped her arm around his. She pulled with every ounce of strength she had, hoping to open his arm, draw the spear's deadly point away from Finn's chest. She feared it wouldn't be enough.
She heard the sickening squelch of flesh being pierced. More blood splattered onto her face, dripped off her brow as she squeezed her eyes shut. She didn't want to see who was victor, fearing the worst.
The Saxon she held grew heavy. Her eyes shot open as she fell to the ground with his weight. She scrambled from the body and stared in shock as Finn yank his blade from the man's gut. He breathed out a heavy sigh and turned to her with a grin. His blue eyes shone bright beneath the mud and blood caking his face, but they were full of life, excited with the victory.
She felt herself grinning, too, even as tears stung her eyes.
Finn laughed as he held out a hand to her. "That was a close one." He took her hand to help her up. "I see I've earned the gods' bless–"
Her victory was short-lived.
She screamed as she saw the sword piercing through his back. The tip of the blade pushed in deeper, until it came out of his stomach, coated with so much blood that the metal turned black.
Finn coughed, clutching his stomach. The sword was yanked out and he stumbled forward. She caught him before he could fall into the mud, tried to hold him on his feet. His breath came out strangled. He choked up more blood, splattered it over her chest. His weight grew too heavy and he fell to his knees, but she stubbornly held onto him, embracing him.
"Finn," she screamed. Her cheeks were wet. She couldn't tell if it was her tears or his blood staining them. "Finn. Stay with me. Please."
He struggled for a breath and lifted his head. She would have sobbed in relief if it didn't sound so strained, filled with a rattle foretelling his death.
"Lady… Nami," he rasped into her ear.
A bloodstained hand came up, shaking with effort. She gasped out a sob as his fingertips grazed over her cheek. He took another breath, so labored and filled with pain that it made her chest ache. His last word made her eyes burn.
"Run."
The warning came a second too late. Her screams came anew as he was wrenched from her arms before a Saxon grabbed her. She kicked and cried out as he dragged her by the arm. He only pulled at her with more force.
He hailed to another man fighting gleefully amidst the chaotic battlefield. Her struggles ceased when she saw him.
If Arlong was a giant, then what was he?
The man was beyond the stature of a giant as he towered over the swarm of Northmen surrounding him. A grin was plastered over his dark features. He didn't look to be exhausted at all as he batted away one Northman after another.
She was surprised to see that they had so many men left. The Saxons' ranks had thinned considerably, but this one man standing above them all was taking on his enemies two and three at a time, swatting them away like flies. He stood stronger than his own army.
The Saxon giant grew even more excited when he saw her in his soldier's grip. He cut down one of Iceburg's men and spared a moment to search the battlefield. When he found the one he sought, he waved, and she followed his gaze up the hill into the trees. The air left her lungs at the sight of the cloaked figure, his face hidden within the shroud of a monk's robes. The black cloth shifted with his nod, and the dark-skinned giant turned back to her with a grin.
With a sweeping arc of his longsword, the man slew three more of Kid's men. A sob was caught in her throat as she watched them fall to the ground, lifeless or twitching with whatever life remained in them. The wolves that had pledged their lives to protect her lay all around him. No match for his strength.
He might as well be Vidar, cutting apart their great wolf with every swing of his blade.
As she was dragged toward him, she felt what little hope she had leave her. Everyone would die that day, except for her. They would die for nothing, sacrificed to her family's curse like too many others. She would be taken and used however this man and his cloaked friend saw fit, and Kid would hopefully abandon her as he should have, go back to Noreg with whatever men he had left.
The snap of a whip cut through the air and the man pulling her through the mud released her. He stumbled away to escape another crack of Kalifa's whip as the blonde stalked toward them. She snatched Nami by the arm on her way by, hauled her up onto her feet, and shoved her behind her while not once taking her eyes off the Saxon.
He tripped in his escape and fell right into Gunda's waiting grasp. The shieldmaiden slit his throat with a stoic frown and tossed him to the ground. She spat on his dying body as she hurried over to Nami.
"Lady Nami, your shoulder," she gasped, carefully taking her arm to assess her injury. Kalifa stood in front of them, glaring up at the giant now stalking toward them.
"It's fine," Nami urged, her voice quivering as she watched the Saxon's approach. They had greater things to worry about than an arrow in her arm. She knew better than to drop her guard when a giant loomed over them all.
He held out his hand, said something in English, his tone commanding as he waved for her to come toward him, his grin unwavering. Two women as her only guards, he had no reason to worry.
Kalifa lashed her whip up toward the man's face. His laugh bellowed as the leather lashed and wrapped around his forearm. Not even the hint of a flinch or grimace broke his mirth. He twisted his arm, further wrapping the whip around, and grasped the leather in his hand. With one sharp tug, he pulled Kalifa off her feet.
She didn't scream or panic. Nami envied her calm as she watched Kalifa draw out her dagger and lash at the man once she was in reach. She tore open the cloth of his simple robes with one slash. Her next slash was caught in the man's other hand and she was pulled up to hang like a doll before him. Kalifa kicked and thrashed. Her heel caught his chin hard enough to throw his head back.
He recovered quickly enough and slammed his forehead into Kalifa's. She fell limp in his hold with that one hit and was tossed away without a care.
Nami yelled out in warning as Gunda stepped forward next. It fell upon deaf ears as the woman raced at the giant. He made no effort to stop her, or to counter her blade. All he did was backhand her once and the shieldmaiden crumbled to the ground.
Nami choked back a sob as the man drew closer to her, reached for her. An arrow flew by his face, distracting him from her. Heat and Hróarr stood with their bows knocked and ready, aiming another flurry of arrows their way. The two men were covered in blood, but looked mostly well. She doubted they would remain that way as the Saxon turned toward them.
He didn't blink when an arrow sank into his chest. The second grazed his neck. He batted away a third as he curled up Kalifa's whip. The fourth was ducked with ease. The fifth caught his knee, but he didn't stumble. With the sixth, they were out of arrows and the man lashed his stolen whip at them, catching Hróarr on the cheek with enough force to tear flesh. Heat caught the whip on his arm and grimaced in pain. He was yanked from his feet and dragged through the mud toward them.
The Saxon stopped as an enraged roar fell over the battlefield. He looked up toward the hill, and once again Nami followed his gaze to see two men flying down toward the camp on horseback.
She didn't think she should feel as relieved as she did. The battle was far from over. But as Kid slashed through one Saxon after another, she found herself hoping again.
Killer raced ahead of him, spurring his horse into a gallop as he wove through the clashing warriors. While Kid was cutting down everyone in his path, his friend set his sights on the giant standing above her. The Saxon dropped the whip in favor of his sword, laughing at the new challenger.
Killer released his reins to draw his two swords. Once close enough, he leaped from the horse's back, right at the Saxon. He slashed with one sword only to have it blocked. His second sword found flesh, slicing through the man's shoulder before he landed and jumped back from the Saxon's responding sword swing.
He didn't fall back entirely, pushed off his back foot to attack again. He caught the Saxon's blade with one of his, strained against the brute force his opponent used, and slashed at the man's arm with his second sword.
Nami could only watch as Killer went back and forth, striking and blocking and dodging and striking again. Where the Saxon was large and undoubtedly strong, Killer was quick and agile, sneaking in slashes that left the man bloody where all the others who stood before him barely left a single scratch. The Saxon was even gasping for breath, though he looked no less deterred in his battle.
Meanwhile Kid was making short work of the remaining Saxons, steadily making his way in closer. He was dragged from his horse, but had found an axe in the process and slammed it into the neck of the Saxon responsible. He continued his fight on foot, grinning in his own maddened glee as he slew each foe in turn.
Some of the Saxons had come to circle around her and the giant that meant to take her. When Kid drew toward them, one grabbed her by the arm, jostling her wound and making her cry out. Kid's grin turned into a snarl, his confidence morphing into anger, and he rushed toward her. The Saxon holding onto her began to drag her toward the hill and the cloaked figure watching from a distance. While Kid fought at the others standing between them, slashing at them wildly, Nami twisted herself in the Saxon's hold and kicked at his knees. He tripped, tried to kick her away, but she wrapped herself around his leg and sent him crashing to the mud. Before he could get up, he had an axe buried in his throat.
Kid hovered over them, panting in air as he staggered on his feet. She saw him grimace a moment and grasp at his left arm. His hand came away red with his blood, but he dismissed it as he grabbed her by the arm to help haul her up. He noticed her wince, spun her to see her shoulder, and then glowered a moment before setting his glare on the Saxon Killer was still fighting.
Kid said nothing as he shoved her away from the fight. His eyes narrowed as he stomped toward the Saxon, snatching up another axe along the way. He was truly enraged, and out for all the blood he could get in retribution for the camp's attack. He would kill every single Saxon there himself if he could.
While Killer had the Saxon distracted, Kid raised his axe, shifting it in his hand, and then threw it at the Saxon's back. It flipped through the air in a graceful arc and slammed into the man's shoulder blade, sending him forward with a grunt. The Saxon's grin finally fell as he turned toward the new threat and glowered at the weapon sunk deep into his flesh.
For a moment, Nami wondered if she was dreaming, or if she was delirious, but she swore the man appeared to grow before her very eyes. His shadow seemed to fall over all of them as he tore the axe from his shoulder.
Killer launched at him, heedless of the danger, and the Saxon merely laughed. He blocked Killer's swords with his sword and the axe Kid had thrown at him, and in the blink of an eye, slammed his knee into Killer's stomach. The blond retched and vomited from the force, then fell limp to the ground.
The sight of his closest friend and cousin writhing in agony only seemed to enrage Kid more. He snatched up another sword as he sprinted toward the Saxon and lunged at him, too. Their swords clashed and held. Each man pushed against the other with all their might. Kid's feet dug into the mud. His teeth clenched with the strain.
The Saxon let up suddenly, throwing Kid off balance. Nami cried out a warning that she knew would not help him as she watched the Saxon bring the axe around, aiming toward Kid's side. She clasped her hands over her mouth to hold back her scream.
To her surprise and elation, Kid caught the strike before it could hit him. He let out a strained laugh as he gripped the axe's handle and struggled to hold it away from his side.
A horn bellowed over the field, stealing the attention of the men locked in battle. Nami glanced up to see two more Northmen come crashing out of the trees on horseback. Kaku and Lucci galloped through the last remnants of the battle, flying toward Kid and the Saxon. The giant was forced to jump back when Kaku threw a knife between them. Lucci rode into the space created, a bloodthirsty grin on his lips, and slashed his sword at the Saxon backing away with a scowl.
His army had been exhausted in the battle, and he wasn't without injury. Kid and Killer returning from the raids when they did helped tilt the battle just enough to buy them time, and now with Kaku and Lucci there, that only meant the rest of their warriors were returning. The few soldiers he had would be heavily outnumbered and ill-matched against fresh fighters. Surely, he knew the odds were standing against him now, no matter his personal strength.
Growling, the Saxon hollered at the remainder of his army while slashing his sword at Lucci's horse. The horse fell, giving him room to make his retreat with his men. Kaku made to follow while Lucci scrambled out from beneath the dying horse. When the other Norman got in close, the Saxon grabbed him by the arm and yanked him from his mount, only to steal it for himself. He was much too large for the horse, but it still managed to bear his weight as he spurred it into a gallop.
Nami allowed herself to laugh with relief as she watched the few dozen Saxons race away from them. Some were too injured to do more than hobble up the hill before they were shot down by an arrow. Heat had found his bow again. Lucci found one for himself. Together they picked off a few more injured stragglers.
They had won… She fought and they won…
Her relief waned as her gaze swept over the decimated and smoldering remains of their camp. Killer struggled to his feet and waved Kid away, gesturing toward her as he did. Her gaze didn't linger on the jarl as she watched Gunda claw up onto her hands and knees. She was shaken but appeared well. Kaku had found Kalifa and helped roll her to her back. She appeared to be conscious again, that was good. Mozu had her arm slung around Kiwi, the sisters limping through the fallen warriors.
"Nami, let me see your shoulder," Kid grunted, but she ignored him as she stared at the rest of the men and women that weren't so fortunate in battle.
Mist swirled around the bodies of the fallen. Ravens circled, their cries filling in the void left without the clash of iron. Her eyes watered as the mist coiled and billowed in tendrils, surrounding and embracing every still form. To her, it looked like the spirits of the valkyries coming to collect the dead for Odin.
When she spotted Finn, she gasped out a sob and took off running for him.
"Nami," Kid called, grabbing her wrist to stop her.
She shoved him away, too focused on reaching Finn. He shouldn't be taken. He shouldn't be shrouded by that eerie mist. She had moved. She had fought. He should be spared. She had done what the Norns told her to do. If she was supposed to have the power to save them, then why was he lying in the mud with such an ashen white face?
She fell to her knees at Finn's side and pressed her hand over his wound, soaking her fingers in his warm blood. She sobbed when she saw his eyes staring up at the sky, lifeless and pale. Through her tears, she watched the mist collect and sobbed harder when she swore she saw a face in the wispy fog.
It was a face she recognized all too well. The smile the valkyrie wore was kind and loving. The soft caress of the breeze on her cheek was a bitter comfort.
"Bellemere," she whispered. Even blinded by her tears, her mother was as beautiful as ever.
"Don't dwell on the bad, Nami," the wind whispered back with words Nami held in heart for eight insufferable years. "Always look forward. And never let this world take away your smile. Good will come to you. I know it will."
Nami fell forward as the valkyrie vanished, taking with her what little warmth of life remained in the boy before her, and let out a wail that made the ravens take flight.
She wept even as Kid went to his knees beside her and dragged her into his arms. His fur cloak fell over her, blocking out the bleak world around her. His tight hold invited her to cling to him in her grief.
"I moved," she croaked. "I tried to save him."
Kid's arms squeezed around her and she felt warm breath seep through his cloak as he pressed his lips to the top of her head. "I know," he whispered back hoarsely. He pressed her face to his chest as he hugged her closer. "I know."
She sobbed against him. "I'm sorry, Kid. I'm sorry."
She couldn't save him from his fate. She couldn't save any of them.
A/N: I hope I caught most of the errors. I couldn't re-read this more the once. I made myself cry enough. As I said, this fic is going to be extremely dark, violent, and filled with bleak tones throughout, so hopefully this chapter, more than the last, gives you all a very good idea of just how dark this fic will get.
I warred with myself on Nami's actions in battle, by the way. While Kid, in canon, has clearly stated that he is willing to kill, does not feel guilt over his actions, and does not fear death himself, Nami is obviously very different. I reasoned that this is war, this is kill or be killed, but she still feels immense remorse for what she has to do. I do want it to be noted, though, that her strikes are not killing blows. She certainly came close when she stabbed the one man, but even he was not killed by her attack. So anyone who thought the stark differences in Kid's character in this fic compared to how I write him in an AU setting were a big change, those differences are nothing compared to the changes I do have to make to Nami's character to let her fit into this world and survive it. But even in canon, Nami is not a perfectly good person - she's a thief and pirate, after all, is not afraid to fight anyone she feels she needs to for her own reasons. Not to mention, her lightning should at least severely debilitate most of the people she strikes, if not kill them, but thanks to manga plot magic, it apparently doesn't do more than knock them unconscious and leave them a little singed.
And I gave away a ton of hints to the shrouded monk's identity, so I'm sure you can all guess on who he is, but try to suspend your judgments until the end. He is going to be a presence throughout this story, and while I might have inadvertently given him away a bit, I do want to keep his motives and intentions a mystery.
As for Urouge - I tied him to Vidar because he is said to be a god with strength only surpassed by Thor, and I personally believe that his strength in canon surpasses Kid's considering how much further he was able to get against Big Mom's crew. As for his stature as a giant in this fic - the gods in Norse lore are not necessarily a separate species from the giants. They are more akin to separate races. Many of them are descended from giants (including Odin and Thor), many marry them (such as Freyr), and according to the lore, the whole world is made from the corpse of a giant. There is a lot of blurring among them, so Urouge resembling a giant is not strange because many of the gods are in fact giants, too.
Oh, and if you didn't notice during the battle - Nami doesn't understand English as well as Kid does, thus why there is no written dialogue for the Saxons from her perspective. I'll elaborate on what languages she does know in the next chapter.
And please, please, please let me know what you think of this chapter. Action is extremely difficult for me to write, and obviously this is a painful chapter overall. I want to hear if I achieved the emotional responses that I hoped to get from this chapter.
Edit: Fixed a spelling/ grammar mistake thanks to a reviewer. :)