In which ten years have passed since the Second Siege of Paris and everything has changed for Ylva and Bjorn Ironside. Upon the sudden arrival of Ragnar Lothbrok, they choose to sail on their journey to the Mediterranean instead of joining the man o...
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After Ylva had killed the Mercian soldier Æthelwulf had questioned, the group still decided to make camp there for the night.
Ylva was sitting alone, away from the Saxon soldiers when Æthelwulf made his way over to her.
He sat down beside her and Ylva turned to him, watching him hold out a flask to her. She shook her head, smiling slightly as she held up her own.
"To our alliance, then," Æthelwulf spoke up as he lifted his flask.
"To our alliance," She repeated after him as they clinked their flasks together.
She took a large sip, only to turn to see the look he was giving her. He was curious about her and he had every reason to be.
"What is so special about your God?" Ylva suddenly asked Æthelwulf as she turned to him, "That makes you Saxons so devout to your faith and so willing to die for it? Your god seems unfair and unable to accept change."
"My God is forgiving. He loves all his devout followers. He is merciful, too," He began to explain to her and Ylva began to smile at the thought.
There was a long moment of silence between them before Ylva turned to him. "Though I believe because of our difference in gods, the alliance between our people will not last long," Ylva commented, breaking the silence between them.
"My father intends—" He began to say, only to watch as Ylva leaned her head back and groaned loudly.
"Your father, your father, your father," She mimicked the man in an aggravated tone, "Athelstan is right. You're nothing more than a daddy's boy," She complained, earning an offended look from Æthelwulf, "How old are you, boy? Huh? Do you always do what your father tells you to do? You're a grown man. Shouldn't you have your own opinions and feelings, other than that of your father's?"
"I am simply doing my duty and what is right," Æthelwulf argued in a stern tone, earning a loud scoff, "For my country, for my king, and for my god."
Ylva began to laugh once more, earning a weird look from Æthelwulf. "No, I believe you do it to impress your father, and guess what? He's using you," She informed her, causing Æthelwulf to frown in confusion as she pressed a finger against his chest, "He doesn't care about you. It's so obvious. Why else would he send you to do all his dirty work?"
"That is not true," Æthelwulf argued defensively as he shook his head.
"Then why is it he sent you to fight in Mercia with us Northmen while he gets to go farming with Athelstan, not risking his life in the slightest?" Ylva asked him, a smile forming on his lips, "You mean nothing to him. You're disposable. In fact, he loves Athelstan more than he loves you, his own son. I can see it. Why can't you? Your own wife loves Athelstan more than you too," She paused, turning to give Æthelwulf a mischievous look, "I can't be the only one who sees the way your wife looks at Athelstan."
