brave in the heart. vikings

CHAPTER TWENTY TWO

Chapter twenty two

They had been up there for more than an hour. If she strained her eyes far enough, Merida could almost see the dot of outline of Bjorn and Ragnar that was faint against the starkness of the snowy peak they were perched on. The chief had taken him up there to talk, readying for the warmer weather and the melting of the snow that would be upon them in very few weeks, and Merida had reasons to believe that Ragnar would pull her up there with him, as soon as they returned.

Looking out upon the vast scape of melting sea ice as she waited upon the cold beach, Merida was almost daunted by the prospect of the returning summer. How long had she been in Kattegat? It felt like mere weeks and yet it had been months since she sailed from the shores of Dunbroch with the northern men.

But it felt like only the start of something bigger.

The last months had felt like she was growing: learning their culture, language and religion until she was one with the country and with Bjorn and his family. It felt like she was apart of it. But in doing so, she was distancing herself from her family. The prophecies had said as much, or at least she thought they did. She learned she could never be sure. Yet when going against what her family thought of her, she was cutting them off entirely. Merida wasn't sure she wanted that.

Bjorn had grown restless. She could tell that he hated being chained to his city by the ice that surrounded them. He wanted to be out and sailing as much as his father did. Merida wanted it too.

The blur of grey fur grew larger and larger along the mountains edge until Bjorn and Ragnar were emerging rout from a bear-like figure and into themselves. Their noses weren't frost bitten red like hers, or near blue like hers had been once. She wondered if she would ever become so used to it, as she had with their language, speaking it as easy as her mother tongue, although with her own unchanging accent.

Bjorn nodded a gruff greeting before he slid off, jaw clenched as Ragnar came to sit beside her. She watched him go, his shoulder squared. Ragnar cleated his throat and when she looked again, he was watching her, his bright eyes wide and eyebrows raised. Merida said nothing.

"Let's take a walk."

She remained silent as they walked along the water's edge, toes toying with the dry line that whispered at her boots. It's seemed like seconds until they were at the base of the mountain that they would climb, snow crunching under her feet like a sweet song. And though they were barely out of the city's reaches, things were quieter, bathed in serenity that was unmatched, even by the falls that Bjorn had shown her, where they would often meet in the early mornings when they weather was even a breath warmer.

Merida's breath was rugged as her knees pulled her higher and higher, the few yards of open water that escaped the cold now far below them. She hadn't been so high in all the months she explored Kattegat. But she was capable enough, used to the running and climbing, even from Dunbroch where she would roam the familiar forests and hills that stretched for miles of her father's territory. Ragnar stopped, turning to reach out a hand as he pulled her up the last large step onto a small clearing of incline.

Ragnar sat, his face turned toward the icy winds that wept their way, his eyes closed for a moment. And as she too slipped into that peaceful stage, he turned, looking at her in the way he always did: curiously and as if he knew everything about her.

"I want to tell you of my plans, Merida," he finally said. "If you will listen."

She nodded. "Of course."

Ragnar glanced toward the city below. "When the ice breaks, I plan to sail to Wessex to reclaim land that was promised to us by King Ecbert," he exclaimed, watching as her jaw clenched, his lips twitching at the reaction. "I wonder if you would join us? Or would you rather return to you home land?"

She knew of Wessex too well, and of It's king too. The amount of loathsome tales she heard from her father and the clans was deafening, and yet they never left her mind. Merida pushed them back. Dunbroch's business with the kingdom was its own.

She raised a brow. "You think I would give up?"

"I thought you would have realise that fate cannot be meddled with." Ragnar tilted his head, shrugging his shoulders effortlessly. "So you wish to fight with us?"

"I'm sure Lagertha has expressed the fact that I am good enough," she said, a smirk obvious on her lips.

"Many times, you know that." Ragnar watched her as if testing whether to say something, and Merida almost urged him to speak it aloud. But he didn't speak.

She looked away. "You still wish me to marry Bjorn."

"The Gods will it."

She didn't reply. Didn't speak a word of the false belief in fate and destiny.

"What do you want, Merida?" He asked, suddenly, watching her carefully.

"Freedom." She avoided just eye, her teeth clenching.

"But what does that mean?"

Her chin lifted as if upon instinct. "I want the right to do whatever I want, even if I don't know what that is."

"You must have some idea," he urged.

Merida shook her head, before changing her mind. She knew what she wanted. How many times had she dreamed it at night? How many times had she ridden upon Angus through the trees and across the beach, imagining it to be true?

"I want to travel, my bow slung over my shoulder. I want to fight. I want to learn," she said passionately. "I want things my family never wanted for me."

Ragnar let a wider smile slip onto his lips. My son was destined to sail the seas."

"Your son's deal with the Gods has nothing to do with me," Merida insisted, her voice harsher.

"That is where we disagree. I believe it has everything to do with you," he said, lifting himself from the rock, before she could follow. "I will leave you to think."

Merida remained on the mountain until she couldn't no longer. The cloud above would soon be darkening as early as they always would, and even with the dim daylight, she could barely see the footfalls that would lead her to Kattegat. It didn't help that her mind was overrun with the thoughts of her family, of Wessex, of fate and of Bjorn. They would be sailing to west, that was what she forced herself to think of as she returned.