"You came here in boats, did you not?" Aeneas demanded, looking over his people. His cheeks were flushed, his voice sharp. There were no tears waiting in his eyes for the fallen - after all, to join the gods was a blessing, not a sorrow for them.
No, Svea realized, He isn't grieving. He's embarrassed. Embarrassed that this happened while he was feasting.
His anger had little to do with the dead but everything to do with pride, with the humiliation of being caught unprepared. His frustration with the poverty of his people who had come from afar was simply another drive between him and his constituents.
The group glanced among themselves until scattered attentions unified, their eyes fell on Hvitserk, who stepped forward to attempt reining their Jarl in. "My lord, they came in humble boats. . . not fit for such a journey."
Aeneas pressed his tongue to his cheek, the muscle twitching as his irritation deepened. Harder for him to contain.
"And most of my boats are now lost to the -" he sneered, "civilized people of the lands to the South. So what are we to do? Rely on others for help? Send our warriors in their piss-poor boats? Or risk the last two of mine on a fool's errand?"
It became clear to the rest ten that Aeneas's outrage had nothing to do with vengeance or honor.
His concern was for his ship, his status, his show of wealth.
Hvitserk turned, his voice calm as it cut through the murmurs. "Who here volunteers, then?"
Raumr stepped forward first, without hesitation.
"I do."
He offered himself so quickly that none could tell his reason. . . whether it was for vengeance of a fallen friend, for duty to his people, or some private fire Svea could not yet name. Was he that bloodthirsty?
Raoul shook his head, the motion small enough for Aeneas to notice from the corner of his eye.
"Nonsense. You will stay." Aeneas snapped.
This was a warrior he could not risk.
"Then Fjorvi should go," Raoul suggested, setting his darker gaze upon Fjorvi. "If he intends to live amongst your territories, that is, Aeneas."
Fjorvi turned his head slightly; the looks Aeneas had been giving him had not gone unnoticed.
"I will go," Fjorvi agreed, setting their jaw.
He had revealed to Svea earlier that he was not a fighter. Now he had been challenged with going straight into a battle that had nothing to do with him. He wouldn't have taken the bait if anyone other than Raoul had set the challenge.
Svea parted her lips, looking over her newly invited friend, exhaling deeply when she saw that Hvitserk had already set his sights on her as well.
"Will the proxy leader of Valkvann be going as well?
Hvitserk had ensured there was a sting to the title proxy. It was a small, deliberate way to degrade not only her, but the work she had done. He was mocking what Dragmall had so earnestly called her earlier. It served him well since it also shifted the heat away from Aeneas. Hvitserk knew precisely when to open his mouth and whom to protect when he did. His loyalty was not loud, but it was absolute. There was only one he would bend the knee for.
That made him the most dangerous one there.
Setting her jaw while nodding, she slapped her hand onto Fjorvi's shoulder, walking up behind them. "Of course I will go," she assured.
Battle - even dying - Svea did not fear. She had been raised to be a Shield-Maiden.
Dragmall lowered his eyes, shaking his head slightly as he too stepped forward.
"I will join them," he volunteered, standing beside Svea.
She turned her head to look at him; her mouth had gone dry the moment he opened his mouth to speak. She didn't want the worry on her face to show as deeply as it was screaming through her shoulders, which had begun to tense.
No, Svea did not fear battle, nor death itself.
But she feared the thought of Dragmall experiencing either.
She feared losing him.
Turning back toward Aeneas with his gathered men, she steadied herself. For a brief moment, she imagined that the Jarl would show wisdom. He was sending people to represent him and carry out his vengeance, with limited spaces on two boats to fill. She prayed he would choose capable warriors over untrained farmers.
No such moment came.
"I will send Asvoria," Aeneas decreed, pondering over his close group. The names that followed were others from his lands, though not of his inner circle. Not truly. He was weigh who could be trusted, who would act in his favor while still providing a strong presence in his name. He had already turned down Raumr. He contemplated who could fit all he needed: someone loyal, unshaken by others, willing to do whatever was needed to bring him honor and the story he wished told. "As well as Eumelia."
Whilst the rest of her face showed the shock she experienced at being named, Eumelia's eyes gave very little away. She rushed to keep herself as straight-faced as she could the moment it clicked, though she could never quite hide the disdain beginning to surface there.
On the other hand, Asvoria nodded once. She cleared her throat quietly as Aeneas, Hvitserk, and even Raoul attempted to stare her down into submission.
Svea curled her lip, disgusted by the sight. Power struggles were common - but they belonged to those with actual bite. Instead, all she saw before her were three pups: one spoiled by its master, all bark and no teeth. She could not stand weakness that had to shout to remind others it was strong.
There were many things Asvoria was, and many more she was not. Yet of all the ones staring her down, she was the best warrior among them.
As Leif stepped forward, Svea caught his wrist, quickly tugging him back before the others could notice. "You and Eydis will return to the village to keep care of it," she instructed, her voice low so as not to draw the Jarl's attention.
When he started to argue, she narrowed her eyes.
"You can protect them now. If I do not return, then Eydis will need your help. Do this for me." She requested.
"I'll go!" Vilhelmiina grinned, raising her mug of mead. She would never deny herself the chance for a good fight.
Shortly after, a few others joined in. Voices rising, laughter mingling with the scrape of benches and the clatter of mugs as the hall began to rouse with the promise of battle. There was almost no time to plan the raid which made it even more exciting for those who would see their first battle.
The journey ahead would be short, only three days if the wind was kind and Jörmungandr did not stir the waters.
If not, they would be gone for more than a week in sailing alone.
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"I don't know. . ." Svea grumbled, annoyed. She closed her again, trying to sleep through the relentless rocking of the boat after spending the last few days unable to.
The skies had been clear so far, but the waves had not been kind - not even on the sunniest day of their trip. It was as if the sea itself sought to drag them toward whatever shore the sirens beckoned them from.
Pulling back and forth on the oars, Dragmall smiled when he caught the sight of his bride. As the strain in his muscles which had gone long unused finally settled, he grimaced. The burn crawled higher up his back with each crash of the waves against the wood of the shop.
Vilhelmiina nudged Svea's boot with her own.
"We're close. The ravens haven't returned."
She meant it to be comforting, but Svea's thoughts were miles away, lost in the thousand things that could go wrong. The ravens had been released in search of nearby land, their return would tell them that there was no nearby land, but if they didn't come back then they would soon find a shore to make camp.
"We'll be lucky if we do. . " Svea muttered.
"Why?"
"Why else would Aeneas send his people to watch us?"
Hearing this, Dragmall pressed his tongue between his lips as he rowed, keeping his rhythm steady with the others. Still, he was close enough to weigh in. "He didn't. He sent the new ones who joined them. Do you think he expects us to fail?" He drew in a deeper breath, exhaustion creeping through his body.
Svea shrugged.
Fail. . . or perhaps he means to be rid of us now. He could still be angry that I claimed Fjorvi. Perhaps he even knows what I did as a child and hates me for it. . . Jarls don't forgive treason - no matter the reason. If that's true, he'll drag everyone down with me. Would he hesitate? No. . . he wouldn't.
"Stand!" shouted Asvoria between the boats, raising her hand for the rowers to lift their oars for mooring. Those who had been resting got up, shields and weapons in hand.
Svea stayed near the stern, her fingers tracing the rough etchings along the sternpost. Her eyes fixed on the coastline where they would anchor. She stole a glance at Asvoria, both women quietly assessing the shape of the new world before them. Svea tilted her head toward the cliffs, giving Asvoria a single nod to lead the charge ashore. One by one, they disembarked, silent.
Svea was the last to hop down; Dragmall's hands found her hips to help her down - as they always did.
A few from their party began their walk toward the land, their footsteps leaving impressions in the sand as they kept close together - they would vanish soon, just like the ones who had made them. They were especially on guard, knowing the first raid party sent out had never returned. One man lifted a finger to his lips, urging silence, hoping the crash of the waves and the cries of seabirds would drown their approach. They followed Asvoria's lead, hugging the cliffside where the rock met the shoreline as they edged along it.
Asvoria gestured with her hand that she would take the front charge if Svea kept watch at the rear. Running a hand over her leather bracer, Svea returned the gesture, encouraging Asvoria to move forward.
No matter their difference, they both knew they could always count on one another when it came to battle.
Asvoria led the first group out. Svea watched as those she had brought from her own village became mingled with the rest of the raiding party pressing ahead. For a brief moment, her mind drifted - Would Herja have ever allowed herself in such a situation? She had always been surrounded with few in number, but each one had been chosen for their worth, not their count. One of Herja's women was worth at least a hundred shield-maidens, Svea had never doubted that.
A few stragglers from the land they were invading were shoved down, immediately silenced, by a members of their group as they moved deeper through the field, the village itself only a few yards ahead.
"Ring the bell! Ring the bell! They've returned -"
The man's final cry was cut short when Asvoria moved behind him, slicing his throat with the back of her axe. She pressed her lips together as the blood spurted out, the sound drowned by the rush of the tide. The man choked on it, falling to his knees. Asvoria stepped past him without pause, her expression unreadable.
He died smiling, if only for a second - content in the thought that though he had risked his life, and lost it, it had been for the ones within the village who might now have a chance to fight or run.
Blood no longer stirred unease among them. Yet Svea winced as members of the raiding party walked over his body, one even spitting as he passed. Her gaze lingered on the dead man's clothes: coarse fabric, dirt under his nails, the hat still clinging to his head. Even nations apart, it was familiar. Universal.
She knew.
He had not been a warrior.
This man was no more than a farmer.
Svea hesitated, walking carefully around the body in contrast to those with her who trampled it without a second glance.
This man was no more than a farmer.