Blood & Fire

Chapter Seventeen | Alliances Forged

Rorik and his brothers stood in a tight circle outside the entrance of the longhouse.

"We do not have long before our absence risks offending the Jarl. You know I cannot marry the Princess. I am betrothed to Meryna. This whole mission is to save her from Eadric," Rorik whispered.

"And to avenge father," Vidar reminded him.

"Of course I want to avenge father. I also want my bride back in my protection," Rorik barked.

"Is she worth the trouble? Surely, princess Astrid could sheath your cock just as well. And we-"

Vidar was unable to finish the rest of that statement. Rorik's fist collided with the side of his jaw, knocking Vidar flat on his backside. Dust swirled around his body, as he laid there, chest heaving. Moments later, Vidar pushed himself onto his elbows and swiped at the blood trickling from the corner of his lip.

"Bikkja," Vidar cursed before he spat blood at Rorik's feet.

Rorik knelt down, and grabbed fistfuls of Vidar's tunic with clenched hands. Brant took several steps backward, giving his younger brothers enough berth to settle this quarrel as men. He would not interfere. Fifteen years ago he would have stepped in to save Rorik from an unprovoked bashing at Vidar's hands. Over the years Rorik had grown taller and brawnier, and was more than capable of taking on Vidar himself. Now Vidar was the one in trouble.

Rorik yanked Vidar up by the front of his tunic. Rorik's nostrils flared as he breathed through clenched teeth. Their faces were so close together that their foreheads almost touched.

"My cock has nothing to do with this, Vidar! She is not expendable to me!"

Vidar reared his head back and banged his forehead hard against Rorik's. It happened so quickly that Rorik could not dodge the blow. He released Vidar with a forceful push. Vidar exhaled a shaky breath, then wiped the blood now dripping from his nose.

"Brant, it looks like our brother is finally in love." Vidar cocked his head back and guffawed. Hunching over, hands resting above his knees, he tried to catch his breath.

Rorik turned his back to Vidar, and began rubbing his pounding head. He rejoined Brant, who stood stoically, arms clasped, and eyes narrowed in deep thought.

"You have to be the one to marry her, Brant. It has to be you. You don't have to love her. Just marry her. If it's your freedom you're worried about, you can still have other women," Rorik said empathetically.

Brant shook his head. He ran his broad hand down his face. Then, he released a pent up groan of frustration.

"Gyda... is pregnant."

Rorik's eyebrows drew together in confusion.

"What does that have-"

He paused, as the answer he was about to ask shown brightly in Brant's eyes. Brant nodded, wordlessly admitting to the secret.

"You didn't," Scolded Vidar, clutching his bloody nose. "How could you be so foolish," He added as he limped towards his brothers. "Even I know better than to hump a Jarl's wife!"

"I love her. I am not ashamed to admit it. I've always loved her. She should not have been bartered away. I would have made her my wife as soon as I collected enough spoils from the summer raids to pay her dowry. I was too late. After Eadric's head is severed from his body she will be coming home with me and I will never let her go again," He swore, staring Vidar straight in his eyes.

Rorik clapped a hand on Brant's shoulder. Robbed of all words, the small gesture of support was all he could muster. Rorik was truly stunned, a state that he rarely experienced. Then, Rorik and Brant both turned their gazes to Vidar.

"There will be no severing of Eadric's head if one of us does not marry Princess Astrid. That leaves you, then, brother," Rorik said.

Vidar scowled at them.
"She did not divorce me. She's just angry with me. It will pass."

Brant sighed heavily as he clasped both his palms on Vidar's shoulders. Brant was a whole head taller than Vidar. When Brant stepped forward his head blocked out the light from the sun. It caused a ring of sunlight to form around his braided hair and a shadow was cast on Vidar's face.

"She meant it Vidar. She has moved on. This could be a chance for you to redeem yourself from the shame of being divorced."

Vidar reluctantly nodded his head. His face drained of all color and his usual smug grin had faded away.

"Alright. I'll marry her, but only because I need a body to warm my bed," He said defeatedly.

"Brother, you have never lacked bodies in your bed," Rorik quipped.

~*~*~*~

"No."

"What," Vidar asked, taken aback by her refusal to his proposal.

"Father, I do not want that one. I want him," she said pointing directly at Rorik. "Only him."

Rorik's mouth went dry. The Jarl looked up lovingly at his daughter, then turned his pale grey eyes to Rorik. In them Rorik saw the anxiety building up inside him. The Jarl was desperate to make his daughter happy. Rorik suddenly realized who the real master was here, and it wasn't the Jarl.

"My daughter will only accept a proposal of marriage from you, Rorik. What say you, man? Are you willing?"

Rorik's eyes darted back and forth between the Jarl and the princess. They both waited eagerly to hear his reply. He reached for the goblet in front of him. Raising it slowly to his lips, his mind began to search for the right thing to say. Meryna was counting on him. Without this alliance he feared he would never see her again. The ale slicked his parched throat and stalled his response long enough to formulate an answer.

"Jarl Frode, I am a betrothed man. Otherwise, I would be honored to take Princess Astrid as a wife, as any man would be. Vidar would make a wonderful husband to your daughter," Rorik answered deceptively. Vidar would make a terrible husband. Rorik knew it, every man that sat at the table knew it, even Vidar himself knew it.

Jarl Frode hummed in contemplation, nodding his head.

"I see. Surely, a man of standing such as yourself cannot be begrudged having multiple wives. I ask you again. Are you willing, man?"

The Jarl began to stroke his beard, a frequent habit he possessed. Rorik did not want more than one wife. Before he met Meryna the thought of marriage had never crossed his mind. He only wanted Meryna. His eyes locked with Astrid's again.

She was a beautiful woman, but she did not make his blood race, his chest constrict, nor did she drive him senseless. Not in the same way Meryna did. Astrid offered him a demure smile, but her eyes shined with lascivious desires. It was a look Rorik was well acquainted with. Brant elbowed Rorik discreetly in his side. He was taking too long to respond.

"Yes. I am willing," He lied.