𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐩𝐩𝐞𝐝 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐝𝐚𝐦𝐧𝐞𝐝 | 𝐯𝐢𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬

ᴛᴠᴇɪʀ.

a/n: I'm sorry for how long this chapter is in comparison to the first! I just couldn't stop writing for this one haha and there wasn't an appropriate cut off point earlier on. But apart from that, I hope you enjoy :))

Rain seems to follow her wherever she goes. It beats down upon her as she walks towards the longboat, the giant man leading her and the other survivers by a rope tied around her middle.

The sun does not rise this morning instead the haze breathes thick over the treetops and the crest of the water. An omen, she thinks, or perhaps hope? Regardless of its origin, the nameless girl finds the scene fascinatingly beautiful. Despite the fog, she can see seven ships all of various shapes and sizes. The one she is being led towards has spirals engraved into the hull, the cluster of curves twisting in unplanned beauty. At the bow of the boat, the stempost is shaped into a larger helix shape, however in comparison to the others it is painted with a mixture of blue and gold which travels around the edge of the handrail. They all appear luxurious but it's the handmade nature of it that's the charm and she likes the idea that they all had some part in the construction of each one.

In front of her, the Bearman utters something to his fellow countryman which she assumes is about how they are to traverse the misty water. Though she knows no matter the weather, the Norsemen know the sea better than she ever could.

Rousse clasps her tiny hand into hers and she is reminded of how small the girl really is in comparrison to not only herself, but the rest of them. There are only a few survivors, most strangers but she recognises some from the church. One of them is a farmer's daughter, Ansere; she remembers her from the prayer days, her hateful looks and striking posture, the very image of a freewoman. She is everything the nameless girl is not: beautiful, educated, free. She has a name. But most of all she has a family, parents who would escort her to church and care for her and lavish her with the expensive gifts she would usually adorn into town. Though that family was not with her now and the beloved jewllery was no where to be seen.

The nameless girl stares at her. Even drenched in dirt, she was still the very picture of fairness. Her golden hair was tasseled and noticeably knotted yet the leaves and flowers which decorated her hair did not wither. Once, she had stumbled upon Ansere in the forest weaving and twisting foliage into a crown. At the time, she had been too shy to muster the courage to ask her to teach her how to make them and she doubted now that their relationship would ever be cordial enough for them to do something other than shouting at each other.

Ansere was much more delicate than her and flowers had never appeared quite right when the nameless girl tried to put them in her hair. The priests used to call her Fishface when they got bored with calling her girl and it was that which shattered the dream to ever look pretty.

It's her voice that breaks her out of her daydream. "Don't look at me," she hisses. It is the first thing she has said to her in months.

"Are you afraid you'll catch what I have, princess," she leers, a sudden daringness in her words. "That you'll be dirtied by my presence."