Warning: Some mention of violence, gore in this chapter. Also mild sexual content near the end.
Disclaimer: I do not own One Piece or the characters, they belong to Eiichiro Oda.
Moving Forward
The morning was spent preparing the stone ships for the dead. Nami had picked a field not far south of their camp, where the trees cleared and they could overlook the blue sea that brought them there. She forced herself to ignore the pile of rocks covering the dead, protecting them from the elements, while she directed the men to place larger stones around the field.
She decided that there would be two ships. The dead were taken to two different realms, so they needed two ships to help carry the grave goods they would be taking with them. Each ship consisted of a ring of rocks in the shape of one of their longships. In the middle of each they built wooden altars for the bodies to rest in the pyre. After they were burned, the remains would be buried, left to rest in the foreign lands they fell upon.
Kid informed her that the raiding party hadn't burned or buried their bodies when he left. He hadn't been certain if those left behind would see to it before returning, or if they would bring their dead back for all of them to honor. He had left it up to them to decide.
It was midday and they had just finished building the altar when Nami heard the raiders' horns signaling their return. Despite her lingering sadness, she found herself smiling when she heard Franky's voice ringing over the clatter of wooden wheels and horses' hooves. He was singing of victory, while the men chimed in with a raucous chorus. Their good cheer might not last long once they found the remains of the camp, but hopefully the spoils they returned with would give them less reason to sink into melancholy.
She finished laying out a bed of yew branches on her altar and turned to see Kalifa had just finished her own. Mozu and Kiwi were sprinkling sweet berries and wildflowers among the needles, while Gunda was helping Hróarr carry the weapons and broken shields they gathered from the battlefield. Kid was watching over them from nearby, a deep scowl set on his face as Heat wrapped his shoulder in new bandages. He had insisted on helping set the stones around the field and proceeded to tear open his wound again.
He grumbled curses at his healer, trying to drown out Heat's lecture. The curses turned into shouts when Heat tied the cloth tighter than Kid preferred, and the jarl was quickly met with a sharp slap from the other man to stop him from messing with the bandage.
"Kid, let's go greet the others," she called, cutting into his snarls. She forced a smile for him when he glowered at her, brushing off his surly temper with ease. "You said they were returning with wine, right?"
That reminder convinced him, and he slowly stood while batting the healer away. He didn't want to be coddled, the only help he would accept was from an outstretched hand. He refused to appear weak, even among his own friends. He stubbornly trudged along with his limping gait until Nami came alongside him and nudged his right arm. He grunted and glared at her silent offer, but grudgingly threw his arm around her, pretending it was a lazy hug while he eased some of his weight onto her.
While talking to him the night before had eased much on Nami's mind, his condition made her anxious. He was injured worse than he let on. The puncture and slashes from the knight's sword weren't the worst, even if he continuously reopened them. The bruising on his side had spread around his back, up his ribs, and down to his leg. The pain that he pretended wasn't bothering him left him stiff and slow. He needed to rest, not search out vengeance against a giant she witnessed single-handedly crush most of their warriors.
But Kid would not be swayed. Any time she tried to talk him out of it, she was met with an angry glare and gruff reminder that he wasn't in the forgiving mood. He was taking her injury and loss personally. He wouldn't let the battle go, no matter how much she pleaded for him to leave them be. Even Killer couldn't sway him, but she didn't think he made a genuine effort in arguing it. He seemed just as eager to get vengeance as his cousin was.
When they reached the camp, Nami saw Franky leading the way with his horn in hand. His good mood vanished when he saw the state of their camp. His panicked gaze searched around until he spotted Mozu and Kiwi. He dropped the reins of the horses he led and sprinted toward them to hear of what happened and check their conditions. Their bruises and cuts didn't stop the large man from swallowing both women in a hug. Their pained groans as he lifted them off the ground were drowned out by his cries rejoicing their survival.
Wire approached her and Kid after pulling in the carts laden with chests and barrels and food. Nami tried not to stare after the promise of treasure and focused on the scowling man before them.
She had not expected to be torn from Kid's hold and engulfed in a hug, but in the blink of an eye she found herself squeezed tight to Wire's chest. Kid shouted at the abrupt loss of his crutch, but bit back his curses while Wire released her.
"I'm glad to see you're well. The hall would become quite miserable if we lost you," Wire said, patting her head as Kid reclaimed her shoulder with a relieved groan. She smiled solemnly, but could say nothing else. She didn't think the hall would be all that cheery even after they returned. Wire turned to Kid, sparing a short nod for his jarl. "How severe were our losses?"
"Half the camp," Kid grunted, gesturing off toward a tent. "There are three more hanging on to life by a thread. One died of his injuries during the night. I think those three will be following him soon enough."
Nami bowed her head at the news and swallowed thickly to hold back her grief. Kid shifted to wrap his arm around her head, patting her hair in a small gesture of comfort.
"What of the ones we lost at the village?" Kid asked. "Did you bury them?
"We didn't take the time," Wire said with a shake of his head. He turned to point toward the last cart to come into the camp, the contents brimming over the edge and covered with furs. A rut jostled the cart and Nami spotted a limp arm slip out from the furs. "We brought them to bury here."
"We've already built two stone ships. We were waiting for you all to return before performing the ceremony," Kid explained. He eased off her shoulder and turned back toward the field they came from. "Grab the cart. I'll show you the way." He pointed at her in warning. "Nami, stay out of the chests."
She pouted at him. "But what about the grave offerings?"
He glowered. "Have Gunda and Kalifa pick them out. No slipping any gold out for yourself." He ignored her huff as he turned toward Wire. "You got the one I left in that bastard's room, right?"
Wire nodded. "I'll tell Axel to put that one in your tent." He glanced at her. "And to keep Nami away from it."
She huffed again and crossed her arms over her chest. "I'm offended that you don't trust me."
Kid chuckled and gave her a gentle shove. "Don't be a petulant brat about it. You'll see what I brought back later." He patted her cheek when she pouted at him. "Be patient, woman. It's a surprise."
"For me?" she asked with an inkling of excitement at the prospect of what treasures he brought for her.
"Yeah, for you," Kid said, with a lopsided grin. "But no peeking. I want to see your reaction when I first give them to you. I don't want that spoiled because you can't keep your greedy hands to yourself."
"I'll behave," she huffed, earning another playful pat before he shoved her off toward the other men waiting to greet her.
"Keep an eye on her," he called toward Axel and then turned to lead Wire off to the grave site.
Nami was left to pout at his back until a heavy arm wrapped around her shoulders. She glanced up to find Axel beside her. His sad eyes and struggled smile told her that he heard of the battle they faced, and who was lost. She forced her own smile as she welcomed his comforting hug. As soon as he released her, she found Halle there to steal her into his crushing embrace.
"I'm glad to see you looking well," the older man whispered into her hair. His hold tightened as he sniffled. "It means he did his duty and surely passed with no regrets."
Halle's words brought tears to her eyes. She blinked, hoping to stave them off, but one still slipped free when he pulled away. He cupped her cheek to wipe the tear away, and forced as charming a smile as he could manage.
"I'll write a song for him to tell everyone back home of his brave deeds protecting our loveliest lady," he assured. "But, in the meantime…" He glanced around her conspicuously. "I can't show you Jarl Eustass' gift for you, but I see no harm in letting you peek at the gold." Her smile came easier, even as he held up a finger in warning. "Don't tell him, though."
"Our little secret," Nami promised, grinning as he took her hand to tug her off to the carts.
Axel spun to follow them with a heavy sigh. "This is why Jarl Eustass doesn't leave you alone with her. She has you wrapped around her little finger."
Nami stuck her tongue out at him while Halle laughed.
"I could say the same about you," he teased. "If I hadn't suggested it, you would have."
Axel looked away grumbling a denial under his breath. It told them enough.
Halle smiled down at her. "Anything to see Lady Nami smile again."
Kid wasn't fooled by Nami's smiles. She was still mourning, but he commended her effort to move forward. Eventually those smiles would come easier and she would be back to her cheerful self. If she didn't find some normalcy, then Finn's loss might have been in vain. After knowing Nami for barely more than a month, Kid knew all his men were willing to give their lives if it meant her fiery beauty and kindness remained in their otherwise dark world.
For all their boasts of Valhol and Folkvángr, for all their sacrifices, for all their warring, their people did fear death. It was only natural. When a person died, the living were left behind with a noticeable void that was not easily filled. They're left to wonder if their loved one made it to the gilded halls or eternal battlefield their tales spoke of. They're left to hope that their enemies sat in frigid torment in Hel's dark hall. They're left to fear the return of those that died in torment, rage and vengeance keeping their spirit intact even as their body lay buried in the earth.
Nami was a stark contrast to those grim reminders of their mortality. She held all the spirit of life that they rejoiced. From her gentle compassion to her tempestuous anger, she was a force as strong as the nature they lived in, the world that gave them life, nurtured them, and challenged their very will to survive. She carried in her spirit their desire for wealth, their need for exploration. Her laugh was a nourishment as sweet as fruit, as inviting as a fire in the hearth, an embodiment of the joy that came with ale and song. She wasn't perfect, of course. She was greedy and manipulative and stubborn as an ass. But no mortal was perfect. Their own gods weren't perfect. She didn't need to be perfect, she just needed to be her, and that was more than enough for all of them to willfully depart the world to protect her place in it.
A warrior protected life with death. It was as simple as that.
That day their world was cold and bleak because the little jewel they had grown to cherish was tarnished with grief. If they were gifted with a smile, it was no more than a glint of light through the solemn clouds hanging above them, gone before any could enjoy it. And as they began to carry the dead to the altars, that sun vanished entirely.
Nami's eyes were cold as she helped direct the procession of fallen warriors to their final resting place. She might as well have been made of ice to Kid's eyes. She showed no outward signs of grief in the hard set of her lips, but he knew that wall would crack again soon.
They all gathered around the clearing and the rings of stone that made their ships and would mark the barrows they left behind. As the fallen were brought to lay upon the altars, men and women, friend and family, all made their final goodbyes. Their hair had been rinsed and combed and neatly groomed as they preferred. They had all been dressed in clean or mended garb, with their armor bearing proof that their deaths were met in battle. Swords and axes and shields were placed in their hands, weapons they would need in the great battles they would face in Odin's and Freyja's halls. They were given their favored possessions – combs and razors, cloaks and pins, lyres and horns - whatever they had brought on their journey. They shared trinkets from what was gathered in their raid in gratitude for the fallen warriors' aid in claiming their spoils, symbols of the hoards they carried into the afterlife.
Between the two battles, they had lost forty-seven in total. Kid counted each that was placed on their altar, twenty-three to one, twenty-four to the other. He hadn't thought there was much pattern to how Nami chose who went where, but he eventually noticed that one altar appeared to have most of the men he had lost from the camp. He personally lost seven at the camp among the twenty-six that died battling the giant lord, and all seven were piled together, with Finn the last one to be placed.
Kid scrutinized Nami when the boy was brought to the altar. With all the other bodies, she didn't do more than splatter them with a yew branch dipped in the blood of a horse they sacrificed for the ritual and gestured toward which altar they should be placed. Finn had been the last, when each altar held exactly twenty-three and Kid had only just begun to notice the pattern. Nami stopped the men carrying him but didn't splash the boy's face with the offering.
Her cold expression faltered with the tightness of her jaw. She blinked rapidly and he knew she was fighting back her tears. Heat stood at her side, holding the bowl of blood, but said nothing to rush her. She placed the branch she held in the bowl and let it remain as she stepped closer to the boy. She reached out a shaky hand, her stoic frown broke with a struggled smile as she gently ran her fingers through his hair. He caught sight of her glistening eyes just as she bent over to brush a kiss to the boy's brow. Her wavy, unbound hair fell around her face as she lingered there, whispering words he could not hear.
When she pulled away, she turned toward Gunda who held out a slender gold ringlet she must have found in their hoard. Nami slipped the bracelet onto one of Finn's wrists and crossed his hands back over the sword he would take with him. She finally stepped back to splatter the offering over his face and directed him toward the altar with the rest of his men that died at camp.
Kid was left to wonder the nature of the personal token she gifted to Finn but no other warrior. He thought it might be to appease her guilt over his death. Perhaps it was a gesture of thanks to ensure his spirit passed properly and didn't linger in their world any longer.
Once the bodies were placed, people came forward to set more offerings around the altars. Berries, nuts, slices of horsemeat, fish, and horns of ale. The dead would take the bounties of the earth just as they took the spoils of war to give as gifts to the gods that took them into their halls.
While the offerings were set around the dead, others began to lightly drum on stones, or rapped sticks together, creating a lightly building cacophony broken only by a bellowing horn. Small fires had been built nearby to light makeshift torches of birch and elm branches. Kid took one torch, Franky another, Lucci and Kaku each had their own, and once everyone had stepped back, the four of them went around lighting the kindling and wood at the base of the altars, each man solemn in their task.
As the fire took with quiet crackles, Kid tossed his branch into the flames to add to the kindling and stepped back to stand beside Nami. Her expression had once more turned distant and cold, the light of the fire shining upon dull eyes. They stood in silence as the clearing filled with the scent of burning wood and flowers and berries that hardly masked the smell of burning flesh. Grey smoke turned black when the flames surrounded the dead, and the horns called louder as they watched the plumes carry high up into the sky, the dark pillars carrying their souls off to the halls of the dead.
He barely heard Nami sniffle at his side, the sound almost drowned out by the rapping sticks and bellowing horns and crackling flames. He glanced down to find her stoic mask crumbling as she stared at the fire. Her face glowed orange and glistened with her tears. Her teeth dug into her quivering lip as she tried to restrain her sobs.
He didn't know what to say that he hadn't already told her. He doubted there was anything else he could say. She just needed to grieve, to say her final goodbyes. Hopefully the funeral would bring her some peace and closure once the pyres finally sputtered out, but until then she would give in to her sadness.
He stared forward and held his tongue, but subtly, so no one else would notice, he brushed his hand over hers where it hung at her side. She sniffled louder and bowed her head as he slipped his hand into hers. A sob broke free, and as she squeezed his hand, her grief strangled him, just as it had the day before.
He cleared his throat to hold back his emotions and tugged her closer. She leaned against his side while she kept her head down and wiped at her eyes with her free hand. He could feel her shoulder trembling where it pressed against his arm, but steadily she began to relax, her weight sinking against him. Her sobs eased, turned into quiet sniffles, but she didn't let go of him.
When he laced his fingers through hers, she clung to him as though he were all that she had to keep herself from drowning in grief. She didn't have to hold him so tight, though he didn't mind, because he wasn't about to let her go.
Even if the gods, themselves, tried to tear him from her, he would never let her go.
It was approaching twilight when he spotted the sod and thatch hovel tucked in the trees. He had nearly missed it, hidden in the shadows and covered with green grass, the home resembled a hill. The thin puffs of grey smoke that rose like wispy tendrils into the sky were all that gave it away.
He steered his grey mare toward it with a gentle kick, urging her into a trot. He had stolen her from the battlefield when the Northmen returned from their raids, taking advantage of the confusion that followed. He knew then that he would not attain the one he sought that day, so it was wisest to cut his losses and leave before trouble could befall him.
He had been warned of a great wolf and he would rather not test that prophecy's accuracy before his plans could bear fruit.
A brown horse sat outside the home, tied to a stake as it grazed through thin sprouts of grass. The troth of water nearby appeared fresh, so he slowed and dismounted to lead his mare through the fence and small yard to join the other horse.
The door swung open as he finished tying his mare up and a dreadfully pale man came crashing out with sword brandished. He was dressed in rotted and soiled rags that may have once been as orange as the sun, but had dulled over time. White hair hung loose and dirty to brush his chin, as pale as his skin after he bathed. It was only by the blackness of his eyes that one could see he was not afflicted with albinism, but that did not stop many from vilifying him as though he were a revenant of death.
"It is only I," he called to the man, brushing back the dark hood of his robes.
The man's sword hung limp as his mouth gaped open in surprise. It didn't last long before it turned into a wide grin and laugh. His joy brought some color to his cheeks as he sheathed the sword and approached.
"My lord," he greeted before engulfing him in a firm hug. The pale man was over a head taller than him and of a much stockier frame, so his embrace was smothering, but warm.
"What have I told you about calling me that here?" he reminded once he was finally released. "We are in Christian lands. We may be far removed from the main land, but there is no telling who here might know of me. They will not look twice at a wandering monk, but if they hear of a title, they'll start asking questions I'd rather not answer."
"Right, I'm sorry," he said, bowing his head.
He consoled the man with a pat on his shoulder as he brushed by to enter the hovel. He could see the fire crackling through the open door and smelled dinner roasting over the flames. He had survived the last week on scraps of dried meats, and if he was lucky he found some berries in his journey. He was famished and almost regretted refusing Urouge's invitation to eat with him, but he didn't want to sit with that man any longer than necessary.
"Lo- Dumah, where is the girl?" his friend asked as he followed him in. He set the sword by the door and hastily bolted it shut, and then set about searching through his meager belongings within the home.
Dumah's smile was thin as he sat down by the fire, eyeing the skewered fish hovering over it. Their skins were browning nicely. He couldn't wait for a bite. "The druid's prediction was not wrong. I was not able to obtain her this time," he answered.
"Are you certain she's the one we should be searching for?"
He chuckled quietly. "I saw her. I have no doubt in my mind that she is indeed the one we need." His gaze focused on the fire before him, watching the flames dance around the log, as orange and bright as her hair. He had been so close to her. All he needed was to reach out and take her, but it appeared that it was too soon for his plans to begin bearing fruit. He would need to be patient for a while longer. In the end, he knew it would be worth the wait. "Have you heard from the others recently? How are they faring with the Danes?"
His friend grimaced as he came over with a cup and pitcher of goat's milk, pouring out a drink for him. "They sent a messenger last night that only left this morning to tell them you hadn't yet returned. The Danes have no trading expeditions planned that will take them from the isles and made it quite clear that even if they did have such plans, we were not welcome to stow away on their ships."
"Well, I suppose it's good that I thought to lighten Lord Urouge of some of his gold," he remarked as he dug in the folds of his robes. When he found the purse, he held it up and swung it in front of his friend's widening grin. "I am sure they would at least be kind enough to spare one ship for the right price." He tucked the gold away, leaning forward as a wicked thought came to him. "If their greed does not sway them, then I'll just have to convince them to see reason by parting a few of their heads from their shoulders. Northmen, they may be, but they fear death as any mortal man does, especially one so senseless and unnecessary. We will have our ship, one way or another."
"Have you decided where we will head next?" his companion asked.
He sat back and scratched at the dark beard growing thick along his jaw. Mulling over the question, he thought on his informative meeting with a reclusive, Gallic druid in Francia only six months earlier.
Basil Hawkins; the Romans and Franks called him a Wicker Man, a druid that led his people in the burning of massive straw effigies of their enemies. Rumors abound that they sacrificed humans at those rituals, but he had yet to see such a practice take place. Hawkins' followers called him a magician, a sorcerer capable of many magical feats. The favored tales of his magic claimed that he was invincible in battle because he cast his own injuries onto his enemies, weakening them while healing himself. It was a remarkable ability, but it was not the one that had sent him in search of the druid.
He was in search of guidance that no follower of Abraham's God could give. He needed a soothsayer, and the druid was known to produce eerily accurate predictions. His were particularly unique because not all were certainties, but came with a variety of outcomes.
He had found the man in a secluded country home in southeastern Francia. The stone farmhouse appeared non-descript on its exterior, with the only sign that it was inhabited being the torch lit at the door. He was greeted by a man in dark blue robes, a string of beads and animal bones around his neck, and led through cold, dimly lit halls, brought to a back room overlooking the farm's fields that had been left untended for centuries.
A fire crackled in a stone hearth in the corner. A tall man with a single thin braid of brown hair stood before him, a hand on his sword as he scowled. Behind him another man sat at a table, his back to the rest of the room. His long blond hair flowed unbound around his shoulders. His white robes were clean, decorated with ropes and beads colored in rich purple and red. He said nothing as he appeared to toil away at some task, and no one invited him to sit or asked his purpose there. It was odd and unwelcoming, but no one had drawn their sword on him, so he felt it safe to remain.
Eventually the blond man set aside what he had been crafting – a small man made of straw – and spoke. "I find it strange a man dressed in the robes of a monk would seek this place." He shifted to glance at him through a veil of hair. "Though I suppose you are no true monk."
Hawkins turned his back to him again, but waved for him to come forward and join him. The man guarding him stiffened at his approach, his sword scraped against its sheath. The druid halted him with a calmly raised hand.
"I have not foreseen an outcome of this meeting where this man will do me harm," he explained. "You need not fear my death this day."
The guard relaxed and stepped away, but did not take his eyes off him.
When he sat down across from the druid, he was able to see the markings of ink upon his face and neck. Six lines of black ink were drawn vertically on his forehead, three over each brow, and a black cross decorated the hollow of his neck. His eyes were flat and emotionless, entirely unreadable.
"What have you sought me for?" the druid asked as he picked up a dark bag set at his elbow.
"I am looking for a girl. A pagan girl living among the Northmen." He explained who it was he sought as broadly as possible. Hawkins did not appear to need more than a vague summary of her relations and did not ask any further questions.
The druid shook the bag he held and he listened to the muffled clatter of whatever was inside, curious of how his divination worked. He leaned in closer as Hawkins shut his eyes in concentration. He had expected to hear an incantation, a deep, rumbling hum of Gaulish words he did not know. He even anticipated a sacrifice, be it a hen or a hare or a lizard. Instead the druid tossed the contents of the bag out on the table, sending small wooden tiles scattering before them, and set to work arranging them where they fell.
He swallowed a chuckle when he realized the druid was using cleromancy that resembled the old Roman tradition of sortes. The druid was drawing lots.
The twenty-four wood tiles were cleanly cut and polished. He glimpsed carvings and paint on those that fell face up. The druid's cross mark could be found on the back of the rest, identical to the others, and painted a dark brown he had thought was normal paint, but upon closer inspection, he realized was dried blood.
"This girl is said to be dead," the druid spoke, his tone hard and flat as he began to flip the tiles that were face down. "In the eyes of man, she does not exist."
"And in the eyes of God?"
Hawkins' gaze shifted to him briefly, his lips barely twitched with a scowl, and then he focused back on his tiles. "In the eyes of her gods, she is not meant to exist to the world of man, lest they take advantage of her."
"She is not meant to exist? That means she lives?"
Another pursed frown marked a moment of silence. "Yes," he finally answered. "She will soon walk a path guided by the gods that love her deeply."
"And will I be able to intercept her on this path?"
Hawkins stared blankly at the tiles before him. He was silent for a long stretch of time, only punctuated by the flipping of one tile after another, the soft clack of wood striking wood.
"Yes," the druid said when he finally felt his patience wearing thin. "There is a god most sympathetic of your plight, and willing to aid you as is necessary."
He scowled. He did not like the idea of consorting with pagan gods, but he had already cast aside all that he had once believed, and sought the guidance of the pagan before him. The means and morals no longer mattered, it was only the end results that held value to him.
"How will this god aid me?"
He was answered with another stretch of silence and the flipping of more tiles.
"Tormented by the shadow of an ever-looming giant, she will flee to merciless and cold waters to be cast upon rocks," the druid said, his gaze focused wholly on his tiles. "Cold and hunger she must endure, wandering unknown lands alone. Until she finds solace and safety within a mighty pack of beasts, and her true saga thus begins."
A long pause. Another tile flipped.
"New adventure stands before her, new challenges she must overcome. Six moons will pass for you before you find her upon the isles to the west with her beasts standing guard. You will see her from afar, but…" The druid flipped another tile. "You must not touch her yet."
"The isles? Britain?" he asked, receiving a short nod in answer. "Why can I not touch her?"
"If you take her there, the gods will be angry, and Odin will unleash his most ferocious wolf upon you and this world. You will be hunted and devoured within a fortnight. Your plans will fail without ever beginning."
He nodded his understanding, though he was not pleased with such a prediction. He would watch and wait and make his own decision when the time came.
"And after I see her? Where will her path take her next?" he asked, undeterred in piecing together a map of this girl's saga.
Hawkins returned to his tiles, flipping and sorting. His brows furrowed and he let out a curious hum as his fingers hovered over one tile etched with strange words he could only guess were Gaulish.
"She will return to the lands of the north, to the fjords of the beasts that protect her. But there is a dilemma here."
"A dilemma?"
"She will reach a crossroad guided by a rat. One path will become flooded with blood and death and destroy all those around her. Another path will appear pleasant and kind, a promise of a peaceful life, but will inevitably lead to the same ruin. But a third course appears when she resists both hope and fear to forge another way through hardship alone."
He raised his hand and snapped his fingers. A moment later a follower placed a cloth scroll in his waiting hand. He unfurled the scroll to reveal a map of Francia and the Roman empire, as well as the lands of the Danes and the southernmost territories of the Norse and Svear that settled along the straits. He pointed to the eastern coast, deep within a fjord.
"If she takes either path set before her, predetermined by her Norns, then she is lost to you and you will never see her again," he explained. "But if she forges a new way, defies her bleak fate, you will find her here."
He had a one in three chance of finding her again. He did not like those odds, but if he took her in Britain and that proved disastrous, then a slim possibility at a second chance was better than dying before having accomplished anything.
"This path comes with a warning for you, though," the druid said as he idly played with a tile. "In Britain she will see you shrouded in darkness and blood. An angel of death. A lord of flies. You are all that she fears. If you greet her in those same robes, with the same cruel silence, she will flee you and doubt you and you will be struck down by a great bolt from the heavens for the sins in your mind."
"This single girl invokes much wrath from her gods against any that seek her. Tell me, druid, what makes her so special that they would faithfully protect her from me?" His question was met with stony faced silence. "Will you not give me a single clue?"
"She is not meant to exist in the minds of men," was the only answer he received.
He sighed and then reached into the sleeve of his robe, ignoring the guard's stiffened posture as he gripped his sword. The man relaxed when he pulled out a gold coin and held it in front of the druid's bored gaze.
"Just one hint," he urged.
Hawkins' eyes narrowed on the coin and then flit to him as he slowly took it. "You give me gold," he said as he closed his hand around the coin. "I will give you an answer." The druid opened his hand and to his astonishment, the coin was gone, replaced by a small amber stone. Hawkins held the stone in front of him between thumb and forefinger, allowing the pure orange amber to catch the fire as the druid stared at him through it. "She is born of sacrifice and true, everlasting love. She is born of gold and amber and blood. And in time she will see you just as I see you. Such is her gift." He folded the stone back into his hand and squeezed. "And such is her curse," he added lowly as blood flowed out between his fingers and dripped onto the wood tiles in front of him. "Ruin follows close in her wake to those most unworthy."
When the druid opened his hand again, there was no gold or stone remaining, only a pile of ashes he spilled over the table.
"If you see her a second time," the druid continued on, flipping one last tile. "You will only sow seeds. You must be wary of the men around her and wait for the next crossroad she comes to before you can reap your rewards."
"And I suppose I will have to hope she forges a third way again?"
"No, there will be no third path. She will either choose life or death. If she chooses death, you will have her immediately. If she chooses life, you will have to wait a winter for her," Hawkins advised.
He scratched his chin as he wondered if he would have the patience to wait over a year to see his plans through. He supposed it was best not to rush. Nothing of value was every done quickly.
"I have one more word of advice," the druid said as he slid his tiles back into their bag. "I am acquainted with those you mean to anger, the Norman house that shares blood with this girl." Hawkins' gaze held his, dark eyes hard as stone. "Do not rely on the mercy of a dragon, for that creature possesses no such trait."
He chuckled at the warning. "Avoid wolves and gods and dragons. Any other advice you have for me, then? Perhaps I should be cautious of a bear? A giant? A dwarf? Perhaps an elf? Or a monkey? Oh, you did mention something about flies, I suppose I should avoid those, too."
"You laugh as if my warnings are in jest," Hawkins said flatly. "I do not jest. You would be wise to fear all such creatures for her gods will send any beast or being for you when they learn of the trick that is afoot. Even Loki will abandon you to the punishment brought forth in your life."
"Let them send whatever they wish. So long as his world burns, I care not what happens to me," he bit out, his thin humor lost as he stood to leave. He had the guidance that he came for.
He remembered Hawkins' last words that echoed through the hall on his way out.
"Then go north. She will seek for you herself."
He smiled at his pale companion across the fire and plucked a fish from the flames. "You and the others will go to the Danelands, I will go north to the fjords. If I do not find you before the winter, then come for me at winter's end."
"Yes, my Lo- Dumah," his friend corrected.
He bit into his fish, content with his plan. He felt a flake get stuck in the coarse hairs of his beard and a thought struck him. "When we are done eating, bring me some water and a razor. And we'll need to find new clothes when we reach York. I must don a kinder face and shed my false name before I can finally meet the girl with amber hair."
"What name do you mean to take this time? Since you will be in pagan lands, it should be safe to use your own name."
He bowed his head and shook it, hiding his pained smile behind loose locks of midnight hair. "There is only one name that suits a kind, trustworthy man… And that name is not mine."
The afternoon of mourning turned into an evening of revelry as all the Northmen rejoiced for their fallen friends, celebrating their entrance into Odin and Freyja's halls. They found joy in the stories they had to remember their short time with those that passed. No matter how sad they were to see their friends and family leave their world, they would not let their grief tarnish their memories.
They ate well that night and drank amidst raucous song that harmonized less and less with every cup of stolen wine emptied. There were multiple fires for everyone to sit around, and each one had their own singer to lead them in celebration, and each singer differed in what they sung. It was cacophonous, but as out of sync as it was, Nami found it warm and lighthearted and soothed the ache in her heart.
She sat with Kid at one fire, listening to Franky tell stories about the men he lost. While Kid sat on a chest packed with gold, Nami sat on the ground, curled beneath his furs as she leaned against his leg. His hand idly comb through her hair, a gentle comfort she was more grateful for than he probably knew. His presence alone had been a comfort to her that afternoon, a steady rock for her to cling to while her sadness overwhelmed her. She hadn't strayed far from his side since the funeral. She hadn't wanted to, and he didn't seem willing to let her get out of his reach for long.
The wine they brought back from their raiding was rich and sweet and she happily drowned her sorrows in a cup that never seemed to go empty. As the night went on, her cheeks flushed with warmth and her eyelids grew heavy though sleep was far from her reach. Her smiles came easier, her laughter less pained, as she listened to every bittersweet tale of those she had known so briefly.
"I remember when you first came to Álasund, Kalifa," Franky said, beginning another story as he gestured toward the blonde lounging near Nami's other side. "And you came by the shipyards to greet Kaku while I was there with my men, and Olav whistled at you…"
"He did more than whistle," Kalifa corrected, her brow arched sharply.
"And made a grab at you," Franky added, waving the interruption off. "You caught his hand and twisted it until he was screaming bloody murder."
"Two dislocated fingers will do that," she said with an arrogant snort.
"And then you punched him."
"I didn't punch him," she argued, turning away to hide a crooked smile as she took a sip of wine from her cup. "I kicked him in the face and broke four of his teeth, then again between the legs to make sure the lesson got through to both of his heads." Some men grimaced, while others threw their heads back, bellowing with laughter. Kid's thigh shook beneath Nami's head as he joined with those laughing. Kalifa glanced toward her with a conspiratorial flicker of her gaze in Kid's direction as she leaned in closer. "Olav was nothing but a perfectly civil gentleman with me after that, with a healthy dose of fear that made him flinch anytime a man whistled. You might want to consider that for the future."
Nami giggled as Kid's amusement waned into a low growl when he picked up on Kalifa's suggestion. His hand covered her ear as he held her tight to his thigh.
"Stop giving her ideas," he snapped. "She's violent enough with me as it is."
"I am merely sharing my experience with a woman I feel could benefit from what I've learned. Men are dogs. Sometimes they need a heavy hand to properly train them," Kalifa argued, brushing off Kid's snarled curse in response with an arrogance that only seemed to irritate him more. His leg was tense against her, and she had no doubt he would attack the other woman if she didn't sit between them.
Nami sighed. "Kid, calm down."
He growled one more time, but backed down with a huff. He took a long swallow of wine from the gold chalice he claimed among the treasure, and forced himself to relax.
"What about you, Kid? Tell us a story about one of your men," Franky prompted, further distracting the jarl from his anger. "We haven't heard much about that young one," he suggested. "Finn, right? It seemed he was important to your lady there. I'm sure she'd appreciate hearing a happy story about him."
Nami sank against Kid while trying to hide her frown in the furs draped over her. His hand combed through her hair as he hummed in thought. She shivered when a finger tickled behind her ear and glanced up to see him staring at her.
"Finn ever tell you how I met him?" he asked quietly. She shook her head, and Kid's lips curled in a lopsided grin as he turned to the others. "You know I warred against Drafn's last jarl a couple of years ago. A week into it, I hear complaints from some of the villagers about a thief sneaking around. Been going on for months, just little odds and ends stolen, maybe some food from their garden, glass beads from one of the crafters, a knife, a few coins. Never took much, but it was annoying and could become more troublesome. The former jarl hadn't cared enough to do anything about it, none of his stuff was taken and after a while it had stopped, so it wasn't important anymore. But after I took charge, the thief came back, and I wasn't going to sit around and let this little shit keep up his mischief.
"One day, I'm going around trying to get information on this thief, find out what everyone knows. Offered rewards to anyone who caught them, whatever it took to end this quickly. When I came up empty handed, I headed on back to the hall to see if Killer or my other men learned something. I'm walking by the stables when I hear some rustling inside, but I don't think much of it, probably just a horse, and it's freezing cold out, so I just want to be back inside by the fire and keep walking." He paused to sip his wine. "Next thing I know, a kid comes bolting out of the stables and slams right into my back. Now, this brat was tiny, barely reached my hip." He held his hand up to approximate his height and laughed. "But he hit me hard, and I'm pissed. Then I feel it - a fucking knife, right in my ass."
The men around the fire roared with laughter. Nami tried to stifle a giggle, but Kid heard well enough to draw his attention to her, his grin widened as he gave her head a firm pat.
"Still got the scar if you ever want to see it," he suggested with a playful wink. She puffed her cheeks and smacked his leg, but her annoyance broke quickly as she laughed louder, Kid joining her with his own chuckle. He turned back to the camp as their laughter died down. "You can only guess how angry that made me. I was ready to snap the idiot's neck right then and there. So, I snatched the kid by his neck, ignored the damn knife still sticking out of me, and hauled him off the ground. He takes one look at my face and panics, starts stammering a bunch of apologies that I can barely understand. He's terrified and shaking and on the brink of tears and I'm just thinking about how fucking pathetic he looks. Stabs me in the back, or tries to, and then turns into a quivering mess as soon as he's caught. Thought he was going to piss himself, he was so scared.
"And I'm this close to murdering this brat when he says one name I manage to understand through all his blubbering. It's the name of the former jarl. I calm down enough to drag him back to the hall so I can interrogate him where my bleeding ass wasn't about to be frozen solid, too." Kid sat up straight and pointed at Hróarr across the fire. "And then that bastard there takes one look at the boy and suddenly I'm in trouble! His jarl has a knife still stuck in him, and he starts lecturing me about being cruel to orphans. I hadn't even done a damn thing to the boy yet, but everyone's painting me as the bad guy. If Killer hadn't been there, I might have taken my anger out on him, too. Would have started another fucking war over this mess."
"He was filthy and crying and you were obviously irate, likely beyond reason, of course we all assumed you did something to him. You're not exactly known for your even temper," Hróarr argued, but the older man was waved off.
"I can control my temper just fine," he huffed. Nami snorted a laugh that earned a surly growl from Kid. She grinned up at him, unfazed with his show of anger. "You know firsthand that I can control it, damn it. Don't take his side."
"But I've never stabbed you, Kid."
"Fuck that, you have too!"
"It was an accident!"
"You've thrown shit at me, too, and I never did anything to you!"
"You were being an ass! You deserved to have something thrown at you!"
"And you shoved me off the boat!"
"Again, you were being an ass! And you've thrown me off a boat, too!"
"You enjoyed that." He brushed her off with a wave.
"As amusing as this lover's spat is," Franky interjected as he attempted to muffle his laughter behind a fist. Nami's cheeks heated at his words, but her voice strangled in her throat before she could correct him. "Can we get on with the story?"
Kid hissed, but relaxed into his seat again. His fingers returned to their idle brushing of her hair. Still embarrassed by Franky's remark on their relationship, she thought to make Kid stop the intimate gesture. But as his blunt nails scratched over her scalp, she decided she didn't want him to stop, not when the touch was so soothing for her. He didn't care what people thought of their relationship, and she could admit it had become strangely complicated to describe their friendship over the time since they left Drafn, and even there they had plenty of rumors circling the village about what the nature of their relationship was. Correcting one person, ending one behavior that led to that impression, wasn't going to change anything.
She might argue that Kid was only a friend, but even she knew they had been dancing around something else that she would rather not think about.
"So, Hróarr gets the kid by the fire. Starts feeding him while I'm still bleeding out."
"You were not going to die from a knife in your ass," Hróarr interjected.
"That's beside the point," Kid yelled amidst the laughter around the fire. He growled when he saw that there was no sympathy to be had and waved them all off. "Anyway, when Heat finally comes around to help with my damn wound, I start interrogating the little shit while he's wolfing down all of my food. Turns out the kid's the thief I've been looking for. He was stealing to take care of his sick brother, only family he had left after the last jarl murdered their parents and took their farm. His brother had died when the thievery stopped, and he left the village to bury his brother's remains and grieve. When he returned, he had vowed to kill the jarl for robbing him of his family, even if he died doing so. Unfortunately for him, I had gotten to the jarl while he was absent from the village. And since it was still winter, he had only seen me wandering the village covered head to toe in furs, mistook me for that bastard jarl until he finally saw my face."
Kid's grin turned proud. "I respected Finn's resolve enough to overlook the attempted murder. His anger was well justified in my mind, and he apologized for his mistake. Hróarr agreed to take him under his supervision, and have him work around the village to help pay off his debt to the people he stole from. Within a month, that boy was putting on weight, training with a sword, and already making himself popular with the women." Kid laughed. "All of them forgave him for stealing from their gardens, and I know quite a few started sneaking him treats any time he came around. That brat could have grown up happy and fat on their charity, but never once stopped working hard. He promised me that he'd get strong enough to take me down if I ever turned as corrupt as the last jarl. His knife wouldn't miss again."
Franky raised his cup on the other side of the fire. "Then the gods are fortunate to have him. Odin will rejoice at having such a dedicated man in his great army," he said.
Everyone raised their cups in a chorus of agreement, except for Nami. She sank against Kid's leg, hiding her somber frown in his furs.
They might all worship many gods, but Nami knew Kid and his men revered Odin most of all. Freyja's hall and field were coveted by warriors, and often held in equal or even greater regard to Odin's hall, but for these men she doubted they would be as excited about joining Freyja's army as they were about joining Odin's. All men knew that Freyja had her pick of the fallen, that she took half while Odin took the rest. It was an honor to be chosen by either god, but some men still had their hopes set on joining one after they departed from their realm. She didn't know how Kid, or any of his men, would react if they knew their friend was with her gods, not theirs.
A tug on her hair drew her gaze up to Kid. He stared at her as he tilted back his cup, his brow cocked in silent question. She forced a smile for him that only seemed to make him frown.
"I think I've had enough drink for one night," she said as she pushed his furs off. "I'm going to get some rest."
She handed his cloak to him as she stood, ignoring his scowl while she said her good-nights to the others. Gunda and Kalifa offered to join her, but she waved for them to stay and enjoy the night with the others. Kid wasn't deterred as easily and stood to follow her off to the tents. When she turned for the women's tent, Kid grabbed her hand, heedless of her glare as he dragged her toward his tent. She sighed in defeat and hurried her steps so he wouldn't have to pull so hard.
"What's wrong?" he asked quietly as he ushered her into his tent. "Did the story about Finn upset you? I was hoping it would help cheer you up," he huffed, gently pushing her toward his bedding while he went to light a candle.
She turned to him with a pained smile. "It wasn't the story. I'm glad you shared that." She sighed as she lowered herself onto the furs. Kid eased down to crouch in front of her, burying a pained grimace as he looked at her expectantly. "Finn is not in Valhol tonight."
Kid's eyes widened. She looked away, unable to meet his gaze.
"I saw the valkyrie that took him. I know her… knew her in life." She cleared her throat and struggled to keep her smile. "The shieldmaiden that gave her life when Arlong came, Bellemere was the one who took Finn for Freyja's hall."
Kid placed his hand on hers, and she dared to look at him from the corner of her eye. He wore a frown, but she couldn't say if he was angry or not. He seemed concerned.
"Why should that upset you?" he asked.
"I'm afraid it will upset you," she explained. "You and your men claim Odin's spirit in battle. It would make sense that you would rather go to Valhol, not Fólkvangr."
Kid glared for a moment before it broke into a laugh. "That's a stupid thing for you to be worrying over. Would I rather drink with Odin when I die? Of course. But to sit in the company of Freyja, to fight in her field of endless battle - I'd be just as honored to be chosen by her. My men are the same. Some might prefer Odin's hall to Freyja's, but we're mortal and when the time comes to be chosen, that fate is no longer in our hands. We'll go wherever the gods will it." He squeezed her hand, leaning in as he grinned at her. "And knowing Finn as well as I do, he's probably far happier in the company of your family than any other gods. That little charmer is probably ecstatic to meet Freyja and fight for her. He'll fight even harder in battle knowing that she is watching."
Nami laughed quietly. He had a point there.
"Do you believe that all of us who die fighting for you will be taken to Fólkvangr?" Kid asked.
"I'm not sure. I only know that Finn was chosen because I saw Bellemere…" She laughed again, this time it came strangled with renewed sorrow. Kid shifted closer to brush his fingers over her cheek. She leaned into the touch, sighing at the comfort she never expected to gain from him. "She was even more beautiful than I remembered."
"All the men in the pyre with Finn, did they go with him?" he asked quietly.
She shrugged. "I can't be certain, but I chose them to share the pyre with him in the hopes that they were all together. I didn't want Finn to be without his friends."
"And the bracelet?"
"To thank him for all he had done for me, and to promise that his sacrifice would not be in vain. I sent him off with a message for my family and Bellemere, asking that they take care of him, and swearing that I would do everything in my power not to let his death, or any other hold me back." She looked at Kid, hardening her eyes with resolve. "I won't look back. I won't run away. I'll keep fighting and getting stronger. I'll do whatever it takes, make whatever sacrifices I have to, but I will see that my ancestor's prophecy comes to pass. I won't fail you or anyone else I care for again."
Kid's grin slowly grew and she didn't miss the pride shining bright in his eyes as he cupped her cheek. "You are a remarkable woman," he praised as he gave her cheek a firm pat and then pulled away. "I think you've earned your gift." She straightened her back at the reminder, prompting him to laugh as he stood. "Knew that would get you excited."
She watched eagerly as he went to the far corner of his tent and pulled a wool blanket off a chest. She was already imagining what sort of treasures he brought back for her as he grasped a handle and dragged the chest toward her. She immediately reached for it once it was in front of her, but he slapped his hand over the lid to stop her from opening it.
"I already know what you're hoping to find with that greedy look on your face," he said. "I'll tell you now, there's no gold in here."
She slumped in obvious disappointment. Kid rolled his eyes.
"I still think you'll appreciate what I brought you. They're treasures of a different sort," he explained as he finally withdrew his hand and waved for her to open the chest.
With a sigh over her dashed hopes, she pushed the lid open, and then gaped at what was inside.
"Parchment?" She leaned over to dig through the chest, curious of all the papers inside. There was a whole stack of blank parchment to one side, while loosely bound books and scrolls were haphazardly tossed on top of them.
"This way you can draw your maps if you wish," he explained. "And here, I found this on that knight's desk." He leaned in to snatch up one of the books and hand it to her. "It looks like he has some maps drawn out of the region here, with some notes."
Nami took the journal and flipped it open, furrowing her brows at the letters. "I can't read English."
"Killer can. He'll help you translate," Kid said while she idly turned the pages. There were maps of roadways, some rivers and channels. One page looked to have a sketch of a coast with words jotted alongside it. That might be helpful if she wished to draw some of the coastline she observed as they sailed by it. "If it's no use to you, then we can use them for kindling."
She shook her head and looked up to smile. "No. I can find a use for these. And the clean parchment was a good idea. I've tried to draw on plain leather, and sometimes it suffices, but I never feel that the lines flow right with the ink. It takes more work than it does on parchment. Thank you. It was very thoughtful of you, Kid."
He openly gloated as she began to dig through the chest more, curious what else he had brought back for her. She laughed when she found an ornate silver box, proving there was at least some real treasure to be had in there. It was unfortunate that it was empty, but it was pretty.
"You've been complaining about your jewelry being left out in your room," Kid explained. "You mentioned that you wanted a box to keep your things in. I had thought about carving a wooden one for you, but when I saw that, I thought you might appreciate a silver one more."
"Either would have been perfect," she said as her fingers traced the floral pattern weaving over the lid. "I love it."
She carefully set the box aside, giggling as Kid straightened with pride. It was no wonder why he wanted to present this chest to her himself. He obviously wanted to hear her approval over what he gathered.
She hummed as she continued her search and came upon a larger tome, bound with an ornately carved wooden cover. Kid grunted, leaning over to watch as her hand traced over the swirling latticework of the cover.
"I meant to toss that one back," he mused. "Killer looked at it. Said it was in French, something about their saints and holy men. He knows Frankish better than French, so he couldn't be certain. I didn't think it would be of importance to you."
Curious, she opened the book to see what was written inside. Her eyes went wide at the first page and she looked up at Kid in shock.
"What is it?" he asked, confused at her reaction.
"This isn't about their holy men," she said, further confusing him. "It's a book on the noble lineages in Francia." She went back to flip through the pages, scouring through the lists and stories within them. "There is mention of their holy men and saints, but most of these stories are about their nobles. I'm surprised it's not written in the older Frankish. It must be a recent copy."
"Wait… You understand that book?" Kid asked, moving closer to sit at her right side and lean over her shoulder. "And why are you more excited about a book on lineage than parchment for your maps?"
She frowned at the pages as she paused in her reading. "Arlong focused all of his raiding in Francia. After his first raid, he brought back a slave that knew our language and could tutor me in Frankish. She was with us for six months before I tried to help her flee. She offered to take me with her. We didn't get far before Arlong caught us. He killed my tutor, then brought home new slaves to tutor me until I became too close to them and he feared another escape attempt and killed them, too. That went on for six years, until I knew enough of both Frankish and French to no longer need teaching."
"And your excitement over this particular text?" he prompted, turning to stare at her expectantly.
She swallowed thickly. "My father was a Norman. My mother… Bellemere, she told me he had been in a lower house of Normandy, very distantly related to the first Duke, Rollo."
Kid sat back with a grunt. "You said Arlong intended to undo the duchy from within, and that you were the key to that," he mused. "A daughter born to a pagan mother outside of marriage - that would certainly create some unrest. But women mean little in the rules of inheritance in Francia. Other than creating some gossip, I can't see your existence being any threat to them. And I'm guessing your father's dead, anyway, so they could just call you an impostor and be done with you."
Nami snorted. "As I've told Arlong more times than I can count, but once he has his mind set on something, it's impossible to sway him." She nudged Kid with her shoulder. "It seems I'm destined to be surrounded by obstinate men."
He laughed as he slung his arm around her. "Maybe, but at least I treat you better, right?"
"Most of the time," she said dismissively, focusing back on the book as he let out a frustrated growl. "You have your moments that make me want to strangle you, but otherwise you are far kinder to me, if no one else." He huffed beside her and sunk against her side. She looked back up at his annoyed glower and smiled for him. "And you are surprisingly thoughtful. When you want to be." His ire waned as she leaned in to brush a kiss to his jaw. "Thank you for all of this. Though it doesn't count toward your debts, since I do remember specifying chests of gold."
He hissed, jerking his face away from her. "I can't just give you chests of gold, Nami. I need to split the hoard among everyone. I can only get away with this because no one else gives a damn about parchment and books. At least give me some credit for the jewelry box."
Nami hummed. "I suppose it could suffice in place of the silk I asked for. But it is definitely not valuable enough to offset a whole chest of gold."
Kid grumbled as he stood from the bed. She watched him go to his war chest and dig around inside. When he found what he was looking for, he returned to the bed with a hand hidden behind his back and graced her with a devious smile.
"What are you hiding?" she asked, setting aside her book to peek around him.
He tucked his hand under his leg. "It's something shiny and gold," he teased as her gaze fixed on his hidden hand. "But I'm not sure I want to part with it when I doubt you'll let it stand in place of your stupid debt."
She pouted. "I'll consider it if you let me see it."
Kid hummed as he leaned in closer to her. "I still don't know. It's incredibly valuable to me. Far more valuable than a whole chest of gold."
"That isn't possible," she argued, leveling him with a glare. "Unless you are hiding a king's crown in that hand, I cannot imagine anything being worth that much."
"It's sentimental value."
She glowered, unwilling to believe that. "Let me see it."
His eyes flickered with mischievous amusement as he slowly drew his hand out. The clatter of a chain broke her gaze from his to watch a gilded cross fall from his hand to swing back and forth on its gold chain. She gasped and made to grab at it, but Kid held it from her reach with a quiet chuckle.
"You asked to see it, not to touch it," he teased, grinning at her sulky pout.
"It's only a cross. What makes it worth so much to you?" she asked, huffing in annoyance at his game.
"Because it's magic," he explained.
She raised her brow, curious and confused. He brought the cross close enough for her to snatch it, though he didn't relinquish his hold on the chain. He curled the chain around his fingers to pull the cross toward him, tugging her hand with it. She paid no mind to him as she examined the gilded cross. It was beautiful. The luster of gold shone and the jewels glittered in the meager candlelight. But as beautiful as it was, she didn't think it was any better than the gold chalice Kid had been drinking from all night, or the bracelet she gifted to Finn for his grave. It was another piece of treasure, another trinket. She certainly wanted it, but it was not worth what he swore it was.
"It doesn't feel like magic," she said, her assessment made.
"Maybe the magic isn't for you. Maybe it's only meant for me," he reasoned as his fingertips slid over hers until they found the smooth amber stone in the middle of the cross. "I went to sleep with this in my hand, and I dreamed of the Saxon giant that meant to take you. If not for that, I wouldn't have returned to you when I did."
She looked at him with wide eyes, but saw no lie on his face. Her breath grew short as his fingers caressed the back of her hand and he pressed his forehead to hers.
"Why should I part with a treasure that helped me protect a far greater treasure?" he asked, his voice rough and low. The question took her breath away. She could only sit there in dumb silence, staring at his heavy gaze. "If you still wish to have this, but don't believe it's worth canceling some of my debt, then perhaps we can make another arrangement?"
She blinked from her stupor. "Another arrangement?" she asked uncertainly.
Kid leaned in and she failed to fight off a shiver as his breath fanned over her ear. His raspy chuckle made her entire body tingle with a strange lightness she had never known before. She was confused, but could not say that the feeling was unpleasant.
"I have heard many tales of how Freyja acquired her beloved necklace, Brísingamen," he whispered suggestively. "My favorite is how she agreed to pay the dwarves when they would accept no silver or gold in exchange for the necklace."
Nami stiffened as understanding dawned on her. She tightened her grip on the cross while she remained perfectly still and calculated exactly how much she was going to make him pay for this.
"You probably know the stories better than I do, Nami. Did she really sleep with them? Did each dwarf get one night with her, or did they all share her together for the four nights?" he asked.
She let out a long breath as he ran his nose over the sensitive skin behind her ear, and relaxed, melting into him. She turned her head to brush her lips over his ear, smiling at the quiet groan he let slip. "Are you saying that you will give me this necklace in exchange for my body?" she whispered.
"One treasure for another," he rasped quietly as his breath grew heavy. "I think that's a fair trade."
Nami shoved him back on the furs and smiled at his pained yelp.
"Not so rough, Kitten," he groaned, gasping for a breath as he arched his back and searched for a comfortable position. The cross remained clasped in his right hand as she pinned it to the bed, gently weaving her fingers through his.
"Kitten?" she asked with a sly smile as she slid a leg over his waist and straddled him.
His gaze fought to remain on her face, but he failed and let his eyes sweep over her as she sat atop him. His free hand hooked on the back of her thigh and dug in tight to hold her there. She could feel how much he appreciated the position they were in as his hips rocked up, brushing his clothed length against her.
He finally met her eyes again as she laid down on him, pressing her breasts tight to his chest. He gave her a crooked smile as his hand brushed up higher on her leg until it came to rest on her hip.
"Well, you are the cute little stray I picked up out in the woods," he explained. "And you just pounced on me like a cat. I think the name fits."
Nami giggled, leaning in to tease her nose over his. "I see… I think I like it."
"Good." His eyes crinkled as his smile grew and he picked his head up with obvious intent. She drew away just enough to keep his lips from touching hers and snickered when he groaned in disappointment. "Don't tease me," he warned.
"I'm willing to make a trade, Kid, but I'm still not sure it's worth the price you've set," she whispered. "Four nights is too much."
His arm slid around her waist as he tried to steal another kiss. She turned her face away so that his lips only grazed her cheek. Her breath caught in her throat as she tried to ignore the tingling of her skin at the gentle caress. "I'll take one night," he offered.
His breath smelled of the wine they drank, and she wondered if that was what emboldened him. He had been so guarded about his attraction to her, the liquor must be to blame.
"All you want is one night?" she asked, shutting her eyes as he lightly kissed her jaw.
"If it's all I can have, then it's what I will take," he said, voice low and hushed.
Her fingers played over his. She hid her smile as his lips grazed up to her ear. His movements were slow and lazy, maybe even hesitant as he waited for her to accept the offer.
"So you'll take whatever I'm willing to give?" she asked as she slowly turned her face toward him.
"Anything," he rasped against her cheek.
She pulled away enough to meet his hooded gaze, wavering between her lips and her eyes. His hand slid up her back as she leaned in, holding her firm against his chest.
"Then, if you're willing to take anything," she whispered, fluttering her lips over his with every word spoken. A groan rumbled in his throat as he rolled his hips up to press the thick bulge in his trousers flush between her legs. Her body warmed at the touch, but she forced herself to ignore the pleasant flip in her stomach as she grazed her teeth over his lower lip.
And then she bit down hard.
Kid froze beneath her and his eyes went wide. His hold around her back slackened in his surprise, and his fingers loosened around the cross and chain he gripped. Before he could understand what was happening, she tore herself off him and leaped away with her prize in hand. She spun with a laugh as she held the necklace in front of her, rejoicing at the pretty jewels that were now hers.
Kid was so still, she didn't think he was breathing, but that wasn't her problem anymore. She got what she wanted, and hopefully taught him a lesson about suggesting such a thing to her. As if she would have sex with a man for one measly necklace, even if he swore it was magic. Even if her grandmother supposedly slept with four dwarves in exchange for her necklace, Nami was not her. She had limits, not to mention a curse hanging over her head.
Her celebration ended when Kid released a long, hissing breath. She glanced over to watch his body go limp as he covered his face with his hands.
"You fucking teasing bitch," he growled.
"Don't you dare call me that," she yelled, stomping toward him to kick his leg. He growled and rolled away, so she kicked him again. "You're the asshole who had the gall to proposition me for sex!" She kicked him again, even harder than before. He groaned and tried to escape, so she stood on the furs and continued to kick at his back and side until he was yelping in pain. "You selfish, lecherous, pig! You have no right to be angry with me!"
"I was joking," he argued, curling in on himself as she slammed her heel into his shoulder.
"You disgusting liar! Do you really take me for a fool?" she screamed as she continued her assault. "I know damn well that you would have taken advantage and happily seduced me if I showed even a little bit of willingness! You jackass! I have never been more furious with you!"
"Stop kicking me, woman," he hollered, releasing his head to swat at her foot when she made to strike again. She crouched down to smack the side of his face instead. "Ow! Stop it! I'm sorry! Just stop beating me!" She hit him again. "I said I was sorry!"
With another stifled shriek, she drew away and left him to nurse his new bruises while she tossed her gifts back into the chest.
"I want that cross back," he dared to say as he pushed himself to sit up. He clutched his side and met her simmering glare with his own.
"Absolutely not," she yelled, holding the necklace away from him. "This barely covers a fine for that idiotic stunt you just pulled with me."
"I said I was just joking about that! I didn't expect you to act on it!"
"But you were more than willing to take advantage when I did! Anyway, you agreed to give it to me in exchange for anything! I think you got more than you bargained for," she argued, sneering at him before turning back to the chest to close the lid.
He growled in frustration, her only warning for what came next. She shrieked when she found herself on her back, pinned beneath Kid.
"What are you doing? Get off of me," she hissed, shoving at him until he snatched her by both hands and pushed them over her head.
"I've changed my mind," he growled. "I'm not satisfied with that exchange."
She stilled beneath him and gasped in shock. "Kid…" she said in warning, uncertain what to make of his feral grin.
He slammed his lips to hers, cutting her off before she could level any threats against him. His kiss was firm, filled with his frustration and barely contained anger. He pressed his lips to hers hard enough to make them sore and held himself there while she laid perfectly still beneath him. He didn't move, merely waited until she slowly relaxed, falling limp with submission.
He gripped her wrists in one hand as his kiss eased, molding his lips to hers. A warm hand cupped her cheek, tangled with strands of her hair that fell over her face. His lips moved softly against hers with another kiss, coaxing her into returning it as her lips tingled just as her skin had when he kissed her jaw and cheek. His lips teased hers apart with a new kiss, and she gasped when his tongue darted out. With a muffled groan, Kid tilted his head and deepened the kiss with that opening, devouring her with insatiable need as she gave in to the heady feeling consuming her.
She didn't know what to make of the heat flooding through her, even as she shivered beneath him. Her cheeks burned and her stomach flipped and fluttered. The feeling only grew stronger when her tongue hesitantly met his, and Kid responded with a pleasured groan as he sank into her. Her hands clenched, desperate to touch him when their kisses turned hungry. His hand trailed down her neck, and she arched into him as it came to rest over her breast, making it tingle and ache for his touch. She moaned when he kneaded the mound and the pulsing ache moved to settle between her legs.
There was no denying it anymore. She wanted him, desired him as much as he desired her.
She whimpered when his touch abruptly left her. His hand slammed onto the fur at her side, and he tore his lips from hers with a gasp.
"Damn it," he hissed while panting for air. He bowed his head to hide his eyes behind dark red locks. "Shit…"
She was too shocked at the sudden loss of his affection to find her words. Her breath was strangled in her throat, and her whole body ached for more of his touch. When he lifted his head to meet her gaze, she clearly saw the struggle playing out over his face, lips curling with a pained sneer as he fought to keep his eyes on hers.
"Don't test me," he rasped. "Don't toy with me like that… ever again…" he added, his voice straining through a growl. "Just… don't. Or I won't be able to stop myself."
Her eyes widened as he pushed himself off her. He sat up with a groan and ran his hands over his face. She could only lay there, blinking in her stupor as she watched him pull away from his furs and stumble to his feet. He refused to look at her as he trudged toward the entrance of his tent.
"You can keep that damn cross, but you can't stay in my tent," he growled. "You sleep with the women from now on. I'll leave in the morning to deliver our prisoner. I don't want to see your fucking face again until I return. Understood?"
He didn't wait for her to answer as he stormed out, leaving her there in his bed, too stunned to move. Barked orders to Killer and Gunda outside broke her from her trance. She let out a shaky breath and brought her fingers to her lips, running over the sore flesh that still felt the ghost of his kiss. The consequences of what just occurred slowly dawned on her.
She had just kissed Eustass Kid. She had just willingly crossed a line with him that they never should have been near in the first place. He was supposed to be her protector, her friend, nothing more than that. No matter the attraction he had for her, or the warm affection she had for him, they were never supposed to cross that line. But they did, and she knew there was no going back.
Nothing would ever be the same between them again.
A/N: So, with the funeral, everyone knows about the burning ship ceremony, it's like the most famous, iconic image for Viking funerals. But to actually burn a ship every time a person died - that is expensive. That particular ceremony was usually reserved for wealthy, extremely important people (Earls, Kings, Queens, etc), and they were often still buried in that ship, rather than set out to sea (see: Oseberg Ship). It was more common to inter the dead, along with their grave goods, in burial mounds marked by a 'stone ship' - a ring of rocks in the shape of a longship. Cremation was also common, combined with the burial, because it was said that if they built the pyre right, the column of smoke would help lift the departed souls to the next realm.
As for the ceremony itself - sacrifices were a must, both to appease the dead and the gods taking them. The Norse had a fear of the dead coming back as ghosts. There were even special burials done for any person who died with a known grievance or desire for revenge - they nailed their feet and hands into the ground to keep them from potentially returning. They would even dig up a body, burn it, and rebury it if they were plagued by misfortune after a death, fearing that it was the person's soul causing the calamity. They were very superstitious, obviously.
Seven days after the person died, the people celebrated with funeral ale and a feast. Obviously I had them perform this part on the same night, though technically their party was not the same since they didn't have specifically 'funeral ale' and there was no sorting of potential inheritances. But this is a funeral while in a foreign land, not one performed at home, so I feel it's forgivable to alter that in this instance.
As for 'the monk' - I think it is clearly obvious now who he is, yet he does not want me to use his actual name at this point. He seems to like the whole air of mystery thing, because he's a dork. If his interaction with his friend (and that friend's description) was somehow not obvious enough, the name he will eventually present himself with when he shows up again later will just keep making it more obvious, lol.
By the way, I enjoyed giving Hawkins a cameo appearance in this. I hadn't planned to, but then I realized he works very well as a guide for 'the monk's' direction. He'll likely show up again near the end. But seriously, I could not resist using him and making him a druid (look up 'celtic wicker man' and it'll be clear just how perfect he is for that roll). I love when I have an idea before I do research on it, and then find out that it works perfectly. The only difficulty I had for him was how to translate his tarot reading to this time period since tarot cards did not exist, but cleromancy did, so I felt that 'sortes' was an adequate replacement and still held a similar feel to Hawkins' tarot.
And I hope you all enjoyed the sexual tension I put in at the end (to put that mildly). They weren't actually supposed to kiss (let alone make out) so soon, but they really have been dancing around their feelings (some more obviously than others) and it all just kind of came to a breaking point in this chapter. And yes, Kid needs to start calling her Kitten in this because it has been a struggle restraining him from using that nickname from the beginning. He needed to work his way to that point first.
I look forward to your thoughts on this chapter! :)