Hey! Hope you're all doing well! I'm so sorry for the lack of updates the past couple of months! I've gotten a little part-time job that just seems to run me ragged and then my state was hit with a couple of hurricanes. Both of them knocked out my power for a couple of days! Then, of course, there was this drama with the spam reviews and the virus here on FFN. I'm unsure if they've gotten that fixed? If they haven't, and you are unaware of what I'm talking about, there's some sort of virus affecting user profiles and if you visit an infected profile while logged in to your FFN account, it can jump onto your profile and gain some information (such as your email, etc.). I have no idea if this is something they've gotten around to fixing yet (or if they've bothered to get rid of the spam reviews and such). Hopefully they will soon, if they haven't already! Anyways, thank you so much for your patience! This is a battle heavy chapter and I do so love a good fight scene. I decided to cut it here because it was becoming a bit long. Please do review and let me know what you're thinking! Hope you're all having a great week!
Dagny took a bristle brush to her mail shirt. It was stained the dirty copper of dried blood, luckily not her own. Normally a boring a job, it was a reprieve to her since she spent much of her waking hours sewing gashes together and splinting broken bones. For a short and easy victory, many raiders had managed to get wounded.
"It had to be done," said Halfdan beside her. He was using a knife to clean beneath his fingernails and was speaking of how his brother had murdered an earl. The man's only misfortune had been to marry the woman Harald Finehair claimed to love. It had, at least, been a fairly clean kill. There were worse ways to die than an axe to the head.
"Yes, she'll certainly marry him now," Dagny replied sarcastically, rubbing her thumb over a particularly difficult spot. Still, she decided not to voice her disapproval. No one appeared to view the murder as especially strange and besides, she did not care to earn Harald and Halfdan's ire. They seemed to like her, if only because of Ivar, and she craved the friendship.
"Really?" Halfdan raised an eyebrow when she looked over at him.
"No!" He chuckled and she found it more eerie than innocuous.
"How am I to know that that wasn't how Ivar won your favor?" he asked, as if they were sharing an inside joke, and Dagny forced a laugh.
"You know very little about women," she responded.
"I know more than my brother." She did not doubt that was true. She liked Harald for his hidden softness but rather than show vulnerability and embrace feeling something in a way that made sense, he would barrel in and kill a man to get back at a woman that likely had never wanted to marry him at all. "I'm going to look for something to eat. Do you want anything?"
Halfdan was standing now and looking down at her expectantly. It was difficult to believe that she'd once found him terrifying. "No," she replied, still running the rough brush across the mail. "Thank you."
He cocked an eyebrow at that, like he was one of those beings of the forest who might later hold that gratitude over you, but he reached over and tousled her loose hair before walking away. It was something he might do to a younger sister. Dagny tried to battle the warmth in her chest, the thought that she was becoming friends with someone aside from Ragnar's sons, someone who likely never took notice of her when she was a slave. It was strangely emotional.
Around her, the camp was bustling. It was overrun with warriors sharpening blades for the battle they all felt was coming, mending armor and mail, eating while there was food to be had. At a distance, she saw Floki's tent. Helga and Tanaruz were standing beside it, Helga absentmindedly stroking Tanaruz's hair. They did not belong on this raid. The poor girl was eyeing the forest now, weighing her chances against the boars and wolves that no doubt stalked the woods.
Sigurd was at the next tent over, helping wrap a raider's upper arm wound. Dagny could see, even at a distance, that it was riddled with infection and would possibly need to be amputated. But Sigurd was wrapping it tightly and strangely enough, smiling while doing it. He was easily the best help she'd had healing. He was focused, not easily ruffled by chaos, and he had the steadiest hands she'd ever seen. It pained her to think, even to herself, that he was better at stitching a gash than she was.
"I am shocked to see you in the company of Halfdan," Ubbe said, startling her and throwing his leg over the bench she was sitting on. She hadn't even heard him approach. "When we were children, you used to run in fear of him and Harald. You'd hide in the kitchens and refuse to serve them."
"I do not tell embarrassing stories of you when you were younger," she replied, mail shirt forgotten.
"Because there are none," he responded, grinning. For a moment, Dagny remembered the day after Lagertha's attack on Kattegat, when the sun had cut through the trees and made Ubbe look like a forest king.
"What news of the Saxons?" she asked, to tear the image away from her.
He said they were less than a day's ride away, that there was a large army led by King Ecbert's son. Prince Aethelwulf wanted revenge for the death of Aelle and to protect his own father. To a certain point, Dagny wanted the same. Ecbert seemed a man of cunning and he would have had to be for Ragnar to respect him. But Ivar could think only of killing him too, of blood-eagling him in the same manner as Aelle. Still, she believed Ecbert deserved better, if he was to die at all.
Battle could not be avoided and indeed, it would be necessary in order to push past Aethelwulf's forces into Wessex. The camp had been made quickly a few hours before while Bjorn and Ivar rode off to inspect the battlefield. Since their return, there had been nothing but animosity between them. She and Floki had sat to the side while the brothers argued about all manner of things. Ivar believed the Saxons to be weak. Bjorn and Ubbe disagreed. Sigurd thought Ivar knew nothing, since he'd fought so few battles. Ivar threw back that Sigurd hadn't fought any more than he had. All of it culminated in Ivar declaring himself Ragnar's true heir and that he understood how difficult it must be for the other sons to know that their crippled younger brother was their father's favorite. Dagny didn't need to see the future to know that once Ragnar's death was avenged, much of the army would fall apart.
"Then there isn't much time to prepare," she said, knowing they would likely fight the Saxon forces tomorrow. The mail in her lap suddenly felt even heavier.
"And even less to fight over petty things," he responded and nodded towards Bjorn and Ivar, who were now making their way through the camp. In the mist that seemed constant in England, they did not look like brothers or friends. They appeared to be adversaries. "Ivar should back down. He is the youngest of us so why should he lead or make the decisions? There should be discussion between us all, with Bjorn taking charge." Dagny thought of asking how he believed any discussion could take place with this hostility between them but he was looking at her, almost pleading, and she understood.
"Why should I tell him that when he is the one coming up with the best ideas?" Ubbe shook his head in response.
"Because, Dagny, he is young. He is impetuous. He is emotional. Whatever he has in cleverness, he lacks in subtlety. But he listens to you and you could counsel him to be more cautious and less argumentative with Bjorn."
"But it's a good plan, to stretch out the fighting, confuse them, tire them out before finishing them off in a place of our choosing." It was a strategy that Ivar had been cultivating since they arrived on English soil and it would work no matter where the battle took place. Dagny thought it was rather brilliant. She could agree that the arguing was childish and got them nowhere but Ivar knew ways for the army to be successful. It did the brothers no credit to dismiss them out of hand simply because they came from someone young and inexperienced.
"And do you believe what he said? That he is the true heir to my father?" There was a weight in Ubbe's gaze that wasn't normally there. If she answered that she'd told Ivar that time and again, it would wound him, maybe even cause a rift. But she did believe it and Ubbe would know if she lied.
"He says those things for you to grow to respect him." Ubbe cocked his head to the side, his question still unanswered. Dagny let out a sigh. "I see Ragnar in all of you but don't you think there is some merit to the thought that he chose Ivar to go with him?"
"He only went to Ivar because the rest of us declined." To her mind, he couldn't rightly complain about that. If he wanted to be favored, perhaps he should have gone when Ragnar asked. But Ubbe and the others thought little of their father until he was gone. They disdained him for what happened to the English settlement, for abandoning them for ten years, and those were valid complaints. It made Dagny think Ragnar knew that everyone but Ivar would refuse, as Ivar was always looking for a way to prove himself.
"I don't want to fight with you," she said.
"We aren't fighting," he replied and smiled the smile that had one him many a girl's heart. But we may one day, Dagny thought, and she dreaded it.
Ivar's lips were icy against her collarbone and the line of her jaw. The rain hissed as it hit the ground outside. She could see the mist below the flaps of the tent. There was a fog over the hills that could only be the consequence of the cold. She sat back and Ivar leaned up to meet her, a chill settling into her bones.
He wound a strand of her half-braided hair around his fingers. His free hand crept along the neck of her dressing gown. Ivar was not a summer lover. He came into his own when dark fell early, as the clouds became low and gray.
She thought of speaking to him about the battle or the things Ubbe said but his mouth was back against hers and those thoughts fell away. Tomorrow she may die and she would rather think of this than spiteful arguments and rivalry.
Ivar was letting her dressing gown fall to her waist when the tent came open. A rush of cold kissed her bare skin and Ivar suddenly sat up, his arm going around her back protectively. Dagny turned her head to see Sigurd in the doorway, mist and rain coming in around him. It strangely suited him.
Sigurd groaned in disgust. "You both make me sick," he said.
"Take your frustrations out on someone else, Sigurd," Dagny replied before Ivar could say something that might make everything worse. But Sigurd did not seem to really be looking at her. He was staring at Ivar, a strange look in his eyes that Dagny would not soon forget. Finally, he dragged his gaze down Dagny's bare back, less because he wanted to than that he aimed to anger Ivar. She felt Sigurd's eyes on her the same way she felt Ivar's arm against her back, his fingers curling with rage. It was physical.
"Leave before I make you," Ivar hissed. Sigurd only laughed and Dagny shivered, something she couldn't rightly put down to the cold of the night. Ivar clenched his jaw in response and pulled her closer. A warmth spread in her chest at that.
"You can't make me do anything," Sigurd declared but left anyway. When the flap to the tent closed, Dagny collapsed beside Ivar, her pale gown twisted about her chest and legs. Her heart was pounding, half because of something she didn't understand, half because Ivar had acted protective and she didn't realize how much she would enjoy it.
"The next time he looks on you," Ivar murmured, "I will take his eyes." She smiled in response, despite herself. Because something about it had actually unnerved her. It couldn't be modesty. Being a slave cured you of that quickly. But there had been something to it that Dagny distinctly did not like.
"Why don't you both put this vindictive enmity behind you?" she asked. He looked down at her, pushed a piece of hair behind her ear, and kissed her throat again.
"Because," he said, mouth against her skin, "then he will think he is right. He will believe he can get away with his cruelty and he will, if I let him."
"It does neither of you any good. It is poison." She leaned back, her hand on his jaw, and he was looking at her like he never did in public. It was sweet, kind, vulnerable. As if Dagny was a thing of wonder and worth studying in depth.
"The gods knew when they placed Sigurd and I together that we would fight forever."
"But you don't have to. You could have a conversation and put this to rest. Talk about your mother, about Harbard, about… anything." When pressed, Dagny actually could not think of the root of their issues. Was it truly Aslaug? Was it Sigurd seeing through Harbard? Was it resentment over favoritism with their parents? Frankly, she did not know.
Ivar rolled his eyes and laid down beside her. His skin was so warm she almost feared he had a fever. "You have heard Sigurd speak to me the length of our lives. He will never see me for what I am and he will never respect me."
"When we win this battle tomorrow because of you, he will." That wasn't true, she felt, but she said it anyway, out of duty, out of wanting to please him, out of wanting to get Ubbe's imploring face out of her mind.
Ivar's full mouth widened in a grin. To someone else, it might have been frightening but Dagny adored his wolfish smile and the keening laugh that often accompanied it. He wore it on the battlefield and now, he wore it in bed.
Dagny's hair was braided tightly to her scalp on one side and hung loose on the other. Her eyes were dark with kohl, her shield was on her arm, and the belt at her waist carried a trusted short sword. The Saxons were bringing a formidable force before them and she would be lying if she said she wasn't scared. But she was at Sigurd's side so she found herself wanting to be falsely confident, if only to needle him. Luckily, he'd said nothing on the march to the battlefield and he wasn't close enough to see the sweat coating her palms.
"So," he started, as the field was coming into sight. They would have to climb a hill for full view of it, for Ivar's plan to be enacted by the Saxon army spotting them as they split apart. She groaned. It was a very steep hill.
"So," she replied, going through the battle plan in her head. Split into two when the Saxons advance, head into the trees, wait for the Saxons to be corralled to the edge of the forest, pelt them with arrows. It eased her nerves. It also made the embarrassment of Sigurd almost seeing her naked dim in comparison to what lay before them.
"How is your leg? Are you sure you can climb?" He jerked his chin to the upcoming knoll that might have better been termed a mountain, in Dagny's opinion.
"Don't say that too loudly," she hissed back and looked over her shoulder at Ubbe. He was speaking with Hvitserk and neither one of them was paying she and Sigurd any mind. At least the day was starting out well. "Ubbe will push me back to the flanks or worse, to camp, to hide with Helga and the others."
Sigurd scoffed. "Oh, he can't do that now, though I'm sure he's never stopped making the argument. You know, Hvitserk didn't want you here either."
"Sigurd, I am trying to focus on things that are of importance, not your irrelevant intimidation." The battle plan flashed through her head again, making her forget the ache in her calf from the marching and the wet and the cold. Making her forget Sigurd's eyes like ice on the skin of her spine, the exquisite way Ivar had pulled her to him. If she took that into battle, she would falter with sentiment.
"I just thought I would offer to carry something for you." He tipped his chin to his chest, in a self-deprecating manner, and Dagny was pulled from her anxious thoughts.
"Is this your idea of an apology?"
He shrugged and it was genuine. "You did not deserve it. Though you'll be caught between me and Ivar for a long time, if you stay with him. It is something that will never end." The wind howled across the grass and it crept beneath Dagny's breastplate and tunic to run over her skin. She felt blood on her hands, she suddenly saw it bloom on Sigurd's chest, running red over the mail that covered him. It took everything in her not to grip his arm, not to say that a sickening feeling had taken root in her gut. But Sigurd did not believe in signs or what some might even call witchery. If he did, it was only that he thought something was to be gained in the manipulation. If she told him about this, he would malign her, just as he had Aslaug.
"We don't have the time to dwell on your rivalry with Ivar. We need to focus on what's in front of us, of watching each other's backs." Normally she might say this because she honestly did not trust Sigurd the way she would Ubbe. But now she could only think that the battle would kill him, that she would look up in the midst of fighting to see Aethelwulf running him through. And it made a strange sort of sense. It would be a pitiful dream to believe everyone would live. Some men called in their sleep for Valhalla but Dagny had never seen the use in looking forward to death.
"Don't worry, Dagny. I've promised my brothers that I will look out for you," he said with a smirk. It was something that finally cast him into the same light as Ragnar. It made him appear charming and enigmatic, mischief simmering below the surface. She thought of that expression wiped clean, of his skin losing its color, of a makeshift ship burial. She went cold thinking of it.
Finally they crested the hill and she was forced to push the worry for Sigurd aside. Mist rolled in over the hills, which were a green that almost seemed unnatural. Once more, Dagny thought of how she loved England, even with its cover of clouds and fog.
The Saxons were across the field. She let out a ragged breath, her breastplate suddenly seeming too tight. They had a large army. Not as great as the forces they were fielding but numerous enough for this to be a much larger battle than the skirmish against Aelle's forces had been. She turned her head and saw Ivar much farther down the line with Floki. He was grinning, evidently pleased that the Saxons were intimidated enough to enlist a vast amount of warriors.
Even at this great distance, separated by hills and immense fog, she saw the Saxon leaders. Aethelwulf did not wear a crown but then, he did not need to. He was the point their army was focused on. Dagny heard he had sons but if they were on the field, they were not at his side.
At the battle against Aelle, there had been war cries, screams that sent chills along your arms. Here there was nothing but silence. Nothing until Ivar, riding in a chariot as a king in his own right, turned and gave them a nod. The great army split in two. Sigurd was already smiling beside her, high on a victory they had not yet gained. Dagny wanted to take him by the shoulders and shake him. She wanted to make sure that he stayed in her line of sight the entire time. But that would be impossible and there was no guarantee that she was skilled enough to save him, if that's what it came to.
She looked back over her shoulder as they descended the hill towards the forest line. The Saxons were confused. The men they had mounted were riding back and forth in front of their lines, undecided on which group to follow. Finally, they did precisely what Ivar had hoped they would do and entered the opening left by the splitting army. Despite her worry and her fear, Dagny smiled. After this day, Ivar would no longer be someone others just indulged. His advice would be sought after and he would be viewed as a leader.
She and Sigurd ducked beneath a low hanging branch and entered the dark forest at the edge of the field. Dagny immediately felt more comfortable. There had always been something about a wood that put her at ease. Still, even in a place where she felt at home, she could not forget the thought of Sigurd run through, his blood on her hands. But the entire morning, all she had been doing was mulling over the battle plan. She'd spent the majority of the night before, staring at the tent's folds above her, thinking of the battlefield and what would happen if the Saxons did not do as predicted. She wasn't well-rested. In fact, she couldn't even consider herself as being in her right mind. She had hallucinated. Things like that happened all the time when anxiety consumed you. She knew that. She was a healer. And only thinking of what might happen to Sigurd would be dangerous for her.
The path opened up before them and Hvitserk and Sigurd took off at a run, both of them grinning. Others began to sprint over the path and the underbrush. It was miraculous that they kept quiet. Through the trees, she could see the Saxon forces being pushed to the forest's edge by Floki's group.
Ubbe was suddenly beside her, looking more a prince than a warrior. "Are you all right?" he asked lowly, concern evident in the set of his jaw. "You seem pale."
Dagny didn't know how to respond. What would he say if she told him she saw things? Or even that she was simply scared of how the battle might go? Anything at all would be a sign to him that she should not go on raid. But his head was cocked to the side and she knew it was genuine worry that made him ask. Regardless of wanting to be taken seriously and not be watched over like a child with their first weapon, it still felt nice to be cared about.
"I'll be fine," she replied and made herself smile. "I will race you."
Ubbe, though still looking strangely concerned, asked, "What will I get if I win?"
She laughed and began to run. The wind lifted her hair and made the shield on her arm not seem quite so heavy. She rushed over the shrubs and undergrowth of the forest, the only sound she could make out being the creaking of the old trees. She arrived beside Sigurd at the tree-line, lungs aching and chest heaving. Ubbe came to her other side, smiling like he'd let her win. Most likely, he had.
Bjorn moved to the forefront, remarkably quiet for such a large man, and took up his bow. Everyone crowded around him, some crouching lower while others stretched themselves tall. Dagny drew her own bow, the fletching of an arrow kissing her cheek. She was cramped between Ubbe and Hvitserk and had to strain to catch a glimpse of Sigurd, who didn't appear worried in the least. This was irrational and worse, it could become a danger to her wellbeing if she didn't stop focusing on it. There was no reason to think that what she saw was anything other than a symptom of not sleeping.
The Saxons were moving into their line of sight, up a slope onto the field. The trees kept them so well covered that the English soldiers were taken totally by surprise when Bjorn loosed the first arrow.
Dagny's initial shot found its mark in the soft spot of a Saxon's armor at the neck. He dropped to his knees before falling facedown. In that time, Dagny had shot off two more arrows, one taking a Saxon in the knee, the other in the shoulder.
Beside her, Ubbe fired an arrow without even watching the field. Dagny saw the man it hit, heard him groan. Ubbe smirked and did it again, looking at her instead of the Saxons. She rolled her eyes and loosed another arrow.
The Saxons called for a shield wall. Dagny began to smile at this. It made archery far more intense to focus on the small holes in the wall or their uncovered shins. To her left, Hvitserk immediately angled his bow to the side and aimed for their legs. Dagny followed suit. Even with the added difficulty of trying to find a split between their shields, many of the English warriors still fell to their arrows.
When Bjorn raised his arm, they stopped firing and retreated back into the trees, leaving the Saxons still in a shield wall. They would be fools to follow the great army into the wood, where they felt much more comfortable than the Saxon forces.
Dagny was running again, this time easily keeping up with Hvitserk. He was in his element. Of all the brothers, he was the one who seemed to be enjoying this the most and something about it put Dagny at ease. It erased the fear that something would befall Sigurd or that Ubbe was too busy looking out for her to help himself.
A horn sounded four times—Floki sending them the last signal. The Saxons would be following Floki and Ivar's forces now, leaving enough time for Bjorn's to take their places along the road to Repton. This would be the ultimate test for Ivar's plan. If the Saxons did indeed make the decision to go after the ships, he would be hailed as a strategic genius. Dagny thought that everything else had gone according to plan, so why should this be any different?
She was out of breath when they arrived at the hills surrounding the path back to Repton. Her fingers curled around the neck of her breastplate and pulled it away from her throat. Hvitserk was beside her again and he raised an eyebrow at her. She nodded back that she was all right. If her old leg wound did not ache, she would be exhilarated, excited even, because adrenaline was starting to kick in.
They waited for what seemed like an inordinate amount of time before the Saxons began their march down the road. For a moment, Dagny tilted her head back and looked at the sky above, the sun failing to break through the gray clouds. Ivar was right. He'd read the situation and the land they would fight on and bet on the correct course of action. In some ways, even she could not believe how lucky that was. When they entered Wessex, he would be admired by men who'd never thought much of him, by people who once thought his parents should have left him in the forest as a baby to die. When Ecbert, the last vestige of another time, was gone, a new age would be born. Dagny did not see Bjorn heralding it in or any of the other brothers. It would be Ivar's time.
Sigurd was drawing his bow down the line and it dragged her back to the moment, to the nervous silence that was only interrupted by the Saxon horses snorting in the morning air. Dagny nocked an arrow and let it follow Aethelwulf. At least, she assumed it was the Saxon king at the head of their army. Nothing distinguished him from his men and in many ways, she found that admirable.
Bjorn whistled and Dagny let her arrow fly into a man flanking the king, unsure of why she didn't take the clear shot at Aethelwulf himself. He turned, his horse pawing the ground anxiously, and looked up into the hills. To see his eyes widen in shock was a genuine pleasure. The encouragement it gave her, that they might win this more easily than she initially thought, pushed away all worries that had been plaguing her.
More arrows flew and the Saxons eventually began to retreat. This was the goal; to corral them onto a battlefield of the great army's choosing. They relinquished their bows and followed the Saxons, many of the raiders screaming and yelling, beating on their shields with newly drawn weapons. Dagny found herself doing it alongside Sigurd and Hvitserk.
Some of Floki and Ivar's men joined them, their army now easily a rival to the Saxon forces. Across the field, Dagny imagined chills crawling up Aethelwulf's spine as he heard their battle cries, as he realized just how much of a challenge this would be.
"Shield wall!" Bjorn yelled and raised his shield before him. Dagny and the other brothers mirrored him, her shield interlocking with Hvitserk's and Sigurd's. She looked to Sigurd for a bare moment and he gave her a nod. She took in a breath that felt more like a wheeze, bile churning in her stomach, and turned to Hvitserk. The corner of his mouth ticked up in a secret smile. Though her pulse was racing and she felt vaguely sick, she knew she couldn't be in a safer place. If you did not trust who was beside you in the shield wall, you had nothing. Sigurd could be an unknown but she'd trained with him for months on end. She knew how he moved, what weapons he favored, even the way he carried his shield. And she had been comfortable with Hvitserk for as long as she could remember. He may not know the way she fought but he knew her and that was just as important.
Dagny angled her shield to give her just enough space to see the Saxons running towards them. Aethelwulf gave a battle cry and raised his blade. She rolled her shield to close the gap and drew her short sword.
In the next instant, their foot soldiers hit the wall. The sound and the force of it was overbearing. Shock reverberated down Dagny's shield arm and she grit her teeth so hard, her jaw began to ache. She pushed back, trying not to yell or break the wall. Perhaps she had thrown that soldier back but another readily took his place. The weight on her arm was constant, to the point that she felt she was holding off the entire Saxon army. Sweat fell from her brow, blurring her vision. A Saxon sword found its way through a gap in the wall, its blade running against the mail of her arm and Hvitserk's. Through her teeth, she let out a shriek and pushed her shield against the Saxon with all of her might. Hvitserk gave a short nod and their shields parted, just enough for him to stab his blade into the enemy soldier's throat. Blood coursed through the wood of the shields, even as they locked back together. The Saxon's body joined the others in front of the wall.
"Break!" someone commanded. Dagny assumed it was Bjorn but she couldn't be sure. When the shield wall broke, she, Hvitserk, and Sigurd would be among the first defenses. If they didn't work together, they'd be killed.
There was no more time to think. The wall came apart and Norse raiders immediately entangled with Saxons. Dagny lowered her shield arm, which was quivering so badly she wasn't sure she could fully extend it. A soldier screamed and advanced towards them. Sigurd was first in his line of vision. "Sigurd," she said, her voice a rasp, heart in her throat. As if anticipating that, he ducked beside her and she brought her sword up and across Saxon's vulnerable neck. He hit the ground unceremoniously, his blood splattering across Dagny's face and chest.
It was only the beginning. The Saxons were many and they spread out across the field in a swathe. It was one after another and very few of them seemed afraid, not in the manner that Ivar had spoken about yesterday. "All I see are people running away before us," he had said. "They are cowards." Nothing about these men implied that cowardice was even a word they knew.
Dagny's shield locked against a Saxon's. The man was her height and he met her eyes beneath his dark helm. She snarled, though her arm desperately wanted to give way, and his pupils widened. He jerked back and Dagny lifted her shield just in time to block a blow from his sword. He hacked at it until she feared it would splinter and finally, she dropped her sword hand low before bringing it up into his gut. His sword fell into the mud and he fell with it, though he wasn't dead. Her blade was just wedged into his armor and Dagny couldn't even be certain she'd broken his skin.
She pulled her sword free and brought it down on his throat.
Hvitserk was a few feet away, slashing at an enemy shield. The Saxon held a short blade in his hand, not anything that would be useful unless Hvitserk got close enough in range. But he was slowly getting within arm's length. She made her way to him, through the mud and the filth and the uncomfortable nearness of bodies. She pushed with her shield and the handle of her blade and finally, she was behind Hvitserk's Saxon. She sliced the tendons at the back of the man's legs and he let loose a scream that had Dagny's hair raising. It was cut short by a blow of Hvitserk's axe.
He was in the midst of giving her a nod of thanks when he exclaimed, "Down!" Dagny dropped to her knees, no thought given to questioning it. Above her, Hvitserk swung his axe. It caught a Saxon in that tender area where arm meets chest, a place armor rarely covers adequately. Hit at the right angle, it could be a fast death.
She was up quickly and immediately putting her sword out. She and Hvitserk turned their backs to each other and it was a clever thing because men were coming at them from all sides.
A Saxon slipped in the mud before her and Dagny took the end of her sword to his head, swiftly knocking him unconscious. Another soldier was on her just as quickly and her blade met his with a clang that it seemed remarkable to hear over the din of the battlefield. She was taller than this Saxon or perhaps, the mud had not favored him the way it had her. He still had his strength though and he managed to push her back until she was close to colliding with Hvitserk.
His blade moved down hers slowly, the scrape of their swords an audible thing. Her arms went numb with holding him back. Her feet slid in the mud until one leg was behind her and she was kneeling, groaning through gritted teeth. The Saxon was gaining strength and he was standing taller. He had no helm so she could clearly see his short hair, his hooded eyes, the lines of his face. He had some years on her, had perhaps been training to kill their people all his life, and his visage would be the last thing she saw before she died.
He had wrestled her into the mud before she realized what was happening and finally, the weight of his sword left hers. She let herself fall back onto the blood and rain-soaked ground and immediately took up her shield to block the killing blow she knew was coming. But it never landed. Taking gasping breaths, she tilted the shield to the side in time for the Saxon's body to land at her feet, like an offering laid before a queen. Ubbe was standing above it, arms spread wide, grinning in a battle-crazed way. His face was stained with gore and dirt but he was still every inch a prince.
Hvitserk pulled her to her feet and instantly pushed her behind him to take the force of a blow himself. Dagny again put her back to his and it was immensely steadying, to know he was right behind her, that he was aware of every move she made. Ubbe was still in her sightline, turning back and forth, knocking men down in quick succession. He had saved her life and when this was done, she would owe him again.
She knocked a warrior back with a push of her shield and brought her sword down upon the next one. It felt like this went on for hours, endlessly blocking blows and thrusting out her sword, hoping to be lucky. But finally, she scanned the field and caught sight of Sigurd.
A soldier was coming up behind him but he was too preoccupied with the warriors he could see in front. For a moment, she saw Sigurd's bloodstained mail, her hands colored red, his blue eyes turned glassy. She threw her shield away and ran to him, though it seemed that the sun had set and risen once more by the time she got to his side. She slammed into him, the same way he used to do to her when they were training, and he lost his footing. When he fell into the sludge, Dagny thrust her sword into the Saxon. It made a sickening sound, like water sloshing at the bottom of a well, and when his body slid off of it into the bloody mud, it took everything in her not to be sick.
Sigurd looked up at her from the ground, eyes wide and mouth open. "Did you just save my life?" he asked, out of breath.
She extended her hand to him and pulled him up. "I suppose I did."
They both turned at the sound of their remaining forces coming onto the field, headed by Floki and Ivar. It sparked an immediate reaction in the remaining Saxons and soon there were calls for retreat from their leaders. Many soldiers sprinted past them as if afraid they might take notice and kill them anyway. Sigurd yelled beside her and raised his dual axes in the air in triumph. She laughed, relieved, and suddenly he hugged her. It was over so quickly that Dagny wondered if it had even happened.
"You're not so bad, Dagny," he said and then continued to shout, shaking his axes in the air again. All around them, men were doing the same. She kept laughing because it seemed utterly preposterous for Sigurd to be like this. She bent over and put her hands on her knees, suddenly extremely exhausted. She'd worried for nothing. The battle was over, they'd won, and Sigurd was in a better mood than usual.
Hvitserk reached her next and he pulled her up into his arms. Dagny began to smile, the sort that came from being tired and extremely pleased, and threw her head back to yell in victory with him. Her skin prickled with chills from the echoing cries of triumph.
He pulled away and ran with her to the line headed by Floki and Ivar. They maneuvered around fallen bodies and abandoned weapons to arrive before Ivar's chariot. He appeared tall, regal, and when he pulled off his helm, Dagny felt like she was staring into the sun. Her heart wanted to break free of her ribs. She wiped a hand across her face, suddenly self-conscious, and it came away dark with dirt and dried blood.
She was pulled from that thought when Ubbe rushed her. He pulled her off her feet and she let out a laugh. When he put her back down, she took him by the arm. He looked down expectantly, his light hair turned dark by grime, his face almost unrecognizable beneath a mask of muck and blood. "You saved my life today," she said, panting. "Thank you."
"There is no need to thank me," he replied, chest heaving. To him, it was just an aspect of the battlefield; something that was expected to happen and so gratitude wasn't required. But it still felt special to Dagny and she thought she'd never forget the sight of him standing over her.
She turned to see Hvitserk embracing Ivar, who was looking at her over his brother's shoulder. When she met his eyes, his full mouth widened in a smirk. The filth and the grime made no difference. When she climbed onto the chariot beside him, he kissed her, as he had the day they'd defeated Aelle. It was a thing for war, full of greed and possession and the taste of blood in your mouth. Dagny wanted it to never end.
The younger brothers were still screaming and clapping each other on the shoulder when Bjorn arrived. Dagny wiped her face again, feeling that impressing Bjorn was still of utmost importance. The power would shift significantly after today, everyone felt it, and Bjorn would be forgotten in favor of Ivar. In some ways, it seemed sad.
"What are you so happy about?" the eldest brother demanded. Everyone around the chariot seemed to pause. Dagny was in the middle of reaching for Hvitserk and slowly let her hand drop. "It is not over yet."
But it felt like it was over, the most difficult part, at least. Dagny looked to Sigurd, who was smiling like he'd been given something he'd always dreamed of. It still made no sense, that strange vision before the battle. Apparently, it was nothing more than a hallucination spurred by lack of sleep and stress. After all, Sigurd was fine, the battle was done, and it did not seem likely that there would be another for some time.
Thank you again for reading! I hope you enjoyed it and that you're looking forward to the new season as much as I am. Please let me know what you think! Thank you!