brave in the heart. vikings

CHAPTER 42

CHAPTER 42

With Ragnar's waking came the dawning of winter.

Her departure from Kattegat came earlier than expected. With the cool winds settling in, the boatmen tasked with delivering her home feared to wait any longer, and Merida was left standing on the shores of the village, drinking in each inch of her surroundings, etching it into her memory. She wanted the place to remain as vividly in her mind as her own home did. She wanted to be able to recall each inch of it upon need. There was only part of her that feared she would never see Kattegat and all of its inhabitants again.

In the boat behind her, the sails were being prepared, her chest of supplies being loaded. Three women already sat at the head of the boat. They were the shieldmaidens who would accompany her back to Dunbroch, by request of Ragnar, who wished for someone to represent him when he could not himself.

There was first Ysra, one of the wanderers Ragnar had collected through his years of travelling. It was Lagertha who had saved her life as a child and in return, the women had felt indebted to her and trained beneath the shieldmaiden until she could hold the title herself. She was young- almost a whole year younger than Merida- but she was tall and fast, with wide eyes that seemed to be able to see everything, much like an owl. Her skin was brown, her hair an ebony black, and she spoke with an accent different to her own yet different to the lilt the people of Kattegat spoke with. Ysra was also the only one who could speak Merida's native language.

The second of such shieldmaidens was Sif, a short and wide woman with bright, watery eyes and a loud voice. On her large hands, she wore an iron band on each finger, and around her neck was a chain of silver, decorated with a pendant of a family seal, which Merida had not yet asked about. The woman seemed brash and outspoken, but she had grown used to such personalities. A part of her thought of her father, the first time she had heard Sif talk with such confidence.  

The last was an older woman with a temperament that was calmer and fairer than that of the others. Everything about Thyra was pale- her skin, her hair, her eyes. The dark charcoal that rimmed her lashes and dripped down her cheeks like spikes was black and severe, making the colour of her eyes look almost purple. She was of a similar age to Queen Aslaug, but reminded Merida more of Lagertha, with her voluminous braids and battle paint striping her face. But those were the only similarities the two women seemed to share. 

Tyra was the only one of the three that she had seen before. It had been in the main hall, often during celebrations, where she sat close to the high table. She had a daughter too, Merida had learned. A young girl of nine who liked to run with Ragnar's sons and the other children of the village.

Merida heard the three laugh behind her, the sound smoothing her and making her calm. They already seemed acquainted, friends already, perhaps, but the fact did not give Merida anxiety but rather gave her comfort. The journey across the ocean would surely have been a lonely one without them.

Turning away, Merida looked at the powdered blanket of snow past the village, which melted into the foot of the tall mountains. Bjorn would soon be venturing that way, cloaked in wolf pelts and strapped with axes and daggers. A test of survival, he believed it was. She gripped the bear carving at her throat. They had already said their goodbyes but Merida did not yet feel ready to leave.

So she took off without a word, feet flying against the wind. The boatmen shouted for her by the shore but Merida ignored them. The shieldmaidens were on their feet, eyes watching her carefully, hands on their hilts, unsure as to whether to follow. Merida didn't care if they did or not. She needed to see his face one last time.

The newly fallen snow crunched beneath her feet. The sound sent a chill down her back just as swiftly as the icy wind did as it scraped past her face. The waft seemed to be against her as she ran and ran, pleading to whichever God would listen, that Bjorn would still be there.

Like whispered against the breeze, the trees seemed to encourage her to go on. Merida's feet skipped over their roots, winding around the thick trunks, ducking beneath the green, low-hanging branches. But it was there, at the edge of the tree line, where the forest broke into a field of barren white, that she found him. 

It was almost as if he'd been waiting for her. Bjorn turned, brows furrowed until his pale eyes fell on her figure. He advanced forward immediately, the cape of wolf furs trailing behind him, thick and heavy but warm. He seemed larger under all the layers, and so much more like his father. She wanted to wrap herself beneath them, tucking herself into his heat, but she couldn't. If he held her so tightly again, she might never leave.

"You were supposed to have left."

"I know but they can wait," she said. Merida gripped his furs in her hands, bringing his face closer to hers. Bjorn obliged, resting their foreheads together. She closed her eyes. "Don't die."

She felt the low chuckle of his throat through vibrations. When she opened her eyes again, he was smiling, looking down at her with soft eyes. Bjorn shook his head and took her face in his hands.

"I'm not destined to die here," he said. "I haven't married a princess. I haven't travelled the world."

His words almost made her melt. In her heat, she knew he would not die, but she still could not help the dark sense of foreboding that settled into her body and weighed her down. She wrapped her fingers around his wrists, still letting his hands lay on her face. Her hold was so tight that he would eventually have to rip them from his skin, but Bjorn didn't want her to let go just yet.

"Just this once, I want our destiny to be true."