I set the empty plate on the ground and pushed myself to my feet. The pond wasn't far, its surface rippling under a light breeze. Kneeling by the water's edge, I cupped my hands and submerged them, letting the coldness chase away the lingering grease and dirt.
The sun was still up, I had time to find John and thank him for saving me, even though he didn't have to. If it weren't for him and Freydis' men, I'd be rotting in that prison camp, tossed into a ditch like a dog. Ragnar and his men would have laughed, making a joke of my death over their next cup of ale.
I had been ready to die. Axe in hand, I was at peace with it. But then Odin came to me, his voice like a storm rolling through my mind, his words cutting deeper than any blade. I was glad to be alive now, if only because I had to be. The stain on my honor needed cleansing—until then, Helheim's cold gates would be the only ones waiting for me. In quiet moments like these, when I was alone with my thoughts, I sometimes wished I hadn't saved that Saxon woman back there...
Freydis' voice broke through my thoughts. "What are you thinking?" She stepped beside me, arms crossed, her expression tinged with concern.
I exhaled slowly. "I killed one of Ragnar's men in a raid." My voice came quiet, heavy. "I denied him Valhalla. Threw his axe away."
Freydis said nothing at first, only watching me with quiet understanding. Then she hummed, waiting for me to continue.
"He was forcing himself onto a mother and her child." My fists clenched at the memory, nails digging into my palms. "I'm just disappointed in myself."
Freydis studied me, then tilted her head slightly. "Would you do it again, if you could go back?"
I lifted my gaze to hers, searching for something—judgment, maybe. But her eyes only held patience. And that made my answer feel even heavier.
"No," I admitted, shaking my head. "And that's why I'm disappointed in myself, Freydis. Knowing what happened afterward… I don't think I'd stop him this time."
She exhaled through her nose, leaning back against a tree, her arms loosening. "Valrik," she said, voice softer now. "One day, I caught my husband speaking to another woman in the city. Laughing, smiling… cheating."
I frowned, glancing at her. She wasn't looking at me, her eyes focused somewhere distant.
"I grabbed my sword and was ready to cut him down, right there in the street," she continued. "I'd known him all my life, but in that moment? I was ready to end him in seconds—because I was jealous." She scoffed, shaking her head. "It felt like a fire had started in my stomach, eating me from the inside. I wanted him to suffer before I killed him. I was desperate and… angry."
I remained quiet, waiting.
"But I didn't." She turned to me, her lips pressing into a small, humorless smile. "Because when I raised my sword, it felt heavier than Thor's hammer. I couldn't lift it, even though the rage inside me kept burning hotter."
I huffed a small, tired chuckle. "And?" I asked, lifting a brow. "What did you do to your husband?"
Freydis grinned, mischief lighting her face. "Oh, we fucked for a whole day. My apology gift for yelling at him."
I blinked. "What?"
She laughed, shaking her head. "The woman he was talking to? Turned out to be a man. Just had long hair." She sighed dramatically. "I wished Odin had struck me down right there and saved me the embarrassment."
I ran a hand down my face, unable to stop the smirk tugging at my lips. "That… took a turn, alright."
Freydis chuckled again, pushing off the tree and stretching. "Mm. Lesson learned, though, right? Anger and desperation makes us think one way, but acting on it? That's different."
I nodded, her words settling deep, their weight pressing against thoughts I wasn't ready to face. She was right. I would've done the same thing again, slay that man where he stood.
These thoughts didn't feel like mine. Or maybe they were, and I just didn't want to admit it. I felt adrift, like I was lost at sea, searching desperately for land. But the closer I swam to something solid, the more it felt like I didn't belong there.
I was afraid. I wouldn't say it out loud, but I was.
With no Clan to call my own, no brothers to drink with, no banners to fight under—I was alone. I wanted to ride back to my brother, sit by the fire, drink until my head pounded, and laugh like we used to. Share stories with the Jomsvikings, lose myself in the familiarity of it all.
But instead, I was here. Wandering. Letting the wind push me in whatever direction it pleased.
"Valrik." Freydis' voice pulled me back. She stepped closer, watching me carefully. "Stay with us."
I blinked. "Hmm?"
"Stay," she repeated, firmer this time. "Join our Clan." There was something lighter in her voice, something open. "We will accept you as one of our own."
"I…"
I hesitated, my gaze shifting past her shoulder. The wounded men sat hunched around the fire, some whispering, others lost in their own silence. I had never once considered following another leader, another Clan—not after my father's. He had built it with his own hands, led it to victories, bled for it.
The idea of belonging somewhere else felt wrong.
Freydis seemed to sense my hesitation and took a small step back. "You don't have to give me an answer right away," she said. "But my men and I would be happy to see you with us."
I exhaled, rubbing the back of my neck. "I don't know, Freydis," I admitted. "But—I'll think on it."
She nodded. "Do that, Valrik. You know where to find me in York."
"Where is your settlement?" I asked.
"West from here," she said. "Do you know the village where Ernest's men attacked? Take a right there, where the 'S'-shaped tree stands. Ride a little farther, and you'll find it."
I nodded. "Alright. Thank you, shieldmaiden."
With a small smile, she patted my shoulder before turning back to her men. I stood still, watching as a breeze rippled across the lake, distorting my reflection in the water. I needed time to think. To decide what came next.
The sound of hooves crunching against the dirt pulled my attention back. Thrainr rode into the campsite, Ela sitting closely behind him. He swung off his horse and turned to help the girl down. As soon as her feet hit the ground, she clutched something in her hands and hurried toward Freydis.
"Mother," Ela called, holding up her small bundle. "I brought mushrooms."
Freydis' face softened, but before she could reply, Thrainr shook his head. "I found her alone in the woods," he muttered, disapproval thick in his voice. "Alone."
Freydis' smile vanished. "Alone?" She knelt, gripping Ela by the shoulders. "We talked about this. You can't go off by yourself anymore. It's dangerous."
"I know," Ela mumbled, lowering her head. "I just wanted to help. Thought the men would need food."
Freydis exhaled sharply, pressing her lips together before pulling the girl into a tight embrace.
Taking that as my cue to leave, I turned toward the cave's entrance. The climb was short, but as I drew closer, the sounds inside bled through the cracks in the rock—muffled whimpers, quiet sobs, hushed voices trying to soothe the pain.
I needed to see them before heading back to John. Make sure they had what they needed.
Stepping inside, the dim candlelight flickered against the rough stone walls. Straw had been laid across the ground as makeshift beds, where wounded men lay recovering. A shieldmaiden moved between them, her steps slow, shoulders heavy with exhaustion.
She couldn't have been older than twenty. Her dark hair was tangled, and her movements sluggish—she hadn't had proper rest in days, but still, she kept going. Tending to the men. Ensuring they survived.
Respectable.
She noticed me as I stepped closer, pausing by one of the candles. "You," she said, her voice hoarse but steady. "Valrik, right?"
I nodded.
"Thank you again, drengr."
"What's the situation here?" I asked. "Will the men be alright?"
Her expression faltered. "We need medicine," she admitted. "But—we're out."
I frowned. "Ela stole some from Ragnar's prison camp. Isn't that enough?"
"Not at all." She shook her head. "We need more. But I don't know how we'll get it."
"Raiding villages could get you some," I said, though the words felt empty. "But your men aren't ready for that."
Her gaze darkened, but not with anger—more with resolve. "Drengr," she said, her voice quieter now. "Would you help us again?"
I met her eyes. "How?"
"Thrainr, some of the men who can still fight, and I are raiding a village along the coast," she explained. "Our longships are ready at the settlement—but we lack men. If you join us, we'd be grateful."
I considered her words, rolling my shoulders. "When?"
"When the sun dips," she said. "We'll return to the settlement. Should we wait for you?"
I let out a breath, nodding. "Yes. I don't want to half-ass this. I'll help however I can."
A small flicker of relief passed across her face. "Thank you."
I nodded once more before stepping back outside, breathing in the cool air. The sky was still bright, the sun far from setting.
It was time to head back to York. To find John at the monastery. I owed him my thanks.