"What is wrong with you?" Asvaldr bent at the waist before her, palm pressed against his darkening eye.

Gyda's hand flew to cover her lips in shock. She grimaced, "I am so sorry. I don't know what came over me. Here… let me see."

The woman gently guided his face to meet hers as she inspected the Viking's injury. Gyda flinched in apology. It would bruise badly, but it was nothing serious. The rest of his face however, looked quite well. She couldn't help but admire his angular bones, heavy brows, and clear eyes. He was an enchanting devil. One she didn't want to entangle herself with. Only men interested in Jarldom were interested in her. She didn't need a repeat of her last suitor.

"You can release my face now," Asvaldr whispered hoarsely into her ear.

Gyda shoved him backwards and fidgeted with her braid, "Well you'll live." She began to brush past him, hastily picking up her dress as she walked, "So if you'll excuse me."

"I think you were excused the moment you punched me," the man muttered behind her as she rushed back to the Hall.

Blood pounded in her ears as she jogged. Asvaldr was pretentious. His injury had almost made her forget why she punched him in the first place, but the smart comment at her exit helped remind her why she hit him. That smug, full of himself, arrogant, obnoxious-

"Gyda."

Ragnar Lothbrok stood inches from her, face crinkled in concern, blue eyes searching. She sighed. The boys had gone for help and sent her father to save her. Her throat tightened and jaw ached with the need to cry. Turning her head from him, she looked at the dirt path, lined with puddles of murky water and crushed snow. She wanted to melt right into it.

She was ashamed.

Ragnar took two steps forward, so close she could feel his breath on her forehead. Gently, the Viking king leaned forward so that his chin rested atop her soft blonde hair. Arms wrapped her small frame. She hung limply in the embrace, fingers still tucked in the folds of her skirt, feet sinking into the mud until it curled inside her shoes.

"Were you afraid? Is that why you cry little Gyda?" He asked gently. It was patronizing and embarrassing even though it was meant to be comforting. Ragnar often forgot she was a grown Viking woman. This display was not fit for either of them.

"No." Her voice was tart and blunt. Her father's hold loosened.

Distancing her from him, Ragnar smiled, large hands gripping her forearms, "Why this then?" The tip of his finger captured a tear that teetered on her chin.

"I am a blight to our family father," Her eyes darkened as she looked at him. The woman's soul poured out a deeper pain than just that day's incident. It was a long held pain they never had spoken of until now.

"I am an Angrboda." Her lips trembled with the confession, "And the people hate me." She paused, lowering her chin to her chest, voice husky with hurt, "And they fear me. I am ashamed for us. Because I bring bad things upon us," She breathed the last words, energy spent as she expelled a sentence held in too long.

Ragnar's eyes filled, dancing around her in avoidance of meeting her own eyes. His mouth twitched, a tell-tale for not having a reply to her outburst, "I see."

I see. She wanted to cry, scream, weep. Her father's response to the burden she was carrying was, "I see." Did he think she was a monster as well? Did he fear her too? She jerked back from him, leaving his arms to cradle the air.

When he had needed her, she had stayed. Even though he betrayed her mother, she wished to be by his side because Bjorn was with Lagertha. And he had been a sorrowful thing. She had pitied and loved him despite his many flaws. But this, it felt like betrayal and it bit at her heart.

"I should have stayed with Mother and Bjorn," It was a blow that struck hard. Ragar flinched.

How she wished Bjorn was there now. How she wished for his ability to make peace and translate her father's words into something less hard. She missed him and even in this moment worried for him. While she thought of her brother, with her emotions heightened, adrenaline pumping, it happened. The same thing that happened just before Athelstan died. She cringed as it washed over her. It pulled her down into the muddied path. The earth was cold, yet inviting. It cradled her frame, sucked against her limbs.

"Gyda." Ragnar's hand was hot upon her flesh, like fire.

'No father,' she thought. She would go and see what the gods had to tell her.

The first time she was sent, she was unprepared, but this time she knew what to expect. She braced her mind as time and space transfused and fluxed. It was nauseating. The world twisted and turned, and although there was nothing physical in this realm, she felt it all, from the tips of her toes to her head. The rules of matter and space were gone, and she was there, but wasn't there. Soon she would see what the gods wanted her to see.

The mirage began to appear, waving lines interconnecting until they created a reality around her. Her eyes felt gritty and body light, as if she could float away at any moment. The world was made of snow and ice. A blizzard raged in a forest covered in frost. The snow curved around her knees, chilling her. Her teeth chattered. She could feel him there. In this place.

"Bjorn?" She called. Gyda's voice echoed through the forest.

And there he was, suddenly just ten paces in front of her, face down in the snow. Blood melted the snow around him, creating a red crater framing his still body. His head seemed to have received the most damage, blood masking his face and creating a sheen of black over his blonde hair. But his back moved with breath. He was alive.

For now.

Gyda returned suddenly, violently gasping, arms punching into the air. Ragnar grabbed her hand, bringing his lips to kiss her knuckles. Tears rolled down his cheeks. A crowd had formed around them. She shivered.

"You had stopped breathing Gyda," His lips trembled as he spoke, "Your mouth turned blue and your flesh was icy."

The girl felt dizzy and placed a hand into the mud to steady herself, closing her eyes she replied, "It was cold there."

Ragnar closed his eyes and lowered his forehead to her stomach in limp relief. The crowd whispered a familiar tune, they sang Angrboda. But Gyda was too exhausted to care. Her father slid his hands under her back and thighs to lift her.

"Wait," She demanded, pausing the man by gripping his arm, "Bjorn is in trouble. He needs you. He's in the Forest of Jaijr."

The Jarl's eyes widened and he nodded, "I'll take you home and then I'll leave."

The crowd's whispers elevated. Gyda was struggling to make out what they were saying, but it sounded like fear and hate. She was too weak to be pained by it. Looking up at Ragnar as he carried her she sighed in relief. He would save Bjorn. His face was tight with worry, but there was no anger or shame there. Her father was not ashamed of her. Her father was not afraid of her. She was wrong earlier. Her father may think she is what the people of Kattegat say she is, but he loves her in spite of it. Perhaps his heart is most true because he does not avoid the tough questions. He hadn't avoided the idea of her being something dangerous. He didn't try to soothe her worries. He approached it head on and still embraced her.

"I love you father," She whispered into his chest.

Just before they reached the entrance to the Hall, Gyda caught a glimpse of someone following behind her father, trailing along in the bushes and trees as they walked.

It was Asvaldr