The following day proved to be brilliantly sunny and warm, a blue-skied gift of a day from the gods as promised. Though she had just as many chores as usual that morning, the hours before midday went by swiftly as Thorunn's mind was elsewhere, working on imagining the tales she might hear before she had even heard them. She felt like a wayward child with a secret when she slipped away from the village, the polished stone heavy on her chest. In the darkness she'd woven a narrow leather cord through the hole and strung it round her neck, underneath her dress. If Hilde had noticed the trinket that morning she'd said nothing of it. Thorunn at first walked quickly, then increased her pace to a jog once she was out of sight of the other villagers. She took one of the many paths to the fields where they would be able to wander in relative peace.

What a perfect day. She named multiple gods in her head in giving thanks. As a servant she was not excluded from the tradition of public storytelling which was accessible to all for the purposes of learning, but she was so often on the sidelines, or at the back of the crowd. This was a chance to ask any and all questions of Bjorn himself who had actually been to those foreign lands, who had seen and heard those things from the others not like themselves. She was grateful that she had put herself forth to have this opportunity and even more grateful that Bjorn had been happy to oblige. She refused to listen to the nagging voice that prompted her to wonder again what she might have done to earn these blessings, or what she might yet have to do to pay them back. For now, it would be a few stolen hours of freedom and education, and she was beginning to form plans for even more.

Thorunn sat on a flat stone in the grass, pulled her knees up to her chest and waited for Bjorn to appear. When she saw his tall figure in the distance she scrambled up on the rock and waved, a little shyly, until he headed in her direction.

By way of greeting she pulled the necklace out from under her dress and let it fall across her chest.

"Good," he approved. "I like it."

"So do I. Thank you." Embarrassed, Thorunn played with her hair, unaccustomed to such communications.

"Do you want to stay here? Or go?" He gestured.

"It's nice here," Thorunn said, resettling herself on the rock. "Isn't it?"

He stretched out, accommodatingly, in the long grasses, putting hands behind head and squinting overhead. "I missed our skies."

"But you must have seen so many beautiful places."

"Nothing so beautiful as Kattegat," he said, solemnly. "And you must remember we were not there to admire the trees and the rocks."

She nodded.

"There were fields of blood," Bjorn elaborated, and though he spoke lightly now, his forehead creased. He tilted his head to look at her. "Does that bother you? Do you only want to hear of pleasant things?"

"I should not be Viking if it bothered me," Thorunn replied. "And women know more about blood than men."

"Hm. That sounds like something my mother might say."

"I admire her," Thorunn admitted, "very much."

"Do you? I suppose most people do. Lagertha is a great woman. I don't think my father appreciates her enough." He picked a stalk of grass and traced idle shapes in the air.

"I don't think any man appreciates any woman enough." Was it the warmth, the solitude, the feeling that they two were the only two under this benevolent sky that made her say such things? She tensed, waiting for anger, for at least a reprimand.

Bjorn only chuckled. "You are strange, Thorunn. You barely say two words to me all winter and then from nowhere such things come from your mouth."

"I am sorry if I offend."

"You do not offend me. We all should say what we think." He abruptly sat up without using his hands, only his stomach muscles.

"But I should not speak about the king. Or of Queen Lagertha. Or—you."

"What would you say about me?" He leaned forward, resting forearms on knees.

"I...I would not say anything about you. That would not be right."

"Not even to say something good?"

Thorunn twisted hair faster, worrying it between her fingers into frizzled strands. "To say anything bad would be terrible, but to say something good would be—" she hesitated, trying to determine from his innocent face if he really couldn't grasp the implications. "It would mark me out. It would make me noticed."

"Ah. And you don't want to be noticed. I've seen that already."

"No one in my position wants to be noticed," she said, letting a hint of irritation slip into her voice despite herself. He had not gotten angry yet.

"And what would they say? If you spoke well of me."

"Of course everyone speaks well of you," Thorunn defended. "How could they not. You are the finest of warriors, so it is said. Brave and powerful." She blushed. This was not what they were supposed to be talking about. Bjorn merely continued to look at her with those intent blue eyes. "But—but if I praise you as a person, as an individual, then I am to be criticized. It is not my place to laud you. That is for the free women and men. People would say I thought I was better than I was."

"I don't feel that way."

"Then you are an exception to our people."

"I've seen how hard you work. I know you're not guilty of anything. That makes you good to me, Thorunn."

She was a fool to believe such words, even though he appeared in all earnest. She decided to focus on the possibility, the practicality of his first statement, not the softness of the last. She stopped playing with her hair and folded her hands in her lap, aware that they were trembling a little with her own nervous earnestness. "I could work harder," she mumbled.

He leaned forward as if he hadn't caught that.

"I could..." she cleared her throat and sought to be brave. "It is nothing, to work hard in the kitchen, in the fields. Any lump of flesh can do that. I could...fight."

"Fight," he repeated.

Gods, let there not be any mockery in that. She shifted a snake-strike-quick look to his face, but he just looked bewildered.

"As you do." With you, she almost wanted to say, but that would have been blatantly ridiculous, to claim a battle position near Bjorn Ironside.

His face suddenly hardened. "Do you need protection from someone?"

For a moment she was confused.

"Hilde? Her husband?"

She understood. "No—" Thank the gods, she'd never had to fight off Haldgren, he was away with the other warriors most of the year and had never put so much as a wandering hand in her direction even when present. Though of course he would have been within his rights to do so. And as for other men, thus far she'd had to do no more than shove a sodden lad or two away. No one had ever—She shuddered a little.

Bjorn's expression darkened further like gathering storm clouds. "If anyone—"

"No," Thorunn put out a hand, close to his chest. "I do not mean for myself. I want to fight for others. With the others. All of us."

His forehead smoothed a little. "You weren't born to that," he said, more gently than disparagingly.

"I can swing an axe. I'm strong. I can learn the sword or anything else," she said, promising herself not to let any weak tears—tears of passion—escape, or let her voice shake.

"I know that you're strong." Bjorn, again, sounded kind but it could also be the male way of reassuring women when they secretly thought the woman was being a fool. She didn't know him well enough to be sure. "But you can't...become something you're not."

"But you could teach me. Just a few things. Even our Seer was not born our Seer, were they?" She slid forward on the rock, clasping her hands together so that the fingers interlocked, in unconscious importunity.

Bjorn put one of his hands over both of hers, meeting her eyes thoughtfully. "If I said yes. To a few things. What do I get from it?"

This did not take her aback at all and she said eagerly, "Anything you want."

He frowned a little. "You shouldn't make it that easy."

Thorunn did not know what there was to be displeased by in her offer. "I..I don't understand."

"You need to learn how to bargain. In battle too. The minute I put my sword to your neck are you going to concede? Of course not, right? You have to be prepared for that."

"You wish me to deny you? Is it a game?" She scanned his face. How warm his fingers were on hers. How benevolent the sun beating down on them both.

"No," Bjorn said. "It's no game. Listen to me. Every time you walk into a field of battle, Thorunn, you deny your enemy. You deny death itself. Yes, we want to go to Valhalla, of course, with honor. But we have life to live first...do you understand?"

"I'm trying," she breathed. "You must teach me."

"I will."

She smiled, just the tiniest curve of her mouth.

"There it is," he said, dropping his head in pretend defeat and looking back at her again, smiling himself. "That's what I had to work so hard to get. But now you will have to work hard. Harder than ever."

"I will," she promised, echoing his words. "I swear. Now?"

"You didn't come here for my stories, did you?" he demanded, and after a moment she realized it was meant to be playful. "No, I...I want them too," she murmured. "I want stories and instruction."

Bjorn jumped to his feet and reached for her. "Get up."

She sprang, agilely, bumping into him, then backing away shyly.

"You're not afraid of me, are you?" he said, noting the distance she'd created.

Thorunn wasn't sure how to answer that. Of course she was afraid of what he could do. He was really...everything. (Truthfully, she would not be shocked to see him stand on the clifftops and ask the gods to send a storm and see his request granted.)

"Because you need to trust me," Bjorn added, "if I'm going to teach you anything."

"I trust you," she said, quickly.

His mouth quirked in doubt.

Thorunn fell to her knees in front of him and tilted her head up to expose her neck—a mere foot from the axehead hanging from his belt. The sun caught her in the eyes, blinding her, until Bjorn shifted a little to put her into shadow.

He looked down at her and touched her chin with thumb and forefinger. "That's not trust," he said, almost tenderly. "That's you not valuing your life."

"I don't know the difference," she whispered, after another moment.

"I know that," he said. "I know."

Informing Hilde that her servant would be missing most afternoons for the next while was something of a hassle, not because the woman could really gainsay him when all was said and done, but because Hilde didn't at all understand why Bjorn wanted Thorunn in the first place. It didn't help that there were plenty of willing women if he were in fact only looking for a bedmate to pass the time, and that Hilde clearly thought his plans for Thorunn must then be more complicated than they actually were.

Ironically, he was less bothered by his family for his absences: Ragnar was unconcerned with how he spent his free time now that the raids were over, only insisting on his attendance at communal dinners and celebrations, and Lagertha had never attempted to dictate to her adult son with whom he might consort or how. His nosy little brothers had discovered how he was spending his afternoons, which they found humorous, but so far nothing malicious had come of it. So Bjorn was free to entertain himself with indulging Thorunn's innocent attempts at becoming something of a warrior.

He had to admit he'd been impressed how hard she did work. She was not in the least lazy, that was certain, and her mind, which he'd honestly wondered was quite sound on their first meeting, proved to be quick as well. Physically, she was ideal, being so tall and with a reach as long as a man's. She took his corrections and improved. To add to all of that, he liked sharing the tales of his adventures in quieter moments when they were resting; she always listened with eager ears but not the dull cow-eyed rapture he had gotten from other women. It was a good way—a novel way—to pass summer afternoons. Was it temporary? Certainly, so he didn't try to think too far ahead to the fall, to the winter.

There had been light rain these past few days, and Bjorn would just have soon given practice a miss until the weather improved once more, but Thorunn had been adamant that she needed experience in all weather, clement or no, and since that was true he'd agreed with some reluctance; it was more the type of day to nurse a tankard of ale by the fire with the dogs at one's feet. On the other hand her persistence was rather endearing.

Today, as usual, she had arrived in the field before he got there and was throwing the shortaxe he'd given her at targets some distance away. It was hard to see well. Bjorn watched for a few moments, shading his eyes from the rain. She had good power in her throws, but the accuracy wasn't there yet. He called over words to that effect. She turned to see him, visible frustration carved into lines around her mouth once he approached.

"We didn't have to do this today," he pointed out.

"I wanted to."

"You look tired."

"I am tired. I've been working all day and now—" she jogged off to retrieve the fallen axe, not properly lodged where it should have been, and came back.

"All right," he said. This was really the main problem, that attempting to be a shield-maiden and bondservant were quite mutually exclusive. He put out a hand for the axe. She pulled it away.

"Give it to me," he said, calmly. Thorunn obeyed at once. That was the other thing he didn't like—he could never tell if her instant obedience represented her complete inability to defy him as a superior (in their society's mind, not his) or if she was just being respectful of the fact she'd wanted to be his student.

He held the weapon for a moment, then let it slip out of his fingers to see if she reacted—she did, catching it right out of the air before it could hit the ground or anyone's feet. She stared at him, her entire face a question.

"You still think like a servant," he said.

"That is what I still am," she said, her pale face warming in color over the high cheekbones. Water trickled past her eyebrows, dripped on her lashes. He had an irrational and quickly smothered urge to smooth the wetness from her face.

"Let's go back to the hall and have a drink," he proposed.

She shifted the axe from hand to hand and gripped it stubbornly and continued to stare him down. He raised eyebrows at her.

"Are you ordering me?" she asked, with just a touch of truculence.

Bjorn considered himself fairly even-tempered—at least he hadn't shown her any ill temper thus far—but he was losing patience now. "No. By the gods, Thorunn. I want you to come back and have a drink."

"If that is a command, I will."

He ran hands across the back of his head where it was close-cropped and turned his face to the sky. "Why is she being difficult?" he asked of the clouds through gritted teeth.

"I will come," Thorunn said, bowing her head when he looked back at her.

"Because you want to?"

"No."

Bjorn blew out breath that fogged into the air and swung around, with more than a little stomp in his step, to go back down to the village. She followed, keeping an unaccustomed distance between them which did nothing to improve his mood on the return trip. He stalked into the hall, which was largely deserted this early in the afternoon, and found himself a bench by the fire. He gestured irritably for her to sit opposite him, and she lingered. "I can bring you the dr—"

"No, you sit."

Thorunn did, gracelessly folding her body into a rigid posture on the bench. She stared at the table. Bjorn looked around for someone and saw a startled servant in the shadows, at whom he jerked his head quite more impatiently than he normally would have. She hurried over, wiping her hands on a stained apron. "Master."

"Bring ale," he said. "For both of us."

The girl looked from him to Thorunn with visible irresolution, then dipped and scurried off. Bjorn willed Thorunn to meet his gaze but she refused, continuing to gaze at the cracks in the wooden table as if it held all the Seer's answers. He drummed his fingers on the table, but that wasn't enough to get her attention either.

At this inauspicious moment Ubbe and Hvitserk sailed in through the main doors, alive with enthusiasm and energy. Bjorn considered these two to be the least annoying of his four brothers, but still. Couldn't they have stayed out hunting a while longer? Hvitserk was recounting some anecdote or other and without asking, they both swung down onto the bench beside Bjorn, Ubbe punching him on the shoulder. Hard.

"Why are you back so early?" Bjorn muttered.

Hvitserk flapped his sodden vest dramatically. "It started raining!"

"You smell like wet dog."

Hvitserk shrugged, widening his eyes at Ubbe who grinned. "What're you doing here?"

"Having a drink, what does it look like?"

Ubbe's gaze shifted to Thorunn. Bjorn watched him, his own eyes narrowed, alert for any criticism. "Well, you both look happy."

"Shut up," Bjorn answered, without rancor.

Hvitserk laughed and as the girl returned with the requested drinks, gestured for more. Bjorn sighed through his nose. Evidently they meant to stay. Thorunn kept her head down, her hands folded in her lap. Bjorn poked one of the tankards in her direction, unintentionally sloshing it a little. She did not reach out for it. Damn his brothers and their abysmal timing. He was confident he would have been able to get her to talk, but now there was no chance.

"So," Ubbe said, lifting his ale in a cheerful toast that nobody reciprocated—Hvitserk was already pouring it down his throat—"no practice today?"

"As he said," Bjorn answered, "it started raining." He took a long swallow and let the liquid warm him. "Drink," he added, under his breath and without moving his lips.

Thorunn obediently lifted the mug to her mouth and drank, then looked at him under her lashes, all fire and obstinacy in her eyes. That caught him off guard, and he almost laughed with the discomfort of it. His brothers hadn't seemed to notice. Hvitserk was talking about something that had happened in the hills. Thorunn returned the drink to the table and folded her hands in her lap again and looked down.

He prodded her foot with his under the table. Her eyes flashed back up.

"Are you hungry?" he said, with what he felt was laudable politeness, considering how irritating this all was.

"No, master."

Damn her, she had never used that word on him before. He inhaled air through his nose for patience, and smiled without humor into the distance.

"Want to spar with me?" Ubbe asked, sensing his mood easily enough.

"No."

"Maybe she wants to?"

That made her look up, first at Bjorn and then a sideways glance at Ubbe, almost...hopeful?

Bjorn stared his brother down. "She's not ready."

"I'm ready," Thorunn murmured eagerly.

He directed his glare back to her. "Enthusiasm is no substitute for experience."

Ubbe laughed. "You sound like our father! Let her fight with me if she wants to. I'll go easy."

"Or you and me against the both of them," Hvitserk suggested.

"No one is fighting anybody, unless it's me rattling your heads together until your teeth fall out," Bjorn said. "Hmm?"

Hvitserk leaned back, also laughed, and fed the goat that was wandering by some crusts that had been left on the table.

Bjorn loved his brothers—well, these ones anyway, he had little use for either Sigurd or Ivar—and never considered them less than full blood siblings, even though their mother had died after giving birth to Ivar (who wouldn't have died after giving birth to Ivar, he often thought). At this moment, however, he would have given much to be free of them.

"If we are not to train," Thorunn said, startling him as he would have laid bets on her not opening her mouth again, "I must be about my work."

"Go," he said, refusing to be baited in front of the other two, if that's what she was doing.

She hesitated for a few more heartbeats, then rose slowly, and inclined her head in their general directions before leaving through the main door.

"More for me," Hvitserk said, helping himself to her neglected drink.

Ubbe cuffed him gently across the back of the head.

"What's that about?" Hvitserk said, meaning Thorunn, not the cuff as they all knew.

"What's what about." Bjorn drained his tankard and shifted position on the bench.

"Come onnnnn."

"Nothing."

"Are you having sex with her?"

"No," Bjorn said, wrinkling his nose in case the verbal response didn't seem convincing. Never mind that it was true. "Not that that would be any of your business."

"Well, we tell you about us and Margrethe."

"The difference is I don't give a shit about you and Margrethe or anyone else."

"She seemed angry," Hvitserk continued, provokingly, nodding with his head towards the door.

"She was angry." Sometimes telling the truth was just the simplest way. Though Ubbe, a little more perceptive than their younger brother, was watching him carefully.

"Maybe you should put her in her place," Hvitserk said.

"The hell does that mean?" he retorted, knowing exactly what it meant.

"She's not a dog," Ubbe pointed out reasonably.

"That, and," Bjorn rose, "unlike our sweet baby brother, I don't feel the need to punish anyone who ever gives me a dirty look."

"Hm," Hvitserk said, by way of concurring that this was a good point.

"And go change your clothes both of you. Smells like the barn in here." With which advisement he took his leave. He didn't have anywhere in particular that he wanted to go, but sitting around was only to invite more questions, which would probably end up in the head-cracking-together melee that he'd warned them of.

Thorunn scrubbed the boards in Hilde's tiny kitchen so hard that the salt used for purifying stung her raw knuckles. She was completely mortified. How could Bjorn have made her go through that? It had been bad enough just to sit at the table with him as though she had a place there, but when he had called Margrethe over to serve, the hostility radiating off the younger girl had been palpable. Margrethe would surely corner her with questions or condemnation later, demanding to know who she thought she was. Bjorn had potentially ruined their entire arrangement by ordering her to be there, and now she alone would have to cope with the consequences.

She winced and put a knuckle to her mouth. Her hands were taking a beating from not only her usual work but the addition of weapon handling. She hadn't minded a moment of that. It had been worth it, the exhaustion at the end of each day, knowing that she was progressing (perhaps not with axe accuracy, but she'd seen approval in Bjorn's expression a number of times already, and that was what had kept her going thus far.) But again, he denied her the opportunity to spar, or to let someone else volunteer to do it in his place. Why? He'd said she wasn't ready. And she'd contradicted him.

Oh, he was probably angry at that, she realized now. She let the board slip from her grasp into the pail of water. In front of his brothers, too. He'd dismissed her. Go. Hadn't said anything about when they would take up weapons again. Perhaps this was the end. Perhaps she had just ruined her chances completely.

These afternoons—training, of course, but also the conversations they had before and after—were the only point in her day that she had to look forward to. Little else mattered. Hilde could scold here and there about a task left until the next day or a perceived slacking in her effort, but Thorunn minded it not. Not when she had pleasanter opportunities to dwell on. And if that were to end—she did not know how she would handle the return to complete drudgery.

The worst of it was, she didn't know if she could seek Bjorn out, even to apologize, that would surely be overreaching the boundaries of propriety. He'd treated her in a relaxed enough manner the past few weeks, but he had not been angry at her yet, either. There could be no doubt that he was now.

She spent a largely sleepless night and awoke the next day feeling virtually unrested. At least the rain had ceased during the night; Hilde had earlier assigned the task of airing out bed linens and changing the straw, a task requiring fine weather.

The barn was pleasant enough to work in, the air sweet with dried clover. Sunshine slid through the slats and dusty motes of fibre floated up and down as Thorunn pitchforked last year's hay into linen bundles that they would later flatten into mats. She was distracted by the work and lost in thoughts of yesterday, so that she didn't immediately notice Margrethe by the gate, curling her lip. She jumped when she did.

"You're a fine one," Margrethe sneered. "So quiet always, and then you sit with Bjorn, like you have an apple in your mouth, at the table, one of the family?"

"I've seen you in the laps of his brothers," Thorunn retorted, stung into the quick reply. "Should I behave differently than you?"

"You watch. I won't be a servant for long now. They both want me. I will marry one of them and then I will be a free woman." Margrethe moved closer, an exaggerated sashay in her step. "And you will bring me drinks. Hm? Why do you think you're good enough to share a table with the eldest son of Ragnar? Do you share his bed? Is that it?"

"He's my teacher," Thorunn said, shoveling hay with muted violence. "I do not have your designs on anyone, Margrethe."

"You don't have my face, either," the other woman jeered. It was true, and Thorunn was not hurt by this, she was inured to such observations. Margrethe was petite and soft and probably the object of most men's desire—not the type of woman to become a shieldmaiden, physically or mentally. Sitting at home with a toddler at her skirts and a baby on her breast and a wardrobe full of rich clothing would be enough for Margrethe.

"Which one," Thorunn heard herself asking, distantly.

"What?" The other woman cocked her head to the side, her lips pursed in irritation.

"Which one are you going to marry? Ubbe or Hvitserk?"

"What difference does that make? They're men. I can have either."

"Yes but which one do you love, Margrethe." Thorunn leaned on the pitchfork for a moment and then, from the blank look in the other's hand, waggled her hand a little questioningly. "Like, then, at least."

Margrethe stared at her for an equal length of time and then tossed her head. "You're a fool, Thorunn. I always thought you were, and now I'm certain. Enjoy your shoveling. You belong here in the barn, with the other stupid animals." She swung her hips as she turned to go.

"Oh, and? I'm sure Bjorn won't be bothering with you anymore. I heard him say to Ubbe that he was done playing in the meadow." Margrethe gave her a fake simper, her expression a parody of sympathy. "I guess that means you can catch up on your work now."

That last jab did sting—Thorunn fell to bed exhausted every night and did not consider that she had been doing less in any respect, whatever Hilde might say. Watching Margrethe's departing figure, she told herself not to dwell on it, but...

...playing in the meadow. Could Bjorn have said such a thing?

Was she a fool? Perhaps, yes. In some ways. Not for thinking that one should love the man one wanted to marry. But perhaps for thinking that a few stolen hours could change her life the way she desired them to. Or that the gods would even allow such hubris, if her fate was dictated to remain what it had always been. Who could know the will of the gods?

The Seer, only the Seer.

Since in the past, the gods had always remained silent when she'd approached them directly with her questions, Thorunn did not know if she was beneath their notice. And as respected and feared in equal measure as their Seer was, were they not still an intercessory of some kind? Could they not be asked for some guidance—by anyone, even a slave?

The idea was tempting, but she did not know if she had the courage. What was the way even to approach the Seer? And who could she ask? No one she was sure wouldn't laugh. (Except Bjorn perhaps..)

...playing in the meadow...

No, she would not ask anyone. She would go, herself. What was the worst thing that could arise from such a venture?

Thorunn didn't know, but she would rather find out than endure a voiceless return to her days of unrewarding toil.