Winter's chill had a firm grip over Kattegat, even at the point of the first blooms. The whispers of returning to Wessex spreading like fire through the large, ocean-side village. Every man was speaking of it and every woman was urging them to put it from their mind… Every woman was worrying for the safety of their husband. Except the shieldmaidens. All vying for their chance to plunder and claim the riches that their families deserved. I must admit, I was one of those women who kept silent at that time. I was travel to Wessex, of course, but I was taking the young child with me. The young child that was not my own. The young child of Horik that had escaped death, in a way that we would never know, and had been in the protection of myself and Bjorn. But Bjorn was anxious for his chances in England. The promise of land and the potential for battle heating his blood to near bursting. He was rarely silent with those promises prying on his thoughts. Hakon, despite his lack of skill with the sword and his significant youth, was still desperately hoping for a chance.
My small frame sat on the small wooden stall within the hall of Ragnar, my eyes resting upon a sight that often brought me joy. The young boy and the man that I loved playing as one would expect a father and son. Their wooden swords clashing with giggles leaving the lips of the younger, his pale eyes wide with excitement.
"I'm going to get you, little piggy." Bjorn hissed in a voice that would mimic that of a villain from the old tales. The young boy squealing with a wide grin as his fingers dropped the wooden sword and his frame began to pad around the fire pit. Bjorn tailed behind this little frame, his arms held out wide with quiet whispers leaving his lips.
"Help me." Hakon squealed playfully as his frame skidded to cower behind my legs. His small arms curled around my legs with his face peering through the small gap.
"Don't let him get me." He whispered. Bjorn began to turn as though his target had disappeared into thin air, causing muffled giggles to slip from his lips.
"I will protect you." I whispered, leaping to my feet with my fingers snatching a wooden stick from beside the fire pit. I watched Bjorn closely as he span around with a smile stretching from ear to ear.
"Do your best, wench." He teased, his arms inviting me for an attack. A brow rose upon my forehead with a smirk upon my broken lips. My figure lunged forward with the stick smacking along his forearm. His muscled frame leaped back, tapping the stick to the side with a smile.
"You've got one arm."I whispered with a wink directed to him. His head shook slightly, a sigh leaving his lips as Bjorn threw the wooden blade to the ground and started toward me. I felt his wings engulf my waist as he tugged my frame from the ground and onto his shoulder.
A ripple of agony spread throughout my abdomen. My lips releasing a loud groan, Bjorn's arms guiding me delicately to the ground. I felt my body hunch over with my fingers clawing into my waist. With that came a wave of nausea. My legs tumbling forward toward the hall entrance with hands clinging to the gate, and vomit spitting from my lips. I could feel Bjorn behind me with large hands planted upon the flat of my back, and I could see Hakon at my side with my hand in his grip. What was going on? I had no idea.
Only days later, the ships of two people filled the port of Kattegat. The ships of Earl Lagertha and King Ragnar packed the harbor to near burst, but with the ships came people. Warriors. Farmers. Women. Children. We were ready to sail.
Upon landing, twenty riders took to their horses. Among that number rode King Ragnar, Earl Lagertha, Bjorn and myself. Hakon clung to a young woman with hair the colour of early morning sun as I rode into the distance with Bjorn and Floki to my side.
The hall of king Ecbert was vast and eloquent. The walls dancing with tapestries and paintings from a time long gone. The Saxons claimed they were giants, but those halls were too small for giants. Dwarves were only interested in gold, so they would not have spent the time to create such delicate art work… It must have been something else, maybe fairies.
The congregation sat around the large table lain with lavished meats and garnished plants. Ecbert sat at one end with his son and daughter by marriage, whilst Ragnar sat at the other with other 'Pagans' surrounding him. Bjorn sat at my side, his right hand upon my thigh while he tore at meats with his left. Even that simple touch remind me of my safety at his side. However, I could not bring myself to eat at that table. I had told myself for a long score that I was merely dampened with a sickness. But I feared that It were more. I had not bled.
"What is he saying, brother?" Rollo muttered through a mouthful of meat. None, except Ragnar and Athelstan, could understand the words of the king. The rest of us could only guess that what the Kings were discussing.
"He wants us to fight for Mercia." Ragnar groaned, a large paw rubbing against his forehead. "I have agreed to fight."
"If my brother goes, I go too." Rollo agree with a nod.
"Bjorn?" I felt all eyes turn to the man at my side, his eyes glancing toward my gaze before he gave a small nod. "Olyvia?"
"I suppose the battlefield is my place." I sighed with a small nod. I felt Bjorn's fingers squeeze at the flesh of my thigh, a smile spreading across his lips. I felt the tingling in the pit of my stomach at that smile. Was I making the wrong decision? Was I what I feared?
One by one, all around the table agreed to war, except for Lagertha.
"This is not our fight." She protested, and of course she was right. We were signing ourselves to be mercenaries for a land that was not our own, nor would It be.
King Ecbert rose from his seat, speaking words that none of us understood that Athelstan began to translate into Lagertha's ear.
"I want to stay with the farmers." Lagertha announced. "My parents were farmers, Ragnar and I were farmers." She continued with Athelstan, in turn, translating for king Ecbert who held a large grin upon his lips.
We took our leave soon after. Those of status being shown to rooms within the castle that they could rest in for the night. Bjorn and I being shown a large, opulent room with a wooden bed frame and tapestries upon the stone walls. It was beautiful.
His figure lay beside mine within the large bed with arms curled around my frame. I felt his lips as they gently skimmed over my cheek.
"I'm thinking about staying with Lagertha." I whispered. I shuffled my body around till I lay below his frame with his weight upon his forearm.
"Why?" He started with a look of confusion drenching his features. "Your place is on the battlefield. Your place is beside me with an axe in your hand." He continued with a proud smile ripple upon his features.
"What is different with you?" He whispered, planting another kiss between my eyes. "You haven't been eating properly. You've been in pain and you keep vomiting." As he spoke, his face began to twitch till his stare snapped away from my own.
"I think you know what's wrong with me." I finally whispered, my words breaking with anticipation. His gaze immediately shot back to meet my own. A wide grin spreading across his features with a small laugh of shock following.
"You're with child?" He anxiously laughed, a hand moving to caress my cheek. "My child?" He muttered, his lips smashing into mine as I gave a small nod. I couldn't mistake the joy that was held upon his face in that moment.
"I'm going to stay in Wessex, and I'm going to wait for your return." I whispered. "I'll always wait for you, no matter how long it takes." I finished, feeling his lips crash against mine for a final time.