Little One
The sounds of screams, pleas and guttural moans fills Friths ears as she squats behind a wooden cart, her tunic and leather armor torn and ripped, soot, dirt and dried blood caking her skin and matting her hair, as she peeks over the wooden cart, her stormy blue eyes scanning the scene before her, thatched houses being torched, women and men being dragged from their homes, treasures and supplies being carried back to long wooden ships, which could only mean one thing to her: Danes. She swallows hard, not knowing what her next option should be, not like she has many of those to begin with, most of the saxon men are dead or ran away like the cowards they are, despite being a saxon herself. She lets out an annoyed shaky breath, before quickly going over to a deceased man, and grabbing the axe he once had, it didn’t do him any good, but she knew it would do her good, considering how she didn’t have time to grab her own weapons. But then that’s when she saw him.
He was a middle aged man, well built, this clearly wasn’t his first saxon village, he was ruthless, brutal, merciless, and fierce, and he spared no one, that much was clear. She swallowed hard, as his piercing blue eyes met hers, she saw nothing but rage, hate, and something along the lines of.. Joy? As this man kept cutting down one saxon man, woman after another, she silently watches him, ever the observant one she is, she quickly takes mental notes of how he holds his axes, his cocky and assertive demeanor, the way he taunts and teases those he cuts down. She snuck closer to him, her footsteps quick but light, like that of a cat.
“Why don’t you fight someone who will make it worth your while?” Frith taunts him, still very much taking mental notes of her now opponent. The scar going down his scalp and through the right side of his face didn’t go unnoticed, ‘so he is seasoned, good’ she thought to herself. His tattooed arm, his ashen brown hair that stopped right before his shoulders, the way his body was obviously battle hardened, the belts and fur that wrapped around him, she found him.. Attractive to say the least.
“And you think you are going to be worth my while, hm?” he taunts, tilting his head to the side, addressing her, reading her, the same way she was doing to him, the way her dark umber brown hair framed her face and chest, her stature being on the short side, her build fit, and muscular, but still contains the curves of that of a young woman. The way her tunic and leather armor fitting snug but loose, allowing the body quick movements and access to be flexible, the way she only had one axe, but yet her weapon belt suggests she carries more than that, she has the build and carries herself the way a shieldmaiden would, but yet, she was no Dane, no Norse, he couldn’t help but find her intriguing.
“Considering how I am not running from you like a dog with its tail tucked or a coward pissing their pants, I believe I am,” Frith states, her tone matching his, she knew he had way more experience, his age, body, his movements alone proved that, but she wasn’t going to give up that easily, as the two begin to circle each other.
Frith steps closer, as she begins to close the circle, knowing that this wasn’t some sparring match with another fighter, this was life or death, her life or his, at this moment the sounds of the raid, the screams, the guttural moans of the dying or wounded left her ears, the only thing she could register was her heart beat, it beating faster than any drum shes ever heard, it beating faster than it ever has before and probably the last time it would ever beat again, but she was far too hard headed to let that thought cloud her mind as she parried the first hit. The sound of steel clashing was the only thing that rang in her ears now, as the two became locked in a fight that only romantics could describe as a dance, but to fellow fighters and realists it was anything but, it was brutal, hard, and rough, every hit he dealt could only be described as getting slammed against stone, the way he gripped his axes and handled them with such familiarity and care, as if it was a part of him. His footwork matched hers, forward, left, backwards, right, till her axe got locked in with his, as they both stood there, their chests rising and falling as they stood face to face, their gazes never faltering from each other. She tried moving her axe, but it was no use, his two axes to her one made it damn near impossible, but she refused to give him the satisfaction of yet another victory, as she slammed her boot on his, watching him break his concentration for a mere moment before she quickly and deliberately untangled her axe from his and stepped back, her chest heaving knowing good and well she just pissed the man off even more, but besides the anger and annoyance that was etched on his face, there was a glimmer of audacity? Amusement perhaps? But most importantly, disbelief.
The two begin again, this time the man taking note that the woman fights dirty, which, dare he thought he somewhat liked, as a sarcastic filled scoff left his mouth as he started throwing his axes, Frith ducking and running to find cover. She leans her head against an empty stable stall, her chest heaving as she tries to catch her breath quietly, she begins to sneak around, searching for him, to try to get the upper hand, and she almost had it - if it wasn’t for another fleeing saxon shoving her out the way telling her she needs to run and not fight, which got the mans attention,
“Damnit,” she cursed as she deliberately grabbed the fleeing priest and shoving him out of her way, she may have been of saxon descent, but she in no means was of the faith they followed.
“The little one has come out of hiding,” the man mused, and mocked.
“I was not hiding!” Frith snapped, grabbing a pitchfork that was laying on the ground and hurling it at him as if it were a spear, as she started throwing anything and everything she could to distract him while she closed the distance.
“Feisty,” he huffed, dodging her attacks but taking quick notice of how she was closing the distance,
She closes the small gap between them, quickly and deliberately, using the one axe she has to block every hit he was dealing till he landed a hit that snapped it into two. She stood there, now weaponless, before the man who has the upper hand in every way, her mind was racing, her heart was pounding, but despite the predicament she found herself in, she still refused to give him any sort of satisfaction from winning and claiming her life as just another mere saxon.
“You talk too much,” she stated, rather bluntly, as she grabbed a charred wooden shield and chucked it at him, using this distraction to get even closer to land a punch on his jaw.
“You little -” he began to say as he grabbed Friths wrist then began to wrap his firm arm around her neck, while the other brought one of his axes to her stomach, chuckling darkly as he now held her there.
Frith bites down on his lower forearm, her teeth sinking into his skin, drawing blood as she keeps biting down, wriggling to escape, his life blood trickling down her lips and chin like a light rain on leaves.
»»————- ➴ ————-««
Frith wakes up, panting softly, her dark umber brown hair disheveled, some strands sticking to her face, she sits up slightly, resting the upper part of her body on her elbows and forearms, she chuckles softly and quietly to herself, most would consider a dream like hers to be a nightmare, but for her, it was a reminder of her strength, her resilience, of how far she has come since then. That young woman of twenty summers would be in awe if she could see herself now, eight summers later as she sits up more, taking a hand and pushing her hair back out of her face, letting out a sigh of contentment in doing so. She lays back down on her makeshift bed, which consists of nothing more than her cloak and her arms as a pillow. Being one of the Great Heathen Armies scouts wasn’t easy, it was a lot of groundwork, a lot of training, a test of your own patience or, lack there of she sometimes thought, but nonetheless, it needed to be done, and she would do it happily for him always, for now the older battle hardened man, with the crescent shaped scar on his forearm.
Frith watched the sun rise up as she laid there, just outside the Ragnarssons War Camp, its golden hues casting it’s first light on everything it touches, making it seem like the world is ablaze, she found tranquility in these little moments, where everything seemed to be still and quiet, England not wanting to wake herself up just yet. She could hear the leaves rustle faintly, the warm gentle breeze of the morning air blowing through the trees and the bushes that surrounded her. As much as she loved these moments of calm and peace, she wanted nothing more than to be back in Repton, with the ones she grew and came to love, with the army who kept a watchful eye on her and helped train her after all these summers as she grew older, and to be back with the man who she loved and cherished more than life itself, Ivarr Ragnarsson. After a few more moments of peace, she got up from off the ground, dusting herself off before she reached down and grabbed her cloak, shaking it free of any dirt, leaves and twigs before clasping it back on her, she walked the short distance to the Ragnarssons War Camp, making sure everything was in order with her fellow soldiers before she mounted her horse. Its coat a dark red bay, it’s mane as black as the night, its height a giant in comparison to hers, with a soft gentle tap of her heel she makes her way back, leaving Tamworth Fortress and the Ragnarsson War Camp behind her. The ride back was as they always were, never fast enough, and full of anticipation, but she always takes a moment to appreciate the English countryside around her.
She relishes the scent of the morning air, the way campfire smoke lingers in the air, the smell of it mixing in with the smells of the nature around her, the pine trees, the oak, the floral, the smell of her horse and of her leather armor, it filling her nostrils like some sort of embrace from within. She takes note how many saxon soldiers she passes, if their numbers were high or low, if they had carts or were carrying supplies, she didn’t need too, but she always did, it was out of habit for her, to take notice of everything, every little known thing that she could possibly see, to the scars someone has embedded on their skin, to how the woods go silent when there is a predator nearby, to the way a person leans on certain a certain leg as if they had an old injury or one that is currently healing, she tries to take note of it all. And it is because of these little reasons, which may seem absurd or too much to others, is the reason why she is a scout, and for that, she can’t help but feel a little proud.
»»————- ➴ ————-««
Once in Repton Frith’s immediately greeted with the sounds of saxon spies getting their usual treatment, Ivarr stringing them up in and around the church like a bunch of drying herbs, she dismounts her horse, and wastes no time in closing the distance between the two of them.
“Heart,” she chuckles, her light laugh carrying a hint of amusement as she raises a brow at the scene before her, her nickname for him coming out with nothing but familiarity and fondness.
“I would say you’re late, but we’re still waiting on what’s his faces sister.” Ivarr chided, though there was no real annoyance behind his words, as Ivarr is never one for politics.
“It’s Eivor, she has a name you know,” Frith giggles as she takes a step closer to him, leaning against the cool stone wall of the now somewhat crimson colored church.
Ivarr feigns recognition, waving his hands in a motion that one could only describe as whatever. She watches him, her eyes never leaving his figure as he toys with the spies like a cat would a mouse, Frith couldn’t help but feel a moment of proudness towards him, he’s come a long way from when their paths first crossed, all eight summers ago, he’s added a lot more fights, battles, and kings crowns under his belt since then, but to her he was still every bit the man she came to know and love. She smirks as she sees the small crescent moon shaped scar on his arm, a subtle reminder to the both of them that they each met their match that day. She’s quickly pulled out of her thoughts when she heard another horse and rider approaching the entrance of the church, she stands up slightly straighter, but still relaxing herself against the cool stone,
“Who stands before Ivarr Ragnarsson? Are you Sigurd’s drengr? Aygor?” Ivarr spoke as he cut the silence that filled the air at newcomers' approach.
Frith smirks and shakes her head, knowing good and well he knows what Eivors name is, and is actively choosing to be mischievous.
“Eivor, if you keep that up, you’ll stain the floors.” she replied firmly but not unkindly, not used to Ivarrs antics.
Frith let out a soft laugh, she was starting to think that Eivor might not be that bad, compared to her brother, who all that man did was talk and talk.
“Let's give her the tour shall we, Ivarr?” Frith speaks, her voice nonchalantly but carrying hints of kindness.
Ivarr lets out a small grunt of agreement, gesturing Eivor to follow him and Frith as they begin to make their way towards the back entrance of the church, Frith stands on the side of her, as the three begin to walk along the dirt paths of Repton, Frith couldn’t help but notice Eivor taking in the sights before her, the way Eivors hair was braided to the side, her dark brown hair with multiple little braids intertwined with it, the way her tunic fit snug against her body, her weapons on her back and hips. The scar on her cheek, and the even bigger one that left a permanent kiss on her neck. She looked every bit of a warrior, after all, warrior recognizes warrior, Frith thought.
“I call it The Shithole, to the Mercians it’s Repton,” Ivarr said to Eivor, as the three walked to the war tent where Ubba and Sigurd were waiting.
Frith leaned slightly to Eivor, “he’s not wrong, but it could be worse,” she giggled, “Frith,” she said, extending her calloused but soft hand for a handshake, “Eivor,” she replied, her grip matching Friths, firm, but yet gentle, and strong.
The three make it to the tent, its red canvas freckled with small holes and tears, its interior contained racks of weapons, furs that laid sprawled on the ground, and a table in the right center, on top of it was maps of England and it’s kingdoms, little chess pieces marking which territories were already occupied or up for the taking.
Frith and Ivarr could immediately recognize the annoying voice of Tonna, who was nothing more than a mercenary wanting anything and everything she could possibly get from the Ragnarssons, something that annoyed Ivarr and Ubba and something Frith didn’t find honorable. Tonna was always wanting more than she was worth, the dumb broad always thought of herself on a high pedestal, no matter who she was talking to, and Frith wanted nothing more than to teach her a lesson of respect, whether Tonna came out of that lesson alive, that was to be determined. But Frith remained calm, not wanting to cause a scene.
“If I wanted to hear you talk shit, I’d gouge out your tongue, and shove it up your ass, now fuck off.” Ivarr said to Tonna, annoyingly, slamming a dagger blade into the table. The three watching her take her leave from the tent.
He hated her just as much as Frith did, if not more, and he wanted nothing more than to bury his axe into her skull, wishful thinking on his part. Frith leans up against the table by Ivarr, their shoulders resting against each other, bringing both of the drengrs a sense of calm and warmth that covers them in a blanket of familiarity. Sigurd began to say how quibbling over silver was a bad look for the Ragnarssons, and as Frith listened to Sigurd as he introduced Eivor to Ubba, the latter seemed happy and impressed that Sigurds warrior had finally made her way to Repton.
“Ubba and Ivarr here are hunting a king.” Sigurd says, relaying to Eivor the plan of things.
Ivarr feigns annoyance at this comment, he’s not one for making kings, he’s one for killing them. Frith slightly nudges his shoulder with hers, a little way of telling him to behave, the gesture going unnoticed by Sigurd, Ubbas thankful for the gesture, being used and thankful for Frith being the one thing to keep his younger brother in line. But, it didn’t go unnoticed by Eivor, the ever observant member of the Raven Clan, Frith listens to how Ubba and Sigurd explain the situation to Eivor, ignoring the slight glare she received from Ivarr, though, there was no real heat behind it. Ivarr and Ubba have been looking for King Bugred for quite some time, longer than they would like to admit, and that meant endless scouting missions for Frith, who was ever constantly coming and going, as much as Ivarr and her disliked that, but when she caught wind of him being in Tamworth Fortress, she was more than eager to relay that news to the brothers, so the next part of the plan can take place, capturing the king, and taking Tamworth.
“And when we’ve caught him, we mean to crown another, our dear Thegn Ceowulf here,” Ubba relays to Eivor, as the thegn makes his way to stand beside Ubba,
“It’s not a role I begged for, but it’s what Mercia needs,” Thegn Ceolwulf said to Eivor, his voice sounding like a mixture of certainty with flakes of doubt.
“Viking rule through a Saxon king,” Eivor responded,
“I am doing my part, I hope you have come to do yours, we’re going to need all the help we can get for what comes next.” Thegn Ceolwulf said to Eivor, sternly but not unkind.
Frith begins to get somewhat bored by listening to the three talk, shifting her weight slightly, resting some of her weight on Ivarrs, the warmth of him seeking through his and her tunic, filling her with a sense of comfort and ease that only he can bring. She rests her hands on the pommel of her sword, thinking about all the things she’d rather be doing or talking about, after all, she did just get back from a scouting mission, the last thing she wanted to do was something other than rest or have a bit of fun, but she knew once that King Bugred was dealt with, and Thegn Ceolwulf the II made king, she could do all that and more. However, she could sense Ivarrs growing annoyance, it was practically a sixth sense to her by this point, he was ready to take the fortress, and to take the king, and he was over with this chit chatting, but he and her both knew that things like this take time, and anything important or worth taking shouldn’t be rushed. Frith, ever noticing the little and subtle things, begins to notice as she listens to the men that Eivor is much different from her brother, she notices that Eivor questions the way of things, almost as if double checking that any option she has is worth doing, where as her brother, as Frith might put plainly, likes to take the high road. And to be fair, Frith never liked the high road.
As Ivarr excused himself to go piss, which Frith knew that was an excuse to leave the conversation, she continued to listen to Eivor, Ceolwulf, Ubba and Sigurd speak, Sigurd seeming confident that him and Eivor can carry out what they plan to do, and also seeming slightly desperate for an alliance with the Ragnarssons. Ceolwulf, listening intently to their words of confirmation and reassurance that King Bugred will be removed safely and unharmed, despite how he should really be removed, and Eivor and Ubba reciting their own words and lines of wisdom and praise. She could have left the conversation at any time, in fact, if it was anyone else, Frith would have left the war tent shortly after the conversation had begun, but there was something different about this pair, something that she couldn’t quite figure out, and to be honest, it was bothering her. She didn’t know why, and she didn’t know why she found herself suddenly caring to know why either, so when Ubba brought up the fact that Eivor should take in the sights of Repton before meeting everyone else at the docs, she couldn’t help herself but to interject.
“I’ll show her Ubba,” Frith finally speaks up, leaning up from the table, facing the two, Sigurd and Ceolwulf.
Ubba gave a nod of agreement, with a slight smile, Sigurd seemed unbothered by this, and Ceolwulf simply agreed.
“Come, Eivor, it might be run to the ground, but there’s still some beauty within it, believe it or not. I’ll show you, we have some time.” Frith says to Eivor, her voice calm and intriguing,
“Lead the way, then.” she said curiously, as she began to follow Frith out the tent.
Frith starts making her way out the tent, following the dirt path that leads from the tent to the main path that leads to the center of Repton, her pace slow, but steady, as she begins to point out various places in Repton, the stables, the merchants, the multitude of tents that housed either soldiers or Reptons remaining residents. She kept an eye on Eivor, not in a bad or a cautious way, just in a way as anyone would to a newcomer.
“So..” Frith begins to say, not really knowing where to begin, as she makes her way to her and Ivarrs shared tent, the tent wasn’t nothing spectacular, the only difference was it being much bigger, skulls of elk and other huge game animals adorning the outside of the tent posts, furs covering the ground on the inside, along with various rugs, a table filled with opened scrolls, and rolled up maps, things that would bore most people.
“So,” Frith begins again, taking her cloak off, deciding to freshen up a bit before meeting the rest at the docks, “how has England and all her inhabitants been treating you so far? I can tell you and your brother have not been here long,” she asks, raising a brow, putting her down hair in a loose ponytail, reading Eivors facial expression as she begins to ponder the question Frith had asked her.
“It’s different, it always seems to be changing, growing, like it’s constantly -” Eivor begins to say but then cuts off as she couldn’t seem to find the right word,
“Hungry. England is constantly hungry, and her hunger is insatiable,” Frith finishes the sentence for her, knowing all too well what England could be, as having been in this beautiful but ruthless land her whole life.
“Greedy, I was going to say ‘greedy’,” Eivor replied, watching Friths every move and the surroundings of her tent.
Frith exits the tent, holding the flap open for Eivor so she could exit as well, before closing it after her. “Greed. Greedy indeed.” Frith murmurs, with a slight nod of her head, “But its beauty is admirable,” she states, pointing to the oak tree that resides in the middle of Repton, its red, orange, and yellow leaves making it almost look ethereal, as it is a noticeable contrast compared to the dull colors that surround it.
“I have to agree, it is quite beautiful, maybe not as beautiful as Norway,” Eivor jests a slight smirk pulling at the corners of her lips as she follows Frith down the path that led to the docks.
“You might be right!” Frith chuckles softly, finding this banter between her and Eivor a nice change of pace compared to what she is accustomed to. “But I can’t fully agree with you, I’ve never left England” she finishes with a light laugh, silently wondering what Norway could possibly look like, in comparison to England.
They continue down the path in a comfortable silence, Frith nodding every now and then to a fellow soldier, or a resident of Repton that she has met a few times, also taking notice how Eivor is taking in everything around her, the soldiers that are in and around Repton, how the residents seem to carry on despite the current state of Repton, how it seems to be so… lively. Frith couldn’t help but break the silence, as it wasn’t everyday that a female warrior and her brother were actively seeking an alliance with the Ragnarssons, but here she was, in the midst of just that.
“From the looks of it, you’re a good fighter,” Frith says rather bluntly, but through her tone you could tell she meant well, as she observes Eivor once more, taking note of the weapons she chooses to carry.
“You’re observant,” she retorts in a friendly but sarcastic manner, as she begins to observe Frith as well, this time more carefully, but not in a rude or distrustful way either.
“Scout,” Frith replies with a gentle laugh, as the two finally made their way to the docks, where soldiers were getting into longships, loading it with supplies, food, and weapons. Whereas others were mounting their horses, their backs flanked by their shields, the shields being painted black with the red raven of the Great Heathen Army, a symbol well known and feared throughout England, a symbol you took with pride.
“And our best one,” Ubba chimes in, playfully, the man always gives credit when credit was due, and Frith couldn’t help but be appreciative for it.
Eivor raised a brow, whereas Frith just simply nodded thanks, “Ah Ubba, you honor me,” she spoke softly, noticing how Ivarr was not present, but she spoke nothing on the matter, not yet at least.
Ubba turns his direction to Eivor, “Eivor is your axe sharpened?” he asks with a proud and ready smile, almost as if he were assuming he already knew the answer.
“I am ready for the spear din,” she replied to him surely, and steadily,
“And the thunder of shields, yes! It is good to have you with us.” Ubba said to her with a warm smile, as he continued his conversation with her, a knowing smile forming on Friths face as she continued to listen, while waiting for Ivarr.
Frith started to tighten the weapons that adorned her belt, her axe that rested on her lower back, her seaxe that dangled off of her hip and her raiding axe that rested on the other, and the small dagger that was tucked into her leg wraps. She couldn’t help but wonder how this raid was going to go, was it going to go good like all the others have? Or was it going to fail like all the previous attempts? Was Tamworth finally going to be under a different rule? Or was it still going to be ruled by that bastard Bugred who hides and cowers beneath his men and war thegn, Leofrith. She jerked herself out of her thoughts when she heard a familiar voice, his, ‘about time’ she thought to herself happily, as she grabbed her horses reins, Ivarrs and Ceolburts, as she noticed he was with him as well, and who over the time that they have been in Repton, have grown quite fond of, he was not like most older teenage boys, he had a sturdy head on his shoulders, and a good heart, he was steadfast, though wary, something you don’t find in most young men, who, most of them are always either to eager or wreckless. She made a mental note to tell Ivarr how proud she was of Ceolburt later.
“Come on, boy! We’ll forge a man from your softness!” Ivarr states walking alongside Ceolburt as they come closer to the docks, Ivarr more than ready to take Tamworth as he was practically radiating with anticipation and the need for the thrill.
Frith stood there by Ubba and Eivor as she listened to Ivarr and Ceolburt speak, Ivarr was never one to beat around the bush, or make things short and sweet, he is always sharp and straight to the point, not taking to mind how his words might affect someone, not like he really cared for that either, but that is just how you preferred him, strait, blunt, and insolent as ever. Though, with a select few, he meant well. Ceolburt being the one of the rare few, as he found himself enjoying the little athelings company more than he’d like to admit.
“Why is he not in his quarters?” Ubba asks Ivarr, giving him a look that only a younger sibling could ever recognize.
“Our future king wants a battle hardened heir. Time he proves his worth, don’t you think?” Ivarr says back, nudging Ceolburt along closer to where you stood with their horses.
Frith sees Eivor and Ceolburt exchange glances, the latter giving her a quick and polite bow, whereas Eivor nods kindly in return, a quick and subtle introduction, but one that can be better done later.
“Can’t be an heir if he’s dead, Ivarr. Can he wield a sword?” Eivor asks Ivarr as she turns her attention to him, not quite used to how Ivarr is, and that much is painfully obvious.
But before Ivarr could say his response, Ceolburt beat him to it, and honestly, in Friths mind, it was for the best that he did.
“I’ve had some training, I only - I don’t want to kill anyone, these are my friends, my countrymen,” he chimes in, his tone uncertain but hints of sincerity as well.
“Relax, little king. They won’t call you friend now, you can thank your father for that.” Ivarr replies, in that quick, straightforward tone of his.
And as if on cue, Ubba and Frith in unison say “Ivarr!” clearly not wanting to deal with his antics at the moment, but there was more fondness in Friths tone, like a mother scolding her favorite child, where poor Ubba was just not in the mood, or amused, but the smirk was still there.
“He’ll want to remove your head.” Ubba stated as he sarcastically chastised Ivarr, knowing good and well that Ivarr already knew that.
“Ha! You hear that, boy? You die, and I’ll have to kill your father too!” Ivarr crassly replies, before leaving Ubbas side to grab his horses reins out of Friths, his fingers lingering in her palm a moment longer than necessary.
Frith hands Ceolburt the reins to his horse, as Frith mounted hers, it was odd, she thought, how everything just used to be the brothers, the army, and her. Then it became the brothers, the army, Ceolburt and Ceolwulf the II, and her, to now, accepting allies out of sheer good will so that they may have comrades in arms in a time of need, or want. How.. Funny.
»»————- ➴ ————-««
As the group began to ride away from Repton, Ivarr and Frith stayed towards the back, listening in on the on the conversation young Ceolburt, Eivor and Sigurd were having, stealing glances at each other every so often, as they began to ride towards Tamworth, Frith couldn’t help but noticed how Ivarr looked so in his element, and he wasn’t even in the field yet.
“You’re staring,” his voice bringing Frith back to reality, as they all continued to ride on.
“Can a woman not stare at what she adores?” Frith asked him sarcastically, but her tone was soft, feigning innocence, even though she was very much caught staring at him like a love struck teenage girl.
Ivarr lets out a grunt of amusement, “you have no shame,” he said softly, a tone that reserved for a select few. As he quite bluntly returns the stare.
Frith rolls her eyes playfully, knowing good and well that statement is very true, but also knowing that Ivarr is just as bad as she is, if not worse.
“Says the one who still stares at me as if it was the first time,” she replied, referring to that day, that day she had dreamed of earlier that morning, when their paths first crossed, their weapons locked together as their gazes never faltered, his oceanic blue eyes piercing into her stormy blue ones, conversing in a conversation all on their own, the day that changed both of their lives, whether they both knew it or not.
As the group approached Tamworth, and dismounted their horses at the entrance of the fortress, Ivarr grabbed Friths wrist, gently, pulling her into him, his body flushed against hers, a familiar gesture, and one that is always welcomed,
“Because everytime, is the first time,” he murmured softly, brushing a strand of hair behind Friths ear, “stay by me,” he told her kindly, those three exact words she always hears before they go on a raid or into a battle, three words she won’t ever tire of hearing.
Frith gives a soft nod, he does not need to tell her twice, for she would follow him anywhere, into anything, no matter the situation, or the circumstance, she would not hesitate, and neither would he. They walk the short distance towards the four, all standing together before the huge red wooden doors that close off the entrance to Tamworth. The six stand there, listening to King Bugred speak his piece, his words leaving his mouth full of disdain, hate, and mockery.
“We’ve come for you crown, lord” Ubba replies,
“With or without your head attached!” Ivarr finishes his brother's statement, leaving no room for an argument, the tone in his voice made that clear as day.
The exchange of words continue amongst the men and Eivor, though Eivors comment did get a smile out of Frith, she found it quite nice to be fighting beside someone new, and she couldn’t help but wonder if her fighting abilities were as good as her brother Sigurd said they were. As the group was talking, and Ceolburt remaining quiet, Frith was observing, she had already taken notice the oil jars that were already on top of the fortress ledge, the fletchings of arrows that she could only assume that were in racks against the stone wall, she kept that in mind, as she could care less about the the insults that were being said between King Bugred, and the group, she was more worried about what all obstacles that they would have to face once the siege had begun. The exchange of heated words ended as Ubba had asked Eivor if she had known her way around a battering ram, and thank the gods she did, as she was going to be at the helm of it. They make their way back to the war camp, the very same place Frith was just earlier that day.
“With Eivor and Sigurd on the battering ram, I’ll deal with the archers that are going to be perched above like some bird,” Frith told the brothers, knowing that not everyone can deal with the men on the ground, and the archers; especially knowing that the battering ram has no form of cover covering it, providing the warriors with no protection from the onslaught of arrows that were bound to rain down on them.
“Good,” Ubba agrees as he began to gather up the men,
Ivarr nodded his head in agreement, “So thoughtful,” Ivarr teased.
“Insufferable,” Frith teased back, grabbing a bow and placing it on her back, as she grabbed two quivers strapping them onto her, wanting to make sure she had plenty of arrows for what was to come.
She diverted her attention from Ivarr for a quick glance at the fortress, that she could see in the distance, a gnawing feeling started to come over her as she began to feel like this was going to be no simple assault, that this was in fact going to be long and tedious, but she pushed that feeling aside as she returned her gaze back to Ivarr.
“Let’s go get a king, hm?” she asked him, tilting her head as she gave him a playful smirk,
“Lets,” he replied simply, and certain.
The two began to follow behind Sigurd, Eivor and Ubba, as they made their way back to the fortress, not a single member of the group knowing that what should be a simple assault and siege on a fortress, will not only prove to be long and tedious, but also be the beginning of a great alliance, and even greater friendships.