There was a definite ache in her head. The sting could have been from anything; a head-butt, the butt of a broadsword, a flyby bola, a mace—it was any of those but she couldn't remember, mostly because it struck her when she wasn't looking.
She gave a groan before opening her eyes to only stare up at a stone ceiling. She was on her back, on what felt of prickliness—hay most likely. The ache swelled from her head to her toes as she sat up on her elbows; she saw the bars. Her heart sank greatly—so she had been taken prisoner.
No sooner had it sunk was it lit afire—she was enraged that she had let it happen. Ruffnut Thorston was never supposed to be a prisoner. She itched the side of her face and found tiny scratches and scrapes that stung only a little. She jumped up, but not without feeling dizzy, something really had hit her in the head. Hard. She gripped the bars tightly and began screaming curses, some coherent, some not until she made someone appear.
It took a few minutes but the 'someone' in her case was a beefy man, a guard, a Celt—she could tell by his leather armor and general unpleasantness.
He spoke to her but it was in the language of the Celts. She couldn't understand him so she shouted even more. In return he reached through the bars grabbed one of her braids and yanked her head downward. It got her to quiet for a moment's peace but then she began screaming even louder.
What were they going to do with her? They had not killed her so she must be of some use. She paled suddenly, remembering what some Viking men did to females of opposing clans or enemies. She looked up at her captor to see him leering with an awful grin. She took a breath and shook those thoughts away, no—she wouldn't let them, someone would die before she let that happen.
The brute let go of her and she stumbled backward, softening her fall by landing on her arm. He laughed at her spectacle and then turned his attention towards his side. She heard more footsteps and involuntarily curled herself into a ball to be as small as possible but it was a hard task as she was one of the tallest female warriors. She wasn't frightened, no, she just—she was just anxious. She wanted to kill him but obviously was in no position to do so. She had no weapons, and even her helmet was missing.
She turned her attention to the voices. There was more Celtic language between the brute and whoever had approached. Though the Celtic tongue of the man unknown sounded very different from the guard's.
She was being referenced by the nod of her captor's head, obviously the topic of conversation between the two men. She hoped they'd get into a fight over who had rights to her and kill each other, saving her the trouble.
The brute nodded, unlocked the cell and motioned for her to come forward. She stood but didn't move toward him. He rolled his eyes with a grunt and to her surprise, left—but not before eyeing her hungrily. She crunched her fist, ready to fight for her life because the other man who yet hadn't shown himself was just around the corner—probably an officer of higher rank that could get whatever he wanted—anything except her.
She narrowed her eyes and scowled with anticipation. Finally he came into her view on the other side of her bars.
Her fists unraveled—no—her mind unraveled as she stared at the tall, blonde man who was none other than Astrid's elder brother. He really did live up to his name of Svenan the Suave.
"Ruff," he nodded in greeting, apparently he knew she had been captured.
"Sven?" she choked, all at once overjoyed and furious to see him. She could take care of herself. She didn't need rescued.
"I see they've given you quite appropriate lodgings, it's crude, rough—just as your style is."
This was no time to joke or flirt—there was a battle going on and how in Helheim had Svenan gotten over enemy lines? Did this mean that the Vikings had gotten through the walls? She forgot he was even there as he had sailed on a different ship than her on the voyage over. Since when did he speak Celtic? Her mind was in the midst of trying to put itself back together at the unexpected circumstances.
He stepped forward and grabbed her wrist carefully, knowing she was as tame as a wildcat—"Come, are you hungry?"
"Starving," she grumbled, but did not feel like eating—her adrenaline was coursing and every part of her wanted to yank out of his grasp and rejoin her people on the field—to be victorious, which was all she ever wished to be.
What had happened? She tried remembering. This was her first raid, but she knew it was not normal. When they had pulled ashore, the Celts had immediately rushed at them in a premeditated counter attack, as though they had anticipated the exact moment of their arrival. It must have been by some black magic they knew, after all the Celts were rumored to practice magic. Ruff had been fighting in Hoark the Haggard's command until the third day, was it now still the third day? Was it later? She didn't know how long she had been gone to the world.
She let Svenan lead her through the underbelly of wherever they were, darkened corridors with dim pitch torches.
"They didn't hurt you did they?" he asked, glancing down at her but it was too dim to be for sure.
"Only if you count my head, it feels like Mjöllnir paid my skull a visit."
She thought she saw him smirk but didn't feel like punching him—yet. She had a burning curiosity to what was going to happen next. He opened the door they came to at the end of the corridor. They emerged through, into a better-lit room, a hall of sorts.
Ruff froze as if she had stepped foot in Niflheim—feeling so wrong all of a sudden. Her and Sven were standing smack dab in the enemy's fortress, no Vikings were in the walls raiding, and yet no one—no one was making a move to attack them. Instead, the people regarded them—well Svenan—with serious nods or Celtic greetings.
It took her a minute to roll around in her head but once she realized she acquired a deathly scowl and ripped her wrist from his grasp, "You Traitor!"
He dared to look startled at her accusation.
"You speak their language, you walk freely among them—you betrayed our people! How could betray your own—?" She began to rant hysterically but he engulfed her with his arms and half drug her around a corner to where there were less Celtic people to gawk at her display.
"Ruff, shhh!"
"You told them of our attack! You—you—!" she was angry, she was so angry. If she hadn't had her spear taken she would have skewered his heart on it. She loathed the eldest Hofferson child with more loathing than she ever had for anything before because it wasn't only that he was a traitor, it was because of whom he betrayed them to.
"You align yourself with the savages that killed my father!"
She heaved in breaths of air and tried struggling away from him but his hold was tight—though trying to restrain Ruffnut at that moment was like trying to contain a furious windstorm.
"And how many of their fathers have we killed, Ruff? How many brothers, uncles, cousins, husbands, lovers and sons have we destroyed of theirs? Many. Just as many if not more." Svenan replied in a biting tone and gave her a terse shake—admitting to all his treachery.
She stopped struggling just to think about it. How could she find any sympathy for the Celts? They were the ones that had put an axe into the chest of her father those many years ago—though somewhere even now a young Celtic lass was probably weeping over the body of her fallen father. Ruff shook her head and closed her eyes for a few seconds to get it together but still, when she opened them again to glare at Sven they were filled with involuntary tears. He had made her think about it—to put a human emotion on those enemies she regarded as nothing but savages. She hated them for what they did but she was no better.
She pulled out of his grasp as it had loosened. She held her wrist and refused to look at him, "I hate you, Sven. If I get out of this alive you will have more to worry about than a broken nose from me."
He only stared at her, a disappointment in his eyes to which she was only disgusted at—how could he have ever thought to convince her that what he had done was okay? Especially her. Maybe Hiccup was soft enough to forgive such things but never Ruffnut, and especially not Stoick the Vast. Svenan was a dead man.
"Where are we?" she asked in a growl.
"Safe. For now," Sven replied and began to move again, "Follow me if you want something to eat."
She begrudgingly did so, keeping enough distance for a gronkle to pass between them the whole way. How would she escape the fortress? How would she escape him?
They came to a dining hall where there appeared to be a row of Celt nobility at a table.
She felt nervous at seeing them, obviously the ones with power among her enemies—the Celtic lords. They were boasting loudly toward each other in their own language but upon seeing Sven, they raised their glasses to him. They were not admirable—at least her leader was out in the battlefield, these cowards simply sat back and let their subjects fight for them.
He nodded and took a seat at their table, grabbing Ruff quickly and gesturing to her while speaking Celtic, most likely explaining her to them before she sat in the seat next to him. Sven began to converse with them in their tongue. Ruff felt completely isolated as she started to eat bits of the food in front of her, though her appetite had all but vanished. She didn't even look well enough to be among such people, she was dirty, hurt, and if they saw it, they ignored it. Savages.
"Your husband has been very valuable to our people."
Ruff heard it spoken from the other side and turned, startled to see a lass about her age. She understood her, though the words were said in a peculiar accent. She was just about to ask what the wench was talking of when she quickly realized Sven must have introduced her as his wife, how else would they have let him snatch her away from the dungeons? She stabbed the heel of her boot into his toes in a brief act revenge, causing his knee to jerk into the table. He opened his mouth but caught himself before he could shout, withering into a passive smile at the Celtic Lords. Ruff turned her attention back to the Celtic lass, and ignored his glare cast at her.
"Believe me, I know how useful he has been to the Celts. Who are you?" she nearly growled, wondering how this girl could speak her language when the rest of the Celts didn't.
"I am Brynna, the Lord MacVaren's daughter. I'm surprised Svenan has not mentioned me to you yet."
Ruff didn't know or care if that meant something special, for all she knew the girl next to her was her enemy. Though seeing her smile, Ruff knew at once that the noble that sat beside her was one woman that had not been untouched by Svenan's charm which only grossly extended his reputation. She could see through the act that the lass was gloating, provoking whom she thought to be Svenan's wife. Either way, Ruffnut had the urge to punch her.
"Charmed," Ruff replied with acid sarcasm, and subdued the urge and focused back to her meal.
Her appetite must have reappeared or else her logic told her body to get as much nourishment while it could for she ate the rest of the food. She ate it quite fast as if at any moment it could be taken from her and then she, herself was taken by Svenan afterwards; he led them to a room meant for sleeping chambers.
"So are you going to let me go?" She snarled.
He narrowed his eyes, "So you can inform them to what I have done?"
"Damnned right I will. You are despicable."
"Ruff, let me explain—"
"NO! There's nothing to say. You are a traitor, and I don't talk to traitors. " She saw him visibly slump at her declaration, and knew his guard was down, "I kill them."
She leapt at him suddenly, thrusting the palm of her fist into his face—though he had been taught by their previous encounters to anticipate that move and barely dodged it. Instead she struck his cheek. He fell backwards onto the bed and she leapt onto him, screaming and digging her knees into his ribs. He shouted in pain but easily overturned her at grabbing her arms. Her will of iron could not put the weight on her lithe body that she needed. They ended up in a switched position, with Svenan pinning her to the mattress by her wrists. She violently struggled and shouted curses at him. He gave a flick of his fingers to the tip of her nose, which surprisingly stung and caught her off-guard. She stared at him for a brief moment, and then glowered.
"I will say what I have to say, and you will listen."
She clenched her jaw and averted her eyes, annoyed by the tickle of a piece of hair that had fallen into her eye from their tussle.
"As you know I have been on many voyages and this is one place I came to, I stayed with these people and learned a great deal about them. They live like we do, though they do worship differently—they don't wish to fight and I was hoping we could establish a truce and open a free trade arrangement with them as they have so many assets to offer."
He paused and she still did not look at him, to acknowledge what he was saying.
"Ruff, understand that my intentions were good—I warned them of the spring raid on my last visit so they may rightfully defend themselves. Hopefully our people can come to a peace."
She listened, but still it did not soften her hatred toward him. He was an opportunist. He wasn't a Viking. Vikings never wished for peace. They took what they needed and did not give a damn about their victims. Also, she found it hard to believe the either side would come to an agreement as evidence by the many bodies she saw, and caused to be out on the battlefield. Svenan was a fool to ever believe it could be.
She hated how he had opened her eyes to her own treachery of slaughtering other people's family members. If he hadn't been there, she would still believe like she had before—a warrior's mindset of nothing but the will to kill.
"It would have been better if you had left me in the dungeon," she mumbled, and then looked at him with a hard, stormy blue stare, "Astrid doesn't even know, does she?"
He matched her stare just as hard, with a slight disappointment still in his eyes. He did her the favor of swiping the itchy piece of pale blonde hair from her face and finally let her go, and couldn't meet her gaze any more "No."
"Well you're screwed."
"I suppose so."
She found his tone annoyingly nonchalant for all his treachery and the certain consequences. She sat up and pushed her braids behind her shoulders. He turned to leave, "You may sleep here, I'll be in the next chamber. Don't try to kill me."
That was an idiotic request.
"Svenan, why did you even pull me out of the dungeon in the first place?"
He paused and then grinned while looking at her, a hint of whatever made him charming evident in his eyes, "Isn't it obvious?"
Then he slipped through the door that connected the chambers, without any further clues. She blushed—only because she was feeling rather heated from her anger and the fight and wondered if Sven would have done for any other girl what he did for her. He was always such a lady-pleaser; it was hard to decide if his actions were true. The ache in her body had ebbed slightly as she lay back on the stuffed feather mattress but the prick of horrible guilt finally stung her, when thinking of all those she had destroyed the last three days on the battlefield. How could she not though? They would just as soon kill her if she had not gotten to them more quickly.
She hoped her brother was all right, though as much of an annoyance he was she would never want him ended. She hoped her friends were still alive, Snotlout, Astrid, Fishlegs—Fishlegs—she had a sudden flashback to the weeks prior when they were traveling by sea and they had been playing his game of Dens & Dwarves when they had nothing to do. Battle was great and fun in pretend but not so much in the real world. They were taught not to feel in battle, and she was starting to fail miserably as that guilt caused tears to pool in her eyes as she fell asleep.
In the morning, or perhaps it was still that night—a loud noise jolted Ruff out of sleep. There was a great shaking followed by many vibrations underneath her. The stones in the wall shifted slightly. She gasped, realizing they had finally gotten the new catapults set up. The Vikings had hardly any time to defend themselves when they reached the shore, so catapult preparations had been horribly delayed.
The Vikings were destroying the walls! She scrambled up and out the door seeing the fortress guards occupied with the sudden breach. She banged her fist on the door to the room next to her, calling Svenan's name—to get his attention. There was no answer. She grabbed the latch and twisted it open, emerging into a darkened room that was void and always had been of Svenan's presence.
"Son of a troll…" she cursed, realizing he was a dual traitor. He had gone back out to the field to cover his rear in case the battle should happen to switch in the Viking's favor—which now it obviously was with Hiccup's catapults at work. She had remembered seeing him doodling designs last winter but never imagined they would be put to use so quickly.
She was about to leave, to find her way back to her comrades but something caught her eye—something lying on the bed she had been sleeping in that she had missed when she first woke. She approached the bed and saw a flower with blue petals lying on the crude quilt. It was a forget-me-not, and she knew it was meant for her because when they were children Sven had given her the same kind. She had eaten it—even then showing she had aversion to the handsome Viking. She picked it up and stared at it, a fresh bloom from the outside—the battlefield. There might have been flowers on those hills now spotted with the fallen, but Ruff had never stopped to pay attention. No one had, they only had time to fight. She held it to her nose and closed her eyes to breathe its scent—a horrible longing for Berk filled her. It was spring there, and the forget-me-nots were just as vividly spotting the grassy hills outside of her village. Would she ever see that place again?
Sven must have known she'd come looking for him even though she rightly shouldn't have—unless it was to kill him, which she rightly should have. The forget-me-not was a sign to tell her he was still alive, perhaps an apology.
She frowned, so much a part of her wanted to eat it or rip it's pretty blue petals off the stem but just in case this was not to be her last living night, she tucked it in her belt—telling herself it was to remind her of Sven and what he had done. She could try to tell everyone the truth but knowing that he was probably out there now, fighting on her side—they wouldn't believe her and not over someone as persuasive as Svenan Hofferson.
She fearlessly ran through the fortress, to the outside to see it was still dark. No one paid her any mind, as they were all confused themselves at the falling debris of stone and mortar. A stone nearly crushed her, and the shouting around her was deafening. She saw the frightened looks on their faces, their panicked screams—their tears. These just weren't guards and soldiers. These were the families that lived inside the walls.
A small Celtic child, perhaps four or five years old was crying and hugging to a toy—looking every which way for direction or an adult. They all heard another loud collision of boulder upon stone and Ruff watched in horror as the wall in front of her began to collapse fully—in a cascade of stone that would bury them all in seconds. She quickly grabbed up the child, less he be flattened by the heavy rocks and ran from the showering debris. A piece of rock slammed into her arm and she fell, the child gripped to her breastplate tightly. She cushioned their fall with her shoulder but felt an internal crack and then a searing pain. There was a sudden heat and she saw the stones had toppled the fire bowls that kept the outside alit and the flames began to snake through the debris, igniting them.
She saw the untamed night ahead of her, through the devastated wall, to where the battlefield was. Men in boots ran past her, their heels clattering on the stone—charging with weapons to defend themselves from anyone who tried to enter. No one made a move to stop the rising flames. The child was still crying, probably terrified. The child's tears brought her attention back to him. She disliked children, they were whiny, annoying, snot-ridden and thankfully, her mother told her she probably could never have her own; that she would die during childbirth as she was so thin and her hips were too narrow. Definitely not a childbearing body.
However she looked the child over to see if he was hurt and he only stared at her wide-eyed before burying his face into her shoulder shyly. It hurt.
A Celtic woman came upon them, babbling incoherently in a language Ruff could not understand but by the woman's tone and shaky smile she could tell that she was receiving a great thanks. This child was hers, and Ruffnut had saved him. The woman kneeled down and Ruffnut gladly let her hold of him go and stood up while holding her shoulder, which was throbbing from the hit it took from the stone and her landing. If she lived through this she just might have some mauling on her shoulder to proudly show later in life.
However, her mind was panicked, for if she returned she knew she could not bring herself to fight anymore—she might be slaying that child's father, or any child's father and it tore at her. She remembered the heartbreak of losing her own. The sting of the loss of her father was like an old scar, and she realized no matter how many Celts she did kill it would never, never bring him back or heal it. She hated to agree with him but perhaps Svenan was right all along, perhaps it would be best if they settled on peace.
Though, it was rather unlikely and she thought to blame that gods forsaken headache for her change in belief, for it had reappeared once more. Everything in her and around her seemed shattered, and she knew for certain that raid was over for her.
A/N: As I stated before, the point of these character sketches is to show a transition of some sort that happens now that these characters reach adulthood, I hope it was evident in this chapter. I have a habit of writing Ruff's darker than the others, I don't know why...
Oh, hey, there's Svenan again. This chapter kind of opened the floodgates for him as in the last comp series he showed up sparingly. What do you guys think? Hate him? Like him somewhat? Can't decide? Questions? Comments? Concerns? You know where to throw them :)