#and ekky did not change out of his day wear (only his shorts) for his day is so-

[ratatatastic]

YOURE TELLING ME BENNY AND EKKY ATE PASTA OUT OF THE CUP ON THEIR RESPECTIVE BACK TO BACK CUP DAYS (x)(x)

[flakk]

RAID - XI

The Anglo-Saxon lay there in the uncomfortable bed that had been hastily made before the two rented the tavern room for the night, he lay there still processing the events from earlier that day. Fortunately, the tavern keeper was grateful enough to the two for defending his daughter that evening that he discounted the charge of the room by half; only charging them only 7£. Aksel, who lay in the same bed beside him, was sound asleep; his knees pulled up in the fetal position, his arms interwoven in front of his neck.

This was exactly what Braum had been trying to avoid every night since they fled from East Anglia. He knew it would happen, for it does every night. He would lay down to rest; let the sweet kiss of slumber come and take him. It was then that his mind began racing with every memory he had from that day; every little detail, every small unimportant movement, everything he could’ve done to save his mother, everything he didn’t do. Every possible result of that split-second just before the strike fell, every possible move he was too scared to make, ‘You could’ve pushed her to the side…’ his mind would taunt him, ‘You could’ve taken the blow in her stead… You could have done literally anything el-!’.

Braum shot upward in their bed, breathing erratically, eyes widened. Aksels head raised slightly before realizing his friend had moved and fallen back down on the pillow. “Sorry…” Braum said sheepishly as he turned his feet out from under the quilt, his friend hadn’t heard him. Braum rested his face in his hands exhaling defeatedly, a single tear fell down his right cheek. He had had enough, he suddenly stood, and began dressing. Aksels figure turned to look inquisitively at Braum, “I’ll return” he said, donning his tunics. Aksel replied, “Lagi...”, setting his head back down on the bed.

Braum had dressed and moved out of their room door. It creaked as the hinged groaned in the pain of being abused for years. He walked down the hallway lit dimly by the light of several candles spaced out just enough for one to see where they were stepping. The wood under his feet moaned with his every other step. His steps brought him to the top of the staircase leading up from the dining area of the tavern. The Saxon was already making his way down the steps when he overheard two people casually conversing, “-Ose two from the fight today? They’re not from round’ ‘ere.”, Braum’s footfalls ceased halfway down the staircase, “Oh?” the second voice encouraged.

There was a short pause and Braum began moving once again, once his feet felt the ground supporting the stairs he could see the tavern keeper peeking around the corner of the bar at him, “‘Ello!”. His voice suddenly much less sinister and intimidating, Braum responded, “Ello…”, the keeper’s sight lingered on Braum for a moment too long before he realized that he wasn’t going to tell him what he was doing. Braum held his gaze, showing that he wouldn’t be influenced by him. The keeper busied himself with washing the wooden utensils and Braum moved to the entrance to the tavern at a slightly faster pace.

There were a few patrons still seated outside the establishment carrying on and laughing as if they hadn’t a care in the world that the tavern was closed and all were meant to be asleep. Braum instinctively looked in their direction and they didn’t seem to notice until Braum heard from behind him, “Oi! Aren’t you the one from that brawl earlier?”. The young man turned to look at his new conversation partner, not breaking his pace away from the tavern, “Ne, that was another.”. “Was it now? Am I wrong fer thinkin you a part of it?”, the man asked, slurring the words in his question as he asked it. Braum turned his back to the man and shrugged his shoulders, showing that he was done with the conversation. His feet trodded along the sludgy European dirt beside the road. When he made his way further away from the tavern, he could see no sign of torchlight making its rounds up and down the street. ‘Perhaps this town has no night watch?’, he asked himself, he found that rather odd, ‘Should I’ve left Axe there alone? Ah, ‘es a big lad, ‘e’ll be a’right.’, he dismissed his concern.

It had been so long since Aksel had slept in his own bed. It was the most comfortable thing he’d slept on in months. His bliss was interrupted by an uncharacteristic chill invading his room when his nose scrunched up in recoil. He did this a few more times before opening his eyes ever so slightly. Upon gathering consciousness Aksel felt how cold the room actually was, it was that same chill from back in the forest, just before they had entered the town. His head moved lazily around to the end of his bed when he saw a figure standing in the corner of the room, just out of the reach of moonlight that shone through the window. “Bröm, hvað-...”, is all he managed to ask when the figure disappeared, halting his voice and widening his eyes. Aksel, frightened, looked around the room with haste, when his vision made it to his right side. A petite, pale, young woman stood before him, wearing a white lambskin, her eyes looked as if they’d seen one thousand horrors over the course of a hundred lifetimes. Though, her brow was furrowed in something that resembled concern.

Aksel threw the quilt off himself and leapt out of the bed on his left side, “Heilög helvíti!” he yelled in an attempt to at least frighten the intruder. Grabbing the first thing in his sight, which happened to be the candle that hung on the wall above him, he brandished it in his front like a rapier. “Viltu deyja?!?! Heh?!”, he yelled once more, waving his candle around like a weapon. The young woman held her hands up, attempting to calm down the Heathen when an irritated knock came at the door before it was flung open. A larger Anglo-Saxon man stood before the two, he stuck one hairy sausage-looking finger at Aksel and hissed, “Quiet down you fucking barbarian! Good folk are tryin to sleep!” violently. Aksel stood before him, candle raised when the door slammed back shut with a DONK.

The young man stood there, having yet to process what was happening around him. He stared through the door when he remembered why the man had entered; Aksel yelled, ‘Why did I yell?’ he asked himself. It clicked, ‘Anda!’ he remembered and looked over the rest of the room. But everything was as it should have been, he paused in uncertainty, further analyzing the enclosure. A drawn-out inhale followed by, “Sssshhhhhh… vinsamlegast ekki öskra, það er sárt í höfðinu á mér.” slithered into Aksels ear and he recoiled, the candle still in hand. He spat back into the empty room, “Hver er þetta?? Hvernig talar þú tungumálið mitt?”, there was a moment before a reply came, “Freyða. Ég er frá þínu heimili…”. Aksel collected himself, ‘Okay… Freyða, who speaks my tongue’.

Aksel could see the figure of the lovely young woman appear again sheepishly from seemingly thin air. Her hands fiddled behind her back, head held low, looking up at Aksel. He couldn’t help but imagine how beautiful the moonlight would’ve looked as it reflected off of the pure white lambskin she wore, though, the moonlight shone through her instead of rearranging itself to allow her existence. “Fyrirgefðu Úlf… Ég var ekki að reyna að hræða þig.’, she whispered to him. It sounded as if she stood directly in front of him but he could clearly see that she stood on the other side of the room. “Nei…”, Aksel found himself at a loss for words, stumbling over his apologies, “Nei ahhh… Allt er gott.”, Aksel tried to draw her wandering gaze to show her his smile. She saw his expression, but hers didn’t change. He sat on his bedside and patted his left hand beside him, inviting her to sit with him. She shyly moved over to his bedside and elegantly sat beside him.

Aksel, once again, didn’t know what to do. ‘Should I ask her why she’s here? What if she doesn’t know? Is she the one that calls me ‘Úlf’? Why? Could she be-”, his thoughts were cut off by his mouth asking, “Hvað ertu að gera hér, Freyða?”. He looked down at her, awaiting a response before moving his sight elsewhere. She eventually replied, “Ég er hér fyrir þig.” Aksel confirmed, “Fyrir mig?”, she looked up at him and slowly nodded. “Ég skil ekki-”, Aksel was cut off by the door to the room being opened again. His head shot up to see Braum standing in the doorway looking at him in question. “Were you talking to yourself there, Axe?” he asked, Aksel returned, “Ah, sometimes I do þat.” with a lighthearted chuckle. Upon looking once again, the Northman saw that Freyða had disappeared from the room entirely.