(Author's Note: The Atli and Fiadh conversation I hate and will probably rewrite at a later date when this chapters isn't fresh in my mind.)

A plume of smoke snagged our attention first. What grabbed me next were the boats tethered on the harbor's left side, in low tide away from the docks, mingling with a few other Viking warships.

One of those boats was Thor's.

Memories of that day surged back, relentless and raw. The battle, Thorfinn's capture, the searing rage that consumed me, Thor's death, Thorfinn's heart-wrenching tears... A torrent of emotions had ravaged me that day and the days that followed.

And a lot of regret.

But as we sailed into English territory at my insistence, seeing his boat now, after all these years... it wasn't what I expected.

It was more than I dared hope for.

If there was one living regret that haunted me like a relentless specter, it was Thorfinn. His tears still seared my mind, a constant reminder of the pain I inflicted when I abandoned him to those pirates. The sting of betrayal lingered, clawing at my conscience with every tortured memory.

The shattered look in his eyes as I turned my back on him haunted my every waking moment, a relentless echo of my own cowardice.

Seven long, brutal years had passed since that day.

Seven years spent drowning in the depths of regret and anguish, each day in Ireland a relentless battle against the demons of my past.

"You seem lost for words," came a deep voice from my right. I didn't need to look to know who it was. That voice had been by my side for seven years.

As we rowed closer to the harbor now swarming with Viking Danes, I let out a breath I hadn't realized I'd been holding. "It's just been a while since I'd last seen that long boat, that's all."

"And you're sure this is the boat you were searching for?" Cillian asked, shifting next to me at the bow of our ship.

I nodded, my mask shifting slightly as I moved. It had been a while since I'd had to wear one. "Yes. I'm sure."

"And this is the path you wish to take? To find that boy?" Cillian's tone was skeptical, disapproving.

I finally turned to look at him, our eyes locking. His deep gray eyes narrowed into mine through his gleaming iron helmet and golden nose guard, his black cloak billowing in the breeze. "He's one of my last living regrets. I need to know what became of him."

Cillian stayed silent, his weathered face hard and unyielding. As we drew nearer to shore, he finally spoke. "And if he died at the hands of these barbarians?"

The answer came quickly, without hesitation or remorse. I became all too aware of the men at my back who rowed, all wearing matching black cloaks and gleaming iron helmets, heeding my command without question. And they would do it again. "You of all people know what I would do."

Cillian's lip curled, almost a smile. "And if these aren't the same barbarians who took the boy?"

Once again, my response was immediate. "Then I'll keep looking."

He sighed, turning away. "I was afraid you were going to say that."

My head turned to look forward, but my eyes remained on Cillian. There was a moment of pause between us before I said, "Speak freely, Cillian."

He grunted, his teeth momentarily baring. "This venture is folly, plain and simple. Why waste our time chasing after a lad unseen for seven years? At this point, who cares about his fate? Why you're so fixated on it is beyond me. We'd be better off staying in Ireland. Or Scotland, if you're so intent on avoiding Brian Baru."

"I'm not avoiding anyone."

"Sure as hell looks like running from where I'm standing." He said that last sentence in English, and not the same English spoken in this era.

"Aw, Cillian. Look at you, caring about my social status. You're adorable sometimes, you know that?" I teased in the same English, grinning behind my mask that no one could see. I playfully poked the side of his ribs, his chain mail apparent under his black cloak. "You just want to keep me locked up so I can cook only for you. Admit it," I cooed as I kept poking him, relentless. "Come on, Cillian. Don't deny it, you perverted old man."

He stood there, trying not to react, though the tick in his brow betrayed him. After a minute, he finally relented. "Will you cut it out!" he snapped, slapping my hand away.

I responded with loud, boisterous laughter.

With no docks available, we were forced to dock in the shallows near the harbor, near Thor's boat. When we reached land, I directed half our men to scout the seaport town for information while the other half began setting up camp.

It wasn't long before we received news about the current situation. A well-built and heavily guarded fortress had been under siege by multiple Viking factions. This fortress had caused so much trouble for the Viking-occupied harbor over the past few months that it nearly reclaimed it. Under direct orders from King Sweyn himself, a substantial sum of gold had been offered to anyone willing to take on the task of capturing the fortress. And from the sound of it, the fortress had nearly fallen.

But who knew how long the owner of Thors' boat would return to the port.

"We might be here for just one night or up to a week," I informed Cillian and the others by our boat at the shore. It was still early in the day, and I wanted to take full advantage of the daylight. "We need a small team to start gathering food, both from the port traders and by fishing. Crabs should be plentiful this time of year." The thought of a good crab boil got me excited. "Let's avoid using our provisions unless it's absolutely necessary."

"I'll gather a small group to help with the crab hunting," our third-in-command said. He was a middle-aged man—around thirty in this era—with blonde hair and brown eyes. Over the five years I'd known him, I'd learned he had a taste for seafood. I gave him a nod, and he turned to the men setting up camp, heading straight for a couple of men just standing watch.

"I'll take a small group back to the port," our second-in-command said, giving me a strange, knowing smile with his dark blue eyes. He was middle-aged, but his rugged appearance—marked by a strong jaw, long brown beard, and deep wrinkles around his eyes—made him look more like he was in his fifties than his thirties. But that may have to do more with him being slave born than genetics. "Should I also keep an eye out for your… hobby?" he asked cryptically, already knowing my answer.

I just winked. "You know me."

He bowed low to one knee, and when he straightened up just as quickly he barked out a laugh at the disgusted expression I must have been wearing before turning to leave, whistling for two men to join him.

"I hate it when he does that," I muttered, as I watched him walk away to the port town.

"It's only appropriate," Cillian remarked.

I shot him a glare. "I wasn't talking to you." When he just shook his head, I added, "Don't you have anything better to do than hover over me all the time? It's exhausting having you around constantly."

"Who else is going to make sure you don't do anything stupid?" he said in English again.

"When do I ever do anything stupid?" I replied in the same language.

He raised an eyebrow.

"Recently," I added quickly as he opened his mouth.

"Need I remind you of the badger incident?"

Oh, right. "No, you don't. And that wasn't my fault." I turned away and headed toward the others who were pitching our tents. Naturally, Cillian followed close behind.

Who knew badgers in this era were just as nasty as the ones a thousand years later? I certainly hadn't. They were relentless little bastards, that was for sure. They were furry little warriors all on their own.

Thankfully that badger didn't have rabies.

"How does pizza sound?" I called out in Norse to the men, who paused their work to look at me.

"With the green sauce?" one of them asked as he set some logs down to start a fire.

I pointed at him. "Great idea. It should pair perfectly with the crab."

Cheers of excitement filled the air, and I couldn't help but smile at their enthusiasm—until Cillian spoke up from behind me.

"Thought we weren't going to use any of our provisions?"

I turned to him, glaring once more and gave him my middle finger.

Thors and the two other ships had ten men standing watch. Out of the ten, nine were strangers to me, but one man seemed familiar. I was almost certain I had seen him seven years ago. He was one of the few who had tried my cooking and genuinely enjoyed it. Perhaps he remembered what happened to Thorfinn, if he cared to recall. But approaching him directly wasn't an option—not while he was on guard, surrounded by nine other men who didn't know me and would likely shoot me on sight if I made a move.

I wouldn't blame them, of course. I would do the same.

And who knew if he even remembered me or Thorfinn? It was doubtful we had left much of an impression.

But Thors had. There was no way he forgot about Thors. So, there may be a good chance he remembered us too.

But when should I take my chances, and how could I do it without Cillian noticing? He would likely insist on accompanying me, meddling in the conversation and steering it toward what he considered more appropriate. His intentions were good, meant to serve my best interests, but it was infuriating .

I could always command him to stop and not interfere, but I hated resorting to that unless absolutely necessary.

Cillian knew this all too well and often took full advantage of it. At times, it seemed as if he wanted me to order him around, just to prove a point.

The games he played sometimes reminded me of him .

Of Askeladd .

God, I hope he was dead, or at the very least retired so I don't have to see his smug face ever again.

I wanted to say that I wished he had died a slow, agonizing death on the battlefield, where one of his meticulously crafted plans went horribly wrong. I wanted to imagine the look of shock and despair on his face just before a blade plunged deep into his heart, leaving him to wonder where it all went wrong. Or he'd found himself in a situation he couldn't think his way out of and the only path forward was his death. He probably deserved any of these fates, if not worse.

But I didn't have the right to wish such things on anyone.

All I could hope for was that he wasn't here leading the men who owned Thors' ship. It'd probably be easier to sweet talk their new leader, than Askeladd .

For now, my only goal was to figure out where Throfinn went off to, then to follow his trail. Hopefully, he went back home. I could already imagine Leif's surprised look when I returned on a war boat.

…Maybe I'd rent out a fishing boat to return with a small group of men…

By evening, however, we didn't have to wait long for the band of men occupying Thors' boat to return.

I watched from my spot near the fire, where Cillian's men had helped retrieve the small clay oven I'd made and had stored on the ship for special occasions—special pizza occasions like today. Tending to the coals in the makeshift mini-oven, I observed as the men that occupied Thors' ship marched toward our part of the beach, hauling burlap sacks, chests, rugs, and treasures, likely from their recent raid of the nearby fortress.

Then, near the end of his band of men, he appeared. Even from the distance between our camp and their boats, I knew it was him .

Askeladd .

He was clad in a Roman-style breastplate over a red gambeson with a hood and detailing on the sleeves, complemented by a tan long-sleeve undershirt and pants. His light blonde hair still stood out like a beacon among his men, unchanged over the years. Given his age, it was likely graying, but from our distance—a little over a half a football field apart—I couldn't tell for sure.

Well, damn. He was still alive and kicking.

It didn't matter.

It really didn't matter.

This might even work to my advantage. He knew me, and if I approached him, he'd likely disclose what happened to Thorfinn without much trouble. It wouldn't harm him to share, and he couldn't touch me without sparking a battle between our factions, right here and now. True, he had more men than we did.

But we were better trained. Hopefully, he realized that. One of Cillian's men was worth five of his. Cillian's warriors were carefully chosen and well-trained—only the best of the best joined his band.

But, I knew he wouldn't start anything. It wouldn't benefit him and only incur great losses on both our sides.

However, what caught my attention next was Cillian's second-in-command, Birger. He had gone to the port earlier to fetch supplies and had finally returned—with an extra body in tow.

It was an Englishman, likely captured during the recent raids on the fortress. He walked beside Birger and his men into our camp, his face swollen and bruised, tears streaming down his cheeks. His clothes were torn and barely clinging to him, and he kept repeating in Old English, "Thank you... thank you... thank you."

Birger and I locked eyes, but I looked away when he shook his head. I had my hobby of collecting spices, and Birger had his. It was an admirable pursuit, and I would never interfere.

This was one of the rare occasions where I had ordered Cillian not to get involved.

Still, Cillian, being himself, had words to say on the matter. "Doesn't the damned fool know we don't have room on our ships for an extra body? Does he expect to free every slave we come across?" he muttered as he walked over to where I crouched near the fire and my makeshift oven.

He wasn't speaking directly to me, but I responded anyway, paying him back for earlier. "It's an admirable quality. Don't judge him for it. In fact, you should be the last person to judge."

"You and your damned morals."

"At least I still have some," I muttered under my breath.

Then something else caught my eye. "Don't say anything more," I began, reverting to modern English. "See that man sitting in the sand, cupping his ears?" I subtly gestured toward Askeladd's men, and to one in particular who was sitting in the sand near the end of their boats. "He has super hearing. Like a bat. Don't say anything beyond current events."

I almost forgot about that man. Why was he listening in on us? Did Askeladd order him to? Well, we weren't the inconspicuous type of Vikings. Cillian's men's attire probably caught Askeladd's attention.

"I'll pass the word around," Cillian said, while silently adding, and hopefully, he doesn't know Irish.

Meanwhile, I focused on preparing pizza for Cillian's men.

Sometimes I wondered if fate was a fickle bitch. Just as I was contemplating the best way to approach Askeladd and his men without Cillian trailing behind to ruin my plans, my ticket, or tickets, walked right into our camp. They were oblivious to the danger looming over them as Cillian's men zeroed in, ready to strike. With a quick flick of my wrist, I waved them off, saving the intruders from a quick, albeit painless death.

A mercy they themselves probably never carried out.

The two men, whose names escaped me but whom I remembered as rather hospitable from seven years ago in Askeladd's band, approached me while I tended to my fifth pizza of the night. I gave it one last rotation in the flat makeshift clay oven, ensuring the coals inside cooked every corner evenly. Though I acted oblivious to their brisk approach, I was keenly aware of their every move, every glance they took. Until…

"Thorben?"

I looked up, slightly startled at the name they called me. Then I remembered that was the name I had used when I was with them. I tried to give the biggest smile with my eyes.

As Cillian attempted to approach, my hand instinctively moved to the sword at my side. Though I inwardly cringed at the display of hostility, I knew it was necessary; if he got involved, it could jeopardize this opportunity. Cillian halted abruptly, his body stiffening in response.

I'm sorry, Cillian.

"It is! Torgrim! It's Thorben, look!" The skinnier of the two brothers said as they stopped directly in front of me, elbowing his older sibling in the stomach. He looked much older than I remembered—older than just a seven-year gap would account for. Time had not been kind to him, or perhaps it was due to his lifestyle choices.

Probably the latter.

But dammit, what was his name again? At-something. At... "Atli?"

"You remember!" he said with a big grin, pointing a finger at me.

"Of course," I replied, standing up from my crouch near the oven and fire in the middle of our camp. "How could I forget one of my favorite customers?"

He blinked. "Cust-oomer?" Then he let out a laugh. "I totally forgot you say the strangest words sometimes."

"Yeah, yeah. We get it. You two are good friends," Torgrim said, crossing his arms and glaring down at me. Oh yeah, this guy never liked me for some odd reason. Maybe he could smell the estrogen on me. "But what the hell is someone like you doing here? You're no Viking."

"Do you need to be a Viking to cook for Vikings?" I asked, keeping my tone light and carefree as possible.

Torgrim narrowed his eyes on me. "You do know we're here at the request of the king, don't you? That we're at war?"

I blinked. "Oh, really?" Sarcasm dripped from my voice. "I had no idea. I thought you just hated the English, torching their lands, seizing their harbors, and claiming territories just for the fun of it."

Atli grinned, glancing at his brother, who was still glaring at me. "Well, it has been pretty fun overall."

"I don't care. Do what you want, Atli. Make merry with this nobody, but I don't want any part of it," Torgrim retorted before turning away and walking off.

A nobody? He was one to talk.

Atli watched his brother leave, unfazed by his rudeness. Turning back to me with a wide grin, he leaned over to peer into my small makeshift oven, his nose twitching "So, what are you cooking there? Smells delicious."

I crouched down and used the wooden paddle I had crafted to pull out the pizza. "Want to try?"

Without waiting for a reply, I drew the knife from my side and began slicing the pizza. Balancing a slice on the blade, I offered it to Atli with a genuine smile. "Careful, it's piping hot."

Atli, heeding my warning, cut a smaller piece from the slice and popped it into his mouth. The heat didn't seem to faze him; his eyes lit up with delight. "How do you make this taste so good?" he asked, transferring the slice onto his own knife—probably the same one he'd recently used to kill another human—and took another bite. "I tried adding those spice leaves to some soup, but it tasted like complete ass." A look of disgust crossed his face before he took another bite, his expression shifting to one of pleasure.

I couldn't help but smirk as he indulged in my pizza, relishing every bite like it was the last slice on earth. The surge of satisfaction at seeing someone enjoy my culinary creation was almost overwhelming, but I swiftly banished the warm fuzzies. This wasn't a moment for patting myself on the back.

"Oh yeah? And where did you get these spices of yours?" I was truly curious on that count. If a Viking like Atli actually went out of his way to procure spices. Maybe I did rub off on him.

When Atli finished the slice, he sheathed his dirty knife into the front of his tunic. I narrowed my eyes in disgust but held my tongue as he continued, "Oh, there was a barrel full of spices, rice, potatoes and other shit on Thorfinn's ship. After you left, Torgrim and I tried to use some of them, and," he scratched the back of his head, looking sheepish, "it was the most disgusting pig shit we ever ate. We wasted some pretty good duck that day and I never heard the end of it from Torgim, that bastard." He let out a laugh.

I laughed with him, though my laughter was strained. That barrel was probably my belongings, left behind on the ship when I departed...

Something he said just registered.

"Wait, did you say Thorfinn's ship?" Why not say Thor's ship, or your old ship, or something else?

I itched to inquire about Thorfinn, to pry for answers. Yet, I knew I had to tread lightly, lest I appear overly keen. Atli might be oblivious to Thorfinn's fate, or worse, indifferent. And if by chance he did hold the key to the puzzle, he'd likely toy with me, dangling the information just out of reach if I showed too much enthusiasm.

Then again, if I could get the information from Atli, I wouldn't need to see Askeladd.

He was the last person I wanted to converse with.

"Wait, don't tell me you forgot about Thorfinn," Atli said, his head tilted and a mocking smile on his face. "I thought he meant something to you. You sure acted cozy with him when you left."

"Why wouldn't I care?" I replied, my voice light and carefree, though I chose my words carefully. "He was a fool, but I was close to his family." I shrugged deliberately. "But that was seven years ago. What happened to him, anyway? Did he actually kill Askeladd?" I asked, flipping my hand nonchalantly, my tone taking on a laugh. I had to appear indifferent about Thorfinn. "Or did Askeladd get tired of him and drop him off at the nearest port?"

Askeladd wouldn't kill the boy. That much I knew.

Atli laughed. "Thorfinn beating Askeladd? Only in Niflheim!" He pointed behind him, a smirk spreading across his face. "Why don't you ask Askeladd yourself? You two seemed close last I remember." My eyes must have widened because Atli chuckled, stepping closer and throwing an arm around me. "Oh, come on. Don't look so shocked! Bjorn's around too, you know. You two were friends, weren't you? We're all friends here, right?"

I glanced sharply to my right, seeing Cillian approaching quickly again, the tension among the men around us palpable. I shot them all a glare and gestured to Cillian to halt. To my surprise, he did, stopping just short of where we stood, glaring at Atli.

"I don't think that's necessary," I began, but Atli pulled me toward their camp.

"Of course it's necessary!" He leaned in close, and the stench of his armpit nearly made me gag. "I'm sure Bjorn and Askeladd would love to see you, Thorben! Come on, don't be scared. It's only for a bit, then you can be on your merry way. Come on…"

"You just want me to come back and cook for you, don't you?"

Atli scoffed, though a smile played on his lips as he continued to drag me along. "What do you take me for, a man driven solely by his appetite? My passions lie in the gleam of gold and the thrill of driving my sword into another man's gut." He tightened his grip on my shoulder. "But I'd be lying if I said I didn't think about your cooking from time to time." He laughed heartily.

When Atli pulled me toward his camp, a small crowd quickly gathered around us. Some faces were familiar, but most were strangers.

"Hey, isn't that the cook?"

"How can you tell? His face is covered."

"Who is that, Atli?"

"Bringing in strays now?"

The questions came rapidly, evoking memories of the last time I was paraded in front of a crowd. The situation was eerily similar, except now I wasn't reeling from punches to my stomach and face, distracting me from the potential danger surrounding me. As these thoughts churned in my mind, another familiar face emerged from the throng. Our eyes met, and his widened in surprise.

"I don't believe it," Bjorn said, his voice tinged with bewilderment. "Never thought I'd see you again."

"Yeah…" I replied, locking eyes with him. "Small world, eh?"

Bjorn, surprisingly, looked exactly the same as I'd remembered him. The only thing that changed was his braided beard was slightly longer.

Bjorn turned to fetch Askeladd, and my heart began to race. I couldn't quite pinpoint why. I'd spent seven years among other Viking men, including Cillian, who in many ways reminded me of Askeladd. I'd also spent several years without even thinking of him. But now...

Now that I was about to see him face to face again, my heart plummeted into my stomach. Why did I harbor such intense disgust for this one man? Was it because he killed Thors? Perhaps that played a part. Thors' death had been the first I'd witnessed of someone I cared about.

That had to be it.

This was why I had sworn off caring for anyone new. I cared too much.

But that had to be only part of it. After everything I'd endured in the last seven years, facing Askeladd should have been the least of my worries. I shouldn't feel anything for the man other than mild annoyance. Yet here I was, behaving like my old self before I returned to Ireland.

What the hell was wrong with me?

And then he appeared, moving through the crowd of his men, his light blonde hair standing out like a beacon among the mix of dirty blonde and dark hair. He was no longer wearing his Roman-style breastplate, just a red gambeson. His blue eyes swept over my attire before locking onto mine.

Then, that damnable smirk returned—an irritating smile that grated on every nerve in my body. Why did this man piss me off so much? Why did I let him?

Why did I feel such an overwhelming urge to wipe that smirk off his irritating face?

I looked him over, and he appeared much the same as I remembered. His beard and eyebrows were a bit scruffier, and his hair seemed to be receding slightly, but overall, he looked unchanged. It was as if those seven years had barely touched him.

I had to admit, he aged well.

But I would never admit that to him, the smug asshole.

As we began to speak, it took immense willpower to keep myself composed, to act as if every word he uttered didn't irritate me. I managed to crack a few bad jokes. Atli seemed confused, but Bjorn laughed, which provided a small sense of relief.

Then I heard about Thorfinn's whereabouts, and my facade cracked.

He was still with them. He hadn't left on his own, nor had he been left behind.

He was stuck in this hellhole.

I couldn't conceal the surge of anger boiling within me—the very same fury that always brought a twisted smile to Cillian's lips whenever it surfaced. It was a numbing, sickening rage, the kind that twisted in my gut and clouded my thoughts. The sort of anger that had the power to consume and destroy.

I quickly reeled it in, but the damage was done. Both Askeladd and Bjorn noticed, though thankfully, they didn't comment.

And then the moment I had obsessed over for seven years became a reality: I was going to speak to Thorfinn again.

To my surprise, Askeladd gave me free rein to seek him out, not even assigning anyone to accompany me as I made my way through their camp. I headed toward Thors' old boat and climbed aboard.

The moment felt surreal, as if I were trapped in a haunting dream. Standing upon Thors' boat, a vessel steeped in familiarity and laden with memories, my gaze fixated on a bundle of blankets near the bow—a makeshift cocoon concealing a human form within.

"Thorfinn?" I called out, my voice cracking unexpectedly.

The bundle shifted, revealing a pair of brown eyes.

But those eyes... they were unfamiliar.

"Is that you, Thorfinn?" I called again, uncertain. The person before me couldn't be Thorfinn. Those eyes...

They were lifeless, devoid of any spark of humanity, brimming with an unfathomable depth of hatred.

Hate-filled eyes that widened in recognition as soon as they saw me. The bundle sprang up, blankets cascading down to pool at his feet, revealing a child. A child of the right age, though a bit shorter than expected, with blonde hair, soft features, and brown eyes...

He looked like Thorfinn, but...

"What are you doing here!?" he growled, taking a menacing step forward. At least he had the decency to keep his voice low. "You shouldn't be here!"

His eyes were filled with so much rage, burning with a ferocity that sent a chill down my spine.

He recognized me, but did he actually see me?

I doubted it.

How many times had I rehearsed what I wanted to say to him? How I wanted to apologize, to explain everything. But when I opened my mouth… nothing came out. My throat constricted, choking back the words that had haunted me for years.

Nothing at all.

He took another step forward, those empty, rage-filled eyes pinning me to the spot like a predator eyeing its prey. "Didn't you hear me? Why the fuck are you here!? Don't tell me you're here to try and take me back. To take me back to Iceland!?" His hands clenched at his sides, trembling with barely contained fury. "After all this time, do you think I'd go back with you?"

Every word he spat felt like a dagger, each one twisting deeper into the wound I thought had scarred over. The weight of his anger, his pain, was suffocating, and I stood there, paralyzed by the torrent of emotions crashing over me.

Taking him back? No. If there's one thing I learned from our last encounter, it's that forcing Thorfinn to do anything wouldn't end well. The memory of how I treated him still haunted me like a relentless ghost, a constant reminder of my failure. I shouldn't have tried to control him, to bend him to my will. It was naive of me to think that would work, to believe I knew what was best for him. If I had forced him, he would have slipped away from me as easily as water through clenched fingers, finding his way back to Askeladd's band or risking his life in a desperate bid for freedom.

No, forcing him wasn't the solution.

He needed something else.

Something I was more than willing to provide.

Before I could stop myself, I found myself drawn toward him, each step heavy with the weight of years of separation. And then, before I could comprehend it, my arms were around him, pulling him close as if trying to bridge the chasm that had grown between us. Holding him tightly against me, I finally found my voice again.

"I'm so sorry, Thorfinn," the words spilled from my lips, thick with emotion. I felt tears threatening to spill from my eyes, but I blinked them away, refusing to let them fall. "I shouldn't have left you."

He stiffened in my embrace, his arms remaining resolutely at his sides. He felt solid, his muscles taut beneath my touch.

After a moment, I reluctantly released him, my hands rising to gently cup his cheeks. He looked up at me with wide, bewildered eyes, and I wondered if this was the first time anyone had embraced him since I left.

My eyes roamed over every inch of his face and I managed a shaky smile, though it was marred by the tears that still threatened to escape. "I'm so relieved to see you're still alive. And look at how much you've grown," I said, my voice trembling with emotion. "Soon enough, you'll be taller than me."

I wasn't going to unleash my anger on him, to berate him for his choices. He probably endured enough of that from Askeladd's men, subjected to their insults and ridicule day in and day out.

He didn't deserve that. It hadn't worked then, and it certainly wouldn't work now.

He blinked a few times, his expression unreadable, before repeating his question, "Why are you here?"

My thumbs traced over his cheeks, skimming over invisible scars that I knew lay beneath the surface. Layers of dirt clung to his skin, and I could see tiny insects crawling through his hair. It shattered my heart to see him in such a state.

"Just to see you," I whispered, the words laden with a weight of longing and regret. I didn't want him to misunderstand, to think I had ulterior motives. "I heard you were here, and I couldn't stay away. I had to see you again, that's all."

"Who told you I was here?" His voice held a trace of disbelief, a flicker of confusion still lingering in his eyes.

"...Askeladd did."

The mention of Askeladd's name seemed to ignite something within him. His eyes darkened with anger, and he forcefully pushed my hands away as if my touch burned him. They dropped to my sides, but I refused to retreat as his rage flared once more.

"Why were you talking to that asshole?" he spat, his voice dripping with venom, his fists clenching at his sides.

"Because he's the man you sought to kill, Thorfinn. If anyone would know your whereabouts, it would be him. Besides," I said, crossing my arms, "I didn't know you were still with them . I thought you'd gone home by now. I would have seemed you out first if I knew you were still here with them."

"Why the fuck would I go home? Askeladd is still alive! As long as he draws breath, I will never leave until he's dead!" His voice rose, his face contorting with fury.

I let my eyes soften. "I understand, Thorfinn." I didn't, not really—not in the way he did. But he didn't need to know that. Trying to convince him otherwise in his current state wouldn't help either of us.

Convincing him.

Damn. What the hell was I going to do now?

Why didn't it occur to me he was still with them? Being used by them, no doubt.

Askeladd's words echoed in my mind: "Prove yourself on the field of battle. You're a warrior, right? You do that and I'll reward you with a proper duel."

Then Atli's earlier words: "He should be around here somewhere. Probably on his fathers old boat. He usually sulks up there after losing another duel to Askeladd."

Losing another duel…Proving himself…

His eyes narrowed, and he took a step back. "Don't lie to me! How would someone like you know what I'm going through? What I've had to endure all these years!?"

My hands clenched at my sides as memories of my parents' estate engulfed in flames surged forward. I remembered the acrid smell of burning wood and flesh, sifting through the charred rubble until I found their bodies.

And my sisters…

"You know nothing about me, Thorfinn. Nothing at all." My voice wasn't cruel, but it was laden with a simmering anger. It might not burn as fiercely as Thorfinn's rage, but it was a deep, smoldering fire forged from years of pain. "You can't begin to fathom what I've endured these past seven years. What I've seen. What I've done ." His eyes widened slightly, a flicker of something— something close to fear, realization, recognition—passing through them.

I didn't know what he saw in my eyes, but images of my years in Ireland flashed through my mind: nights filled with blood and violence, days steeped in grief and loss. The familiar numbness started to creep back in, a cold, comforting void threatening to swallow me whole.

In that moment, we stood as two broken souls, each harboring our own torment, our own scars. And for a brief second, I wondered if he could see the depth of my suffering, if he could understand that he wasn't alone in his agony.

"Believe me when I say this: I know what you're going through, and I have no plans of bringing you back home without your full consent." I closed my eyes, trying to dispel the haunting memories. "So please, believe me when I say I'm only here to see that you're okay. I regret how I left you last time, and I wanted to tell you that I'm sorry and that I was wrong."

I took a step forward, my heart pounding in my chest, and this time, he didn't back away. Once more, I wrapped my arms around him, holding him tightly. "I'm just glad to see you're safe, that you're alive. That's all. And... I won't leave you again."

There. I said it. The promise I'd carried with me, the guilt that had eaten away at my soul for years.

"What do you mean you won't leave me again?" he murmured into my shoulder, but this time, he didn't push me away.

I felt the tremor in his voice, the fragility beneath his anger. His body was tense, rigid with unresolved pain. I tightened my grip, willing him to feel the sincerity in my embrace.

"I mean exactly that," I whispered, my voice breaking. "I won't leave you again. I won't abandon you to this life. I've seen too much, lost too much, to let you go through this alone."

Then, with perhaps a bit too much cheerfulness, I pulled away and gripped his shoulders. "You're stuck with me until you kill Askeladd."

Or until I convince you to leave all this madness behind.

"What?" His voice rose again, but this time with alarm, his eyes widening. "No, you're not! Do you have any idea what they'll do to you when they find out you're a girl?"

Have you witnessed what they do to other girls? I wanted to ask, but didn't. I knew the answer.

"If they find out," I corrected him. "I've spent the last seven years with Vikings, Thorfinn. Elite Vikings. I'm sure I can handle a band of vagabonds." I winked and let go of his shoulders. "Besides," I added as I turned and started to walk back to the side of the boat, "if they do find out, I can take care of myself. So don't worry about it, okay?"

As I moved away, I felt the tension in the air, thick with unspoken fears and the heavy weight of the past. The reality of our circumstances loomed over us, but for now, I clung to the fragile hope that I could protect him, and maybe, just maybe, we could find a way out of this darkness together.

"Wait, I'm not done—"

"Stop, Thorfinn," I cut him off, swinging one leg over the side of the boat. "There's nothing you can say or do to stop me. This is my choice, not yours." I needed him to understand that, just in case something did happen to me. I didn't want him burdened with more regrets when he finally found freedom.

If he ever got free.

He opened his mouth to protest, but I swung my other leg over and dropped into the water before he could speak. Later, I'd talk to Thorfinn in more detail. I'd tell him about my years away, not everything, but enough to show him I could take care of myself. That he needn't worry. But for now, I had bigger fish to fry.

And that big fish was Askeladd . I needed to convince him to let me join his group, at least for a while. I didn't know how that conversation would go. He'd probably refuse outright, or maybe he'd let me tag along just to see how long I'd last. The latter would be more favorable, but Askeladd was a man who enjoyed playing games, and his unpredictability made him dangerous.

As I walked away from the boat, wading through the knee-high water, I noticed a dark figure off to my left. His menacing presence was palpable even from a distance. When I looked up, I saw Cillian staring at me. Although he was too far for me to see his expression, I could feel his seething anger.

But I didn't care.

I raised my hand and flipped him the finger. He would be another obstacle to face. Easier to deal with than Askeladd, but the way I had to handle him infuriated me.

In order to go with Askeladd alone, I'd have to order Cillian not to follow.

Order him.

He was going to be furious. Furious enough to do something reckless.

I hoped the compromise I had in mind would temper that recklessness. Cillian had always been a wild card, but even wild cards had their limits.

Then, I felt another presence and looked to my right. Askeladd and Bjorn were watching me from near their tents, both no doubt having witnessed my little exchange. Askeladd's amused expression told me he knew exactly what my gesture meant. The glint in his eyes suggested he found the whole situation entertaining.

So, I winked at him. If I was going to navigate this madness, I might as well do it with a bit of flair.

If my scheme were to have any chance of success, I needed to charm my way onto Askeladd's good side. And if he fancied himself a master of games, then I was more than ready to be his star player.

I had to show him that I wasn't just another pawn on his board but a willing and witty contender, ready to take on any challenge he threw my way. No obstacle would be too daunting, no curveball too tricky for me to handle with finesse and flair.

I'd danced with devils and dined with demons in my time—what more could Askeladd toss my way that I couldn't juggle with a wink and a grin?

(Author's Note: Want to apologize for this long winded author's note...

I conducted extensive research on the treatment of women in Viking society, discovering that Vikings regarded women akin to children in societal standing (not as actual children). Contrary to popular belief, shield maidens were more myth than reality, existing primarily in tales rather than historical fact. However, archaeological findings have revealed Viking graves containing women buried with swords, suggesting they may have led warrior-like lives. Yet, to live as a female warrior in Viking times, one had to assume a male identity. Surprisingly, this gender-switching was not frowned upon, unlike its reverse. In fact, it was often encouraged as a means to ascend the social hierarchy. With this knowledge, Fiadh's future interactions promise to be intriguing, given her awareness of these societal norms.

I hope you enjoyed the dynamic between Fiadh and the "elite" Vikings. Their shared history adds depth to their interactions, as you may have noticed.

Cillian, another original character, is quickly becoming a favorite to write. He has evolved into a compelling character with a significant role in the story.

I want to apologize once more for the length of this chapter and its failure to advance the plot beyond the previous one. It was not my intention to stall the narrative. I had planned to include their departure from the beach, but certain scenes grew unexpectedly, resulting in a chapter that exceeded 7,000 words.

Also wanted to add Fiadh cockyness at the end had my chuckling...

Despite this, I hope you enjoyed the chapter nonetheless!)