#torgrim x atli

[phantomstatistician]

Fandom: Vinland Saga (manga)

Sample Size: 674 stories

Source: AO3

Note: This chart only contains fics in English, as requested.

[moistiy]

always bleeding, with you.

THORFINN X OC

PART 1

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"A twinge of hurt in the yearning soul does not alter the devotion, only the tenderness."

or a story in which Thorfinn is like a sheepdog, who will never stop protecting his lamb. It only takes twenty years for both of them to realize why.

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AN: my first-ever Tumblr post is really just to promote by a03, so I feel a bit dumb. a bit of a goofball. Anyway this is my long fic, not a one-shot. a friend told me this is where I should post. I'm sorry, in advance, if you read faster than I post.

a03 = https://archiveofourown.org/works/48520990/chapters/122391373

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AURYN 

The North of England was a bitter place, a harsh place, no place for a child.

Her nose was frostbitten into a permanent red, her sun-kissed skin had dulled into a tepid, thin gray speckled with small freckles, not the only current evidence of wear on her. 

And yet, thousands of children lived here. Children like him.

“You hear me? Huh?! I’m going to kill you?!” The blonde, short and ratty thing screamed across the water.

The ship stared in silence for a moment. The wind softly blew her blue plaid blanket around her shoulders. The cold nipped at her frozen ears as she stood by her father and watched the little boy on the ship across from her. Atli, one of her father’s men, was aghast. This boy, only a bit older than her, was full of adult rage.

Auryn could see it too.

He was a vengeful little creature, teeming with hate for her kin. A draugr. Mindless undead that clawed and cried at the living.

Oh well, she shrugged, and he interrupted her nap.

“What do you want to do, Askeladd? Should we throw him overboard?” Torgrim, Atli’s brother, asked her father. Her father, Askeladd, paused for a moment, “Leave him,” he started to walk off, “there won’t be much left of him anyway”

As her father returned to the helm, she wobbled off back to her warm blanketed bench, as the boy’s stares burned into her back. The icy wind carried his voice to her ear as he begged for his father.

For a moment she felt pity, she couldn’t imagine a world without her own. 

But, the strong survive and the weak die, and that’s how the world turns.

The following morning, one of the men frowned at his horn of ale, empty, as the rest were. She glanced at her own cup. “You can have my cup if you want, " she offered.

The toothy grin of a Viking glanced up at her, it was hard to think of them as enemies, “Thanks, Auryn. You're a good lad, Askeladd is raising you well.”

Right as she offered the rest of her cup to the man, another ran out of booze. Annoyed at the lack of drinks, Torgrim muttered to her father, “When will we get there? I want my gold, Askeladd”

“Be patient. We’re almost there,” Askeladd lazily replied. She adored how calm her father could be, as any child would.

Over on the other ship, she could spot that same ratty boy, hunched over salt water, trying to drink. She sighed and glanced up at her father's long face, “Father?”

His sharp blue eyes, full of annoyance, glanced down, “What?”

“Do you think… it is cruel not just to uhm- kill him? And if not, may I toss over a ration? Starvation is a hard way to die… like you said,” She remained curious, and full of more pity than she was allowed to have.

“Well, I obviously wouldn’t do that,” her father replied.

She raised her eyebrow; “So… Can I toss him something?”

“No, he isn’t going to die of starvation, let him die of thirst. You can survive a month or two without food, but water,” he shrugged, “it only takes a couple of days,” Her father patted her head, calling the problem resolved. He then realized his horn was empty of booze and he frowned.

“I envy your mind for morals,” She quietly remarked, rolling her eyes. She was probably pushing too hard. Her job was to listen, not question.

“I’m glad someone sees my generosity,” he howled a laugh, not commenting on her insistence.

She rolled her eyes and walked back to her spot on the water-logged deck, starting on her pirate’s lunch.

- ASKELADD

Bjorn leaned against the ship's deck, eyes focused on his little blonde daughter bouncing away. He looked like he was about to say something. He didn’t need to ask a question, Askeladd already knew what he was thinking. They were too close for questions.

“What is it, Bjorn,” He responded.

Bjorn paused, looking at the blood on his sea-bleached boots, before looking back up and across the ship, his gruff Danish accent speaking, “Are you sure about keeping him on board?”

Askeladd shrugged, speaking the rehearsed speech he had said for nearly a year, “He��s a good bowman, and he knows his way around the languages. Plus I don’t have to pay him. I think that speaks for itself.”

Bjorn frowned, “I wasn’t talking about how useful he is, I’m talking about keeping your only child on the battlefield.”

He smirked, “Only child that we know of.”

Bjorn gave him a look.

Nosy viking.

Askeladd sighed, nearly scoffing at Bjorn’s concern, “ Whatever. He stays until he can defend himself, or he gets lost. It’s not like he has a mother to run home to.”

Askeladd briefly thought of his mother and all her sickness. And then he thought of hers, a woman he barely knew.

Not so different a story. 

“Askeladd! Askeladd come, it’s Catrin!” A village woman ran up to Askeladd, tugging on his sleeve. He had just gotten back from a journey, and this was not the welcome he expected. A few other women, with frightened expressions on their faces, crowded him.

“Who is Catrin?” Askeladd asked, confused, as they tugged him to a hut, and the first sight was a corpse lying silent on the pallet bed. She would have been beautiful in life. Thick brown hair covered tan shoulders, she must have been foreign. Spain, maybe? Perhaps even farther south?

Either way, he was no god. 

“Girls, she’s dead, there isn’t anything I can do.” He said to the women in confusion.

“No, Askeladd,” a woman sighed, “we know... look under her arm next to the wall,” she said anxiously.

As instructed, he reached over the fresh corpse and lifted her cold arm. There it was, a child, it couldn’t be older than 3 with its size, “I don’t see how this is my problem,” Askeladd muttered, picking the child up by its nape. It was boney and scrawny, Askeladd could have been mistaken for its age.

The women around him shrieked, “Don’t pick it up like that!”

Askeladd frowned, ignoring them “Why is this kid my problem?”

“It's your child, stupid bastard!” A loud young woman with light brown hair spoke out from the crowd, putting her hands on her hips. 

“Oh,” he glanced at the corpse behind him, “you sure?”

She rolled her eyes, pointing at him, “She told me before she died, it’s your child. I mean, Tyr, look at the thing.”

He held the child up to get a better look at it, pale, choppy, blonde hair like him, really the only difference between their faces was their eye color, his light blue and hers a honey brown. This thing really was too small for him to handle softly. 

“You’re probably right,” he paused, “but are you sure?”

The brown-haired woman huffed, throwing her hands in the air.

“Hm. Alright, what do I do with it?”

Askeladd was a cunning leader and an even stronger warrior. But… this was not his expertise. He also realized that there were no more women in the hut, all calling the orphan handled, except for the brown-haired woman.

“First of all, it’s a girl, not an ‘it’. Second of all, you can’t leave it here, nobody else here has room to take it in,” the woman said, annoyed. He raised an eyebrow, and she shook her head no, “I can’t take it either, bastard.”

“Hmmm… why didn’t you girls pick it up?” He questioned. 

She quietly spoke, and he wondered if she was ashamed, “We thought it was dead, and no woman wants to pick up a child’s corpse. Definitely not one of a dear friend.”

Askeladd watched the kid blink, such a strange thing. He oddly did not want to leave it to the women. Bjorn wouldn’t mind, he guessed, as long as the child stayed on the ship. 

“I want my mom…” the child said quietly in Askeladd’s grip. He forgot these things could talk.

“Oh goodie, you can talk, now, how old are you?” Askeladd asked, returning to reality.

The babe’s chapped lips pressed together, and its tiny voice responded with surprising eagerness  “Five?”

“Five, huh,” Askeladd turned his head to the woman, “That’s old enough for her to take care of herself, right?”

The woman threw her hands in the air, “No it isn’t, you imbecile.” She looked him up and down and sighed, “At least try and raise it, give it food, and water, make sure it stays warm, oh, and don’t let it get shot full of arrows. That’s important. My name is Athelflad, I was Cartin’s neighbor. Come to me for advice, I guess, but I’m not raising your child!”

“This is a waste of time,” he sighed.

AURYN

They hopped off the ships not far from the river Humber. As she helped men out of the ship, she overheard Askeladd and Bjorn,

“Who will watch the ship?” Bjorn asked.

“We won’t be here for long, we’re taking a short break,” Askeladd replied, tightening the cuffs around his wrist.

It was early, they had to trek a few miles uphill, and there was nothing she hated more than walking. Her little legs could only do so much, stamina didn’t come easily to those who rarely ate. She yawned and cracked her back in annoyance. She couldn’t complain though, if she complained her father would probably just ditch her, a paragon of tough love. 

She walked in the front with her father, wood bow in hand. She was good, she thought. It was a talent, archery. A talent she was thankfully sent by Skaði. Unfortunately, her 6-year-old self was not amazing at melee, the most important part of her culture. Nonetheless, her father told her to hold tight to her string. 

Bow quiver over her shoulder, she hoped she looked the image of a warrior. Like him.

“Where are we going?” She asked Askeladd. 

He grinned wolfishly at her, ruffling her nappy, short hair.

“Get some supplies.”

She stood above the burning town with the rest of the archers, her father and the rest of his band pillaging below her. In raids, she was told by her father to watch and not involve herself unless necessary. Still, she wanted to be useful and handed arrows to the older archers with her. Sometimes Bjorn would ask her if the death ever affected her, to be honest, the first time she saw a village burn to ash, it did affect her. Seeing all the corpses, the women and children screaming. The combination of screams of terror and the roar of the fires. But, you pillage once and you have pillaged about every English village. At some point, she just detached from it all, and the wails started to just get annoying. 

After all, her father did not seem afraid. 

“Two on the right,” The Ear said quietly to the elder archer. 

“Do you want to help me do this one, boy?” The grinning man next to her asked, tapping the top of the wood longbow that was a size too large for her.

She smiled, drawing the string from her shoulder, “Why not?”

She nocked her arrow, pointing her elbow back and the string to her face. Scanning the burning meadow like looking for rabbits. Two boys, it was. They fired in unison, and the boys died before they could scream. A mercy.

“Nice job, lad!” The man whispered as he patted her short hair.

She appreciated the gesture. She understood why they called her what they did, but it made everything more difficult. Pissing was the worst.

Yet, her father said that’s what she needed to do to stay safe. And seeing how the men treated the women they pillaged, she trusted his judgment.

“Man on horseback, coming fast this way.” Ear whispered harshly.

Sure enough, a man on a black horse appeared out of the woods, he was close to its neck. He must have known they were there, though not precisely.

“I’ll take care of this one lad.” The man called next to her as he nocked his arrow into his elder wood bow, she kept from stomping her foot in envy.

His arrow flew forward, spinning in rotation toward the man. He missed.

“Fuck.” He quietly said.

The man on horseback slowed down to see the arrow land on the grass near him, and frantically looked around, she almost saw his ears twitch, before spotting the archers. She couldn’t tell his expression in the dark, but she knew it was sudden fear. He kicked his horse into a gallop, racing back toward the trees.

If this guy lived and told anyone, they’d be in a world of trouble.

She quickly drew her arrow from her quiver and nocked it firmly in her small bow. The iridescent raven feather on the arrow tickled her cheek. One eye closed. Breath steady. She launched it toward the galloping horse. The arrow quickly embedded itself in the man’s back, straight through his lungs, as she intended.

“Nicely done!” The men around her whisper-yelled. The couple of pats on the back Auryn got she knew she deserved. Praise. Respect. That’s all her little mind wanted.

Ear spoke up suddenly, “That’s all of them. We can go back now”

“Finally, we get to see what we got from the village! It’s like opening a present,” The archer next to her said excitedly.

She shrugged, it was probably the same thing as usual, still exciting, just not surprising. Adult things, women, poor creatures, gold, weapons, clothes, meat.

They walked down the cliff carefully to join back with the rest of the posse.

A few men waved as they came down, they were all finished their pillaging and raping and had already set up a fire, a lot of the Vikings were brothers or cousins, making the reunion sweet for rapists and murderers.

Askeladd watched them approach, arms crossed.

Torgrim spoke first to them, his face coated in thick blood along with his sword, “A lot of trouble?”

One of the men behind her spoke, “No, not a lot. Well, except for old Edgar missing a man on a horse. Little Auryn here shot him straight to Hel though!” He gave her a friendly push forward, with a smile on his face.

The men around the fire chuckled.

“I bet you guys are hungry, go get your fill.” Her father said toward her group. She started to walk past him, with everyone around her, but he grabbed her shoulder.

“Theirs is disgusting, I got something for you that’s better.” He whispered to her and led her into one of the intact huts.

Once inside, he switched to the Welsh language. He was trying to teach her it since it was his mother tongue. Languages came fast to her, she was already fluent in Danish, Welsh, Latin, and French. Most only knew Latin and Danish.

“I had to hide it. Even if they knew it was for you, they’d eat it like the heathens they are.”

He opened up his satchel revealing a link of pork. She scarfed it up, mid-way through, though she realized she forgot to say thank you. Mouth-full, she murmured, “Thank you!” And kept eating. Her father just shook his head. Askeladd wasn’t an amazing father, nor a great one. Probably not even a decent one, but he loved her and that was good enough.

He handed her a skin of water to wash it down, as they sat on one of the cots in the room.

“I’m going to talk to those creatures, give a speech or something like that, you can sleep or come with me, but I’ll be back later,” he said lastly, standing up.

“Night,” she finished in Welsh, wiping her mouth.

“Night,” he replied.

She had slept for an hour or so. Once her father had come back from entertaining the men and started to sleep in the cot across from hers, she couldn’t seem to fall back asleep. Cold, still a tad hungry, even a bit worried for herself for no particular reason.

She turned around, facing his tunic-cloaked back, the candlelight only supported so much warmth “Father?… Are you awake?”

There was a pause, and she considered not saying anything else before he groaned out, “Mhm.”

Glancing at the thatch roof, hands curling over the elk pelt blanket, she mumbled under her breath, “Can I come sleep?”

He sighed, not even moving, “fine.”

She smiled gladly and tugged the pelt that she was using as a blanket with her. Her father never moved, he lifted his arm and let her sleep. She was huddled against his arm, the warmth he radiated lulling her to sleep. She fell asleep quickly. No dreams of fire and screams haunting the space between her eyes.

THORFINN

He lifted the sword high above a sleeping Askeladd’s neck.

He raised it ready to strike the killing blow, a clean kill with a sword his father could use. He would avenge him. Just to kill the stinking pirate and be done with it. He was an enemy. An evil man. Nothing like Thors. Nothing like him at all. Better dead, this one.

He nearly swung, but a ghost’s hand stopped him. 

Seething, he nearly dropped the sword on his own head. 

That's when he saw the runt, cradled in his enemies’ bloody arms. Kill them anyway, he told himself. But an image of a boy his age and a black-haired man they called “The Troll” appeared, watching his back, judgemental. 

His father would not be proud of him for avenging his death like this. 

No, this was cowardly work. 

When he’d get his revenge, it would be honorable. The man they called Askeladd would die in a duel, and his son after him. He sighed, lowering the sword. He would kill him. Oh, he would tear him limb from limb. Just not like this.

Dragging the sword behind him, trying not to bear his teeth into a growl, he walked away.

Unaware that Askeladd’s eyes were open.

He waited til the early morning. A pretty day, today was. Bright dawn sun rising, warming what was a cold night. He even saw a black rabbit hop down from the woods, a sign of good luck, he hoped. 

Askeladd was saying something about a gnat buzzing around the night before. A yawn escaped his worm face. 

Thorfinn’s foot shifted on the ashy mud ground, the heavy sword in his hands. His father used a sword once. 

“What’s this? A survivor?” One man, an archer, to his right said.

“No, it’s him. The Troll of Jom’s little son.” The man to his left said.

“Oh, he was left alive?” The previous man replied.

“It’s going to be a long morning.” The archer man sighed. Bows were for cowards.

He bit his tongue, how dare they speak of his father? How dare they mock him? His father could have beaten any one of them. If only they hadn’t used arrows. Cowards! Everywhere! Was he the only warrior here?

“I challenge you to a duel!” He said fearlessly toward Askeladd. He felt nothing close to fear. The sword was heavy, and he lifted it to his face, trying to mock a fighting stance. 

The men smiled at him, and a few let out mocking chuckles. Some didn’t even care.

They’d see, they’d all see when Askeladd’s head was rolling on the dirt. 

“How are you going to handle this warrior, Askeladd?” The berserker asked his opponent, arms crossed, he was amused too. His iron bucket hat was stupid. He’d kill him too.

Askeladd raised his eyebrow at him, talking lowly as if he was not a true fighter, “This kid? What a pain in my ass.”

Askeladd started to walk around him, his hand resting on his sword, 

“Gods. You should’ve beheaded me in my bed last night.” He stared down at Thorfinn. Of course, he would think to kill someone in their sleep. Brainless weakling, devoid of honor. 

“I am the son of Thors,” he paused before he shouted, “I could never do something..so cowardly!” He pointed his sword toward Askeladd, nearly dropping it, to his embarrassment. 

The men again reacted, chuckles and mocking words to root him on. A runction of lackluster cheer.

Askeladd started to rub his index finger and thumb together, “So you wanna be a grown-up warrior?” He seemed to contemplate something, “Alright, come at me.”

Thorfinn inhaled deeply, then charged, screaming, toward him. He could feel the wind move as Askeladd side-stepped, and then the weight of the sword pulled him down, stuck in the sand behind him. He pulled with every ounce of bravery he had, but the sword stayed pitifully buried. They all laughed.

He could feel Askeladd come to his side, “You can’t let a big sword like that swing you around,” he said, stalking near. Thorfinn barely saw his boots before he was kicked in the gut. Thorfinn flew across the grass, landing with a thud in the dirt nearby.

He kept his eyes shut, no energy to keep them awake and fighting.

“Dead already?” The men laughed as Askeladd walked off.

After a short pause, he could hear the Vikings starting to pack up, ready to leave him behind.

The glare shot into his eyes immediately but was blocked soon enough. Askeladd’s son, with a ring around their golden hair and a Roman nose like some sort of Valkyrie, stood there, a pile of wood in their arms. Thorfinn would never admit how pretty they looked with the ring of fire glowing around his golden features, womanly. But it was short-lived relief, as the pain finally knocked the boy flat out. 

AURYN

Keeled over like a sack of potatoes laid the son of the Troll. His eyes were winced back in pain, dirt covered his nose and cheek. Ratty was the first word that came to mind. Stupid the second, and pitiful the third. She felt sorry for him, despite her training against attachment. She was going to reach down, maybe give some comfort, before Atli called for her.

“I’m coming!” She called back.

“Sorry,” she whispered down to the boy as he withered on the floor. Stepping over him, she carefully balanced the tinder in her arms back to the center of her torso. When she returned to a straight posture, she noticed the withering stopped. Deciding him dead, she went on her way.

Atli and Torgrim made meat for everyone to eat that morning, generous brothers, those two. Kind to her. Even offered some to her, which she accepted gladly, sitting between Atli and one of the younger boys who had recently joined. A whisper of wind came next to her, and she noticed the Troll of Jom’s son, standing there, practically drooling with hunger. 

“Oh, you're still alive?” Atli said. He seemed almost pleasantly surprised.

“You look awful, boy,” Torgrim snickered, throwing the scraps of lamb chop they had made.

The bone toppled in front of him with a thud in the dirt, and for a brief moment, she considered he might have actually wanted to eat it. She laughed, “Better than nothing, eh, boy?”

It was cruel of her, she knew, but she had done much worse things.

The men around the fire laughed with her, they thought it was funny too. What was the harm? The strong could find their own food, and the weak starved. He wouldn’t last the winter anyway, even with a full belly tonight.  

Suddenly, the boy bubbled up in rage, twitching and seething before running off.

“What’s with him? I was only showing him goodwill,” Torgrim said genuinely, taking a bite out of another chop. He didn’t see her questioning blinking through his blonde bangs.

So they’d truly leave him to starve. Right? They had enough food now, but they needed all of it. They needed all of it, she mulled over in her head. After all, what good was the right thing to do?

“Lad, you alright?” Atli spoke to her, and she bit her lip.

“Of course.”

Throughout the next couple of days, she kept her eye out for him, though she never spotted herself, a few others said they did. In the parts where they said he was, she left scraps. After all, anyone could live on scraps. Leftover stew, meat that they did not eat, nuts and berries from the forest, in case he didn’t know what was poisonous. And she didn’t even see him once, though the scraps always disappeared. 

Even with the lack of the Troll of Jom’s son, she had unintentionally made another friend.

Every day, a raven would fly down and steal what she had left, or at least a portion of it. Once the raven realized it was her putting down the food, it started to follow her everywhere. It landed on her windowsill, it landed near her feet, it flew above her head, and once it gave her a heart attack by landing on her shoulder. But, she had done the one thing she could never do to an animal. Get attached. 

Auryn started to think that just calling it ‘the raven’ was a bit boring, and a bit ominous. So she came up with a list of names for it and picked her favorite: Charlie.

Once she saw Charlie eating the eyeball out of a corpse, she dubbed him eyeball-eating-Charlie.

Askeladd, unfortunately, did not like Charlie’s singing early in the morning:

“Auryn, make that bastard bird shut its beak before I turn it into a soup.”

He would frequently say that, but he never did. 

Then, the time came for them to leave, and yet Charlie wouldn’t leave her shoulder. She helped the boarding process the best she could, but Charlie wouldn’t leave her, and she didn’t have the heart to scare him away. Especially with how useful he was, after all, free fletching. 

As she sat on some sacks of grain, next to her father, Bjorn, and The Ear, The Ear spoke quietly to her father, “Someone is approaching”

“Huh?” She and her father said in unison.

The boy was on a death march toward her father. He came from the woods, full of dirt and dried blood on his brown Icelandic tunic. 

Her father seemed amused, almost proud. She didn’t know what to think and called it a unique experience. 

“I am Thorfinn, son of Thors,” He said confidently, tall and proud before he unsheathed a small engraved knife, and stood in a stance she would always remember, dagger sideways, cutting edge pointed to an enemy,  “In the name of almighty Odin, I challenge you to a duel.”

She wasn’t there for the first duel he had with her father, she was collecting firewood, but she had heard of his miserable failure.

“Good grief, he’s relentless.” Her father murmured tiredly.

The men smiled in good morale, a mixture of “He’s got guts, huh?” and “Take him on, Askeladd!” 

Even Bjorn chuckled lightheartedly, “A leader should live up to his follower’s expectations.” He told her father. 

It seemed the entire pack was interested, including Charlie who landed on her shoulder to watch. A circle was formed for them, and Askeladd replied lazily, “I, Askeladd, son of Olaf, accept your challenge in the name of Odin. Though it seems I have no choice”

Thorfinn huffed on his blade, not answering his mock.

“Really? Do you want to see your father that badly?”

She could see Thorfinn, as he was called, grind his teeth together.

A pause came. Thorfinn shifted around, watching the older man. Her father seemed almost angry at the boy. Almost.

Thorfinn flew towards her father in rage, swinging and swapping at him. All her father really had to do was back up a little to not get hit. Grinning harder with each attempt. As he swung a final time, her father kicked him in the chest.

He keeled over and started to quiver on the ground, yet he raised himself again as Askeladd hovered over him, raising his knife.

Askeladd, obviously, kicked him again. And again. And again. And again. At some point, he was just playing football.

“Over already?” He kicked him again. No remorse. No care.

“Pretty boring kid.” He kicked.

Finally, he just punted while saying, “On your feet!”

She knew her father was a bad man, then. She knew it. But she could not find it in herself to hate him for it. 

“Isn’t this a duel?” Askeladd asked, no longer kicking, but rather watching the boy’s agony.

“Let him go, he’ll die at this rate,” Bjorn said exactly what she was thinking, but with a much lighter grimace than she had.

Askeladd retorted, “Heh, weren’t you the one egging me on to fight?” His guard was down, he truly thought nothing of the boy.

Her father turned his head from him, and Thorfinn threw his knife at Askeladd’s skull. 

She was worried for her father’s life, for a moment, she thought today would be his day. It was sooner than the later she expected. 

It wasn't his day, but it was close. No, with wide eyes her father smacked it out of the air. It clanged to the ground a few paces away.

“I think I’ve had enough,” he turned back to Bjorn, “Besides, I don’t like killing kids. My boy would be dead by now,” A few men chucked. She didn’t. 

“What- what is wrong with you?” Thorfinn asked with wide eyes. Did he wish to die?

Askeladd sighed, “I don’t have time for this.”

“Hey, wait!” Thorfinn cried, “I haven’t lost yet!” He struggled against the ground, it was a horrid display, “Fight me, you coward!”

Askeladd picked up Thorfinn’s dagger, seeming to analyze the steel, “You sure are one persistent brat.”

“This isn’t over! Not until I’ve killed you! You’ll die for what you did,” he sobbed hard, struggling up.

Her father tossed his dagger back to him, “Prove yourself on the battlefield.” He paused, “You’re a warrior, aren’t you?” Askeladd rose from where he picked up the dagger, “Once you do that, I’ll reward you with a duel.”

Thorfinn took a moment to pry his knife out of the ground, before bitterly speaking under his breath, “Is that a promise?”

Askeladd turned away, and she watched his grave expression, “That’s right. A warrior’s promise.”

He walked back to her, and that’s how she knew it was over. But she still watched as the boy called Thorfinn sheathed his father’s dagger. How different, was he, from her?

AN: hope you like, thanks for reading

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