'You did something…' he looked around making a small circle with his index finger in the air, 'about the place…'

'Yeah…it was a bit dark in here.' She smiled with the left corner of her lip.

She was still hiding her face under the hood, as if she could hide anything…

Ivar knew it better than anyone else.

His stomach clenched at the smell, at the realization where he was. He'd prefer being in the field now, covered in blood and dirt than in this neatly clean place. He was locked here with his pain and horror and humiliation. It seemed he could still hear his owns screams trapped within these walls.

She put the basket near the hearth. She blew softly on her fingers and rubbed her hands, red from cold.

'I just… It will take some time to make the powder, so… would you like some tea?' she half-turned to him with her left side.

'Why not?' He forced a smile. Pull yourself together. 'Need help with anything?'

'No-no! Thank you. I'll manage!' She smiled politely and turned away.

She kneeled in front of the hearth, with her back to him. He heard her pouring some water into the kettle.

The hilt of the dagger was burning a hole through his clothes. The blood was pounding in his ears so loudly it was almost deafening.

Strike.

Do it.

If you can't handle a girl face to face, then hit her right in her back.

Like a coward.

He turned his body quietly in her direction.

The tension was nearly making him jump from his seat but was holding him down at the same time.

Her ignorant shoulders were stirring while she was smashing something in a small bowl.

Ivar swallowed a lump blocking the air in his throat.

Now.

In a quick move he took the dagger out and was about to swing it to hit her but suddenly she rose up and turned around. The weapon fell with a loud thud as he threw it on the table.

She shrugged but didn't look especially frightened. Everyone was carrying a weapon. She could hardly suspect anything.

'Sorry, didn't mean to scare you.'

She nodded but didn't say anything.

Why the fuck are you behaving like a little pussy, Ivar, he was thinking to himself. What the fuck was it? Sorry? The last thing he wanted to say - this pity "sorry" to her.

'So, I was just wondering …' Ivar started. She narrowed her eyes again listening.

That look alone almost made him strangle her with his bare hands. He could already imagine her tiny neck break under his fingers. And her weak attempts to break free. Like Margaret and her pathetic struggle for her pathetic life.

'…what were you looking for in that field? Not quite a season for herbs, huh?'

'Ah,' she shook her head, her short curls banged from side to side slightly brushing her chin. 'Those are… well, some roots.'

She took the kettle from the fire and carefully poured tea to his mug. Standing at the table, she was still facing him with her left side which made her moves a bit constrained and awkward.

She wasn't raising her eyes at him and it allowed Ivar to take a closer look at her. The girl was pretty. Not strikingly beautiful but just ordinarily pretty. Ivar couldn't deny it even despite this enormous scar marking her face. She could make something out of it instead of hiding. But she made those hilarious attempts to cover it. It was the same as if he decided to hide his legs.

Yet it was easy to say. You don't willingly pick a wife with a scar all over her face, unless she's a shield maiden. They have battle scars like this and wear them with dignity. Well… some of them.

But this girl is just nobody. So hiding is all she was left with. Not for long though.

He took a small sip from the smoking mug. The flavor filled his nostrils and his flashbacks sent him back to Ireland, into the cold frosty night, when the smoke from their cups was crawling up high to the stars, moving slowly, frozen in the air.

'So, there's the medicine,' she poured the powder into a small pouch and put it on the table. Ivar grabbed it and twitched in his hand.

'Take it two times a day, just a pinch in your food. That's good for the bones and kills mild pains.' She took a step back returning to the hearth.

He couldn't bare it. The hell she knows about him, about his bones and pain. And yet this tiny healer-girl was standing tall above him and he hated it.

'Thank you,' he grinned and got up. He was ready. Now. Strike.

He grabbed the dagger, dragging it on the table when suddenly its edge hit the mug.

Esa rushed to the table but his hand caught the mug just in time before it fell down on the floor. Her fingers touched his as they both grabbed it in the air. Her hair spread to the sides as she ran and the light from the window fell right on her face.

And she looked at him for real. Without narrowing her eyes, without lowering them. Without hiding her face. Looked right into his heart.

And then he saw.

One day, when Ivar and Hvitserk were kids, Bjorn tried to make fun of them and told them that there's a magical lake behind the mountains. It was covered with ice most of the year. And there was a reason for it. It was frozen because it trapped piece of the sky under its thick ice. So if you sweep the snow from the surface, you can see it with your own eyes.

Ivar could recall the scene when his brothers tried to pull him away from the middle of the lake. He remembered the blood around him, his broken knuckles and piercing pain from ice shards. But he was unyieldingly smashing the ice with his bear fists, screaming and crying. He didn't want the sky to be trapped there. Because even back then he knew exactly what it's like to be trapped.

Esa's face was now open for him and he saw it. Her left eye was blue like clear waters. But the pupil of her right eye was blurred with a thin whitish layer as if with ice on that lake.

Her right eye was blind. The sky was trapped in it forever.

Ivar considered that it might not have been blind all her life. Might have happened because of the blow. The scar as if from a whip was going from her forehead to her mouth, splitting her eyebrow and falling down, leaving her skin crumpled like a careless patchwork and her upper lip slightly deformed.

He realized he was staring at her when she flinched back pulling the mug from his hands.

'So well…' he coughed uncomfortably. 'The tea's good. What's in it?'

'Thyme and raspberry,' she said drily and walked away from the table to put the mug in the basin for dirty dishes.

'Ah, yeah sure.'

What if that was not the look of supremacy. What if it never was.

She was just trying to see. The girl was half fucking blind. Nobody ever mentioned it to him. And he never had a chance to notice.

He suddenly felt foolish. This urge of having a closer look at her again possessed him.

If it's true that she wasn't blind before she got that scar then how does it feel – to see and then not to?

Every day was a battle for Ivar. Because he learnt how to walk when he couldn't. He could only imagine the reverse process.

Just like he was struggling to stand on his feet, to walk, to move, she was struggling to squeeze through the darkness of her blindness. Or what could she see with that eye? Maybe just light? He didn't know. But he wanted to ask her. He wanted to ask, he thought he had a right to… because he was just like her. Damaged. But asking was nothing compared to having to answer.

He has given thousands answers. Nobody saw the shame, embarrassment, hate, self-disgust and self-loathing behind them. He had to go over this again and again just to entertain somebody's curiosity.

She was lucky to be able to have this solitary life. A life of a healer. When people come to her they probably don't have time to ask. They don't come here for that.

Ivar was taught how to kill. There are two main things one should bear in mind. Don't hesitate. Never look your victim in the eyes. He killed so many, he didn't care now where to look, and he never hesitated. He has just broken the laws of killing. He lost the thread of the moment. She was now a person, not an enemy. And he couldn't do it. It felt like if he tried he wouldn't have enough strength even to raise his arm because now it seemed pointless.

'Well, I have to go. Thanks for that.' Ivar shook the bundle, giving Esa a tight-lipped smile.

'You're welcome, Prince Ivar.' she stood in the shadow near the heath, holding the basket with whatever she picked in the field.

As he was about to leave an open book at her nightstand caught his eye.

'You read runes?'

'What?' she frowned looking confused for a second. 'Ah, this…' she threw a glance at the book. 'Yes, Saga taught me. It's much easier when herbs or medicine are written down.'

'Whoa, she did? I wonder what you've gone through…'

'Well, she was not actually that bad as people picture her.' Esa shrugged her shoulder, her eyes narrowed as if she was about to smile which she didn't.

'Yeah, you say so because she didn't have to treat you.' He smirked. Half the town would argue that.

'Oh she did, believe me.' She let out a light scoff and smiled.

Her real smile was beaming, two little dimples appeared on her cheeks. It was not what he initially came for. He wanted to see her suffer, not smile. And yet he suddenly became proud like it was some achievement. It just hit him that he took her off guard. Or did she take him off his?

The difference between the two healers suddenly opened to him. Saga was swallowing all the life around. Esa was radiating light. Unwillingly. It leaked through her from time to time while she was trying to hold it back.

He felt strange warmth of being here. Before he wanted to get away as fast as possible. Now he wanted to stay.

But he could sense Esa's impatience. Her whole appearance showed that she couldn't wait for him to leave.

He came back to Kattegat completely devastated. It was snowing, more drizzling, and the path was a bit slippery. His head was light and the only thing his mind was occupied with was not to slip and fall.

He sat on the bench next to the house and pressed his back to the wall. Small drops sprinkled his face and it was a refreshing feeling. He couldn't understand what was going on with him. Before coming there he had all specters of emotions – anger, thrill, excitement. Now he was completely empty. He used to always be in control. And now he suddenly wasn't. Despite seeming so timid, she somehow could take over. There was something captivating about the girl. And he wanted to figure out what it was so badly.

He turned his head to the side and something on the wall caught his eye. It didn't even take a closer look to see that a crack was beginning to show between the logs. How come nobody noticed? He traced it with his finger. Need to tell some slave to mend it.

Or he might even try to fix it by himself tomorrow. He didn't have a full experience to do that but he could try. He liked to learn.