Chapter Nine
-ASTRID-
While I could admit to being wary about returning to where we had snuck my wounded brother-in-law from mere weeks ago, my fear fell away as we approached the encampment, and the person I once was emerged.
The fierce shield-maiden who demanded respect.
The daughter of a powerful chieftain and with the great white bear spirit.
Sitting up straighter on my new horse, Wyvern, I rode beside the king proudly, understanding that representing the Helvig tribe on these shores was my Wyrd. Yet I would do it my own way rather than my father’s.
He wanted to conquer and plant his seed far and wide via his daughters.
I wanted to build bridges and find peace.
Some might argue that marrying in secret against the king’s wishes and harboring a wanted man was not the best way to go about that, but the Norns could be fickle.
Right now, I was on my path, and I would follow it as I saw fit, determined to see through what the king requested of me with pride and honor.
Not surprisingly, the encampment fell silent when they saw me. Many unsheathed their blades and watched me warily until King Alexander spoke and made clear what was happening. Who I was. What I was here for.
“Under my orders, Astrig Helvig is not to be harmed,” he said loudly enough for all to hear, meeting many a man’s eyes, deadly serious.
“If any attempts it, ‘twill be a swift death by my blade. She is here on behalf of Scotland to help us weed out those that no longer belong here and to help us anticipate King Hákon’s next move.” He narrowed his eyes at the water as if still watching my former king sail away after invading.
“Then we will attack swiftly, driving him and his blasted countrymen from our beloved Scotland once and for all.”
Though men roared their approval, they continued watching me warily when the king swung down from his horse and requested that I follow, making clear I was under his thumb, doing his bidding.
So I handed off my horse and did as asked with Declan and Oksana alongside me, not missing how Declan kept a hand on his sheathed blade and his gaze hard on anyone who dared to look at me the wrong way.
Without doubt, at the king’s order, Gustav remained with me as well until we arrived at a sizeable tent closer to the water.
The king had spoken to me last night about how this should go, so I knew what to do.
I also knew he had someone who understood my native dialect listening to every word I said, lest I say something that would rally my countrymen against King Alexander.
Yet as I ducked inside, I knew no such thing would happen when I caught the scent of infection and death.
Alexander wanted me to present myself as a fierce shield-maiden earning my countrymen’s respect and trust, and with it, a possible confession of all they knew, but I couldn’t see that happening. Only three survived, and it was by a thread, by the looks of it.
These men needed a healer and nothing else.
I sat beside the only one who stirred at my presence, cracking open his eyes a fraction and groaning in pain.
Even though there was a pitcher of something nearby, I suspected it was either foul water or mead, neither of which would help him.
So, I cupped his head and brought my own skin of water to his cracked lips, urging him to drink, never angrier at my former king than I was at that moment.
King Hákon should never have invaded these shores.
My new brother, Soren, and many other Norse warriors agreed, but what choice did they have?
They served at the pleasure of their liege.
Hákon had done much for Norway, leading us into what might be a brighter future, but this?
This never should have happened. He had been prideful after King Alexander invaded the northern isles, trying to reclaim Scotland in its entirety when diplomacy failed, and look at what he had done.
The idea of King Hákon trying it again in the spring sickened me.
When the wounded Norseman was unable to manage the water I offered him, I rested his head back and bit back tears he didn’t need to see. Given his substantial injuries, he would be lucky to last the night. All of these men would.
“Have you any knowledge of when our king will return to these shores?” I asked in our native tongue, knowing he wouldn’t have any answers. “If so, where will he attack next, so that I might try to reason with him first?”
As if trying to understand what I asked him, he stared at me for several moments before his eyes slid shut and he passed out. Sighing heavily, I covered him the best I could with his meager blanket and, one by one, saw to the other men before ducking out of the tent where the others awaited me.
“There will be no convincing these men of anything, King Alexander.” I did my best to keep heartache from my face. “They are past being able to divulge any information, let alone survive the night if they are lucky, so I ask that you allow me to care for them in their final hours.”
“’Twill make her appear sympathetic to her countrymen when 'tis nae what our warriors need to see, my king,” Gustav warned. “’Twill make her appear a backer to their cause.”
“Or,” Declan theorized, coming to my aid, and I couldn’t be more thankful, “it could make her seem like someone the already established Norse will listen to and follow once word spreads of these moments. Of not just her strength but her kind, caring nature.” He shook his head.
“Dinnae think it willnae, either, my king. People always talk. There isnae any stopping it.”
“Not just that,” I said softly, imploring the king while touching my cross. “Most are Christian, and is it not our way to show a man mercy in his final hours?”
King Alexander considered what the three of us had said before his gaze settled on me for a long moment, and he at last nodded once.
“You may tend them with what little we can offer you.” He looked at Declan.
“Keep an eye on her.” He gestured at Gustav to follow him.
“Come. We must speak of where we will head next.”
“Are you well, lass?” Declan asked after they left, his voice gentler than I had ever heard it. His eyes met mine. “Do you need a moment to collect yourself? A moment to—”
“Nay, I’m fine and need to see to them,” I said firmly, when, truth be told, all I wanted to do was race into his arms and feel his comforting embrace, because somehow I knew it would be.
Knew it, despite our history together. A swift thawing had begun between us.
The rage and anger that once simmered in his soul were still there, but no longer aimed at me.
Not at all.
Instead, there was a softening in his gaze now when he looked at me.
I had begun to see it last night, again this morning, then on our horses as I spoke of my huskies.
We were building a bridge between us. A forge that warmed and comforted me even now as I struggled with the foolishness of men.
What they were capable of doing to each other and the waste of life.
Heading back into the tent with Declan, I put aside my weapons and set to caring for my former countrymen. Sadly, that meant keeping them as comfortable as I could before they passed, either by pressing cooled cloths to their fevered faces and necks or dressing wounds that would never heal.
Minutes turned into hours. Outside the tent, the sun set, and the moon rose. Understandably unwilling to assist, Declan watched me for a time before he spoke, saying the last thing I expected to hear.
“You should speak of your homeland, lass,” he said softly, his voice deeper than usual as if he struggled with what he witnessed. “’Tis what would please me in my final hours…what pleased me when I once thought them upon me.”
“Ja,” I murmured, dabbing a wet cloth against the bloodied lips of the warrior I tended, wondering where Declan had been when such happened. Wherever it was, he clearly had a good and kind healer. A wise healer. “You are right.”
So, I did, as Declan kept the small fire in the center of the tent tended, speaking of my homeland, first at the peak of Norway, then the isle off the coast where our people finally settled.
I spoke of the sweeping fog-steeped fjords that could bring tears to one’s eyes with their beauty.
Of the moody arctic seas that sometimes grew as fierce as a Norwegian warrior and other times as lovely as a gentle maiden.
I talked of everyday life and the celebrations of old.
I became a bard, reciting the great feats of our Viking ancestors, and then, lest someone overhear me, I lowered my voice and spoke of battles.
The untouchable feeling of a shield and blade in hand.
Of whipping an axe through the air. Swinging a sword.
The thrill of dancing a battle of blades as old as time, and the rush that came with it.
Then I sang softly for the first time in years, singing songs from our homeland shared around the campfires of my youth.
Songs that would carry their hearts across the dark, cold sea back to Scandinavia.
To the soaring, white-tipped mountains and the shimmering blue-green lakes nestled in between.
To the thick, lush forests and the warm, welcoming villages with their deeply sloped roofs.
Eventually, I grew quiet in the early hours of the morning while still tending them, praying their lives would be spared, however weary I grew.
Or at least I thought I did until I stirred awake, not sitting on the edge of one of the men’s cots but nestled on Declan’s lap in the corner, wrapped up in a plaid blanket.
His sword rested beside us, where he could easily wield it.
“’Tis all right, lass,” he murmured, wide awake, guarding me just as Lachlann had requested. The first dim light of a rising sun appeared to be washing over the tent. “Something happened, but…” He seemed to struggle with his words. “All is well.”