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That morning I felt sick to my stomach, the fear of incoming war making yet more tension fill me. For weeks, there had been relative peace and calm amongst the Ragnarssons. Now I found myself at war once again. When I was driving to York all those months ago, I never expected to see war in my life at all - nevermind to be in the middle of a battle for the second time since June.
By now, it must've been around November. The first frosts were settling, fog filling the air and icing and over every little breath and action. Merely existing seemed so much harder in the harshness of winter, and I couldn't help but long for the warmth of my electric heater and the niceties of home.
Though I felt myself yearning for the convenience of the 1960s, and the warmth of the world and family that I'd left behind, I knew that fate had set me on a path that I could no longer change. My destiny, it seemed, had become intertwined with that of the youngest Ragnarsson and, in a way that I could not explain, I found myself drawn to the boy. No matter how hard I tried to fight against it, it felt as though I was meant to be there with him. And when I looked into his bright blue eyes, I felt like I was finally home.
"Iris?" Hvitserk's voice at the door made me chuckle under my breath, realising the he'd likely been sent here by his little brother to ensure that I was down in the sewers with the rest of the men.
When I opened the door, sending a small smile, Hvitserk sighed in relief and smiled back, closing the door behind me as I followed him outside. We made our way through the icy streets of York, silence in the air as I realised that I was one of the last people to make their way to safety, and I held onto Hvitserk's arm for fear that I'd slip and fall to my death in the frosty winter.
As I looked around the empty ghost town of York, I couldn't help but feel a chill run down my spine. This whole world was so alien to me.
I wondered what my parents would say to me in this situation. My father specialised in military history of this century, perhaps he would know what I should do. But, in this strange situation that I'd fallen into, I seemed to remain utterly alone. There was no sign of my parents.
Oncemore, I wondered what they were thinking. What did they believe had happened to me?
I wished that I could tell them I was safe, perhaps even happy. I yearned for a way to let them know that here, in this world, I finally felt like I belonged.
"Don't be scared." Hvitserk cut through the silence, holding onto my arm with a gentle smile. "You'll be safe down here, I promise."
I gave a small smile back as we reached the little hole in the ground that I would soon find myself hiding in as the battle persisted. "I know." I answered calmly, taking a deep breath. "I trust Ivar."
As soon as I was down there, I regretted my being there. As the man stood strong, ready to fight and die, I wished to be like one of the shieldmaiden that gripped their swords with anticipation. I wished to be the master of my own fate.
My mother had always told me that you didn't need to fight to be strong; that often being kind was the strongest path one could take. She believed that, in this world, it was harder to be kind than it was to be cruel. And, though I couldn't help but agree, events in previous months had left me feeling so utterly out of control. I wondered if, perhaps, taking the fight into my own hands would return some sense of control. I didn't wish to sit here, waiting, with my life in the hands of others. I wanted to make my own way, to fight my own battles. Not hiding down here like a coward.
I just wanted to feel like my my path was my own again, like my destiny was in my hands and no one else's.
When I saw Hvitserk and Ivar, side by side, I wasn't sure whether or not I should approach. Part of me wanted to, truly it did, but I couldn't move. I couldn't think.
War was something that I'd always loathed; a game that I'd never wanted to take part in. Now, it seemed, I had no choice. For, as luck would have it, my fate had become intertwined with battle - whether I liked it or not.
"Iris?" Whitehair's voice made me jump momentarily, softening slightly when I realised that it was him. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to scare you," He spoke again, leading me away from the entrance. I knew what he was doing - probably what he'd been ordered to do by Ivar - he was keeping an eye on me, making sure that I didn't run up to fight or something. But, in that moment, there was no way I could fight. As I heard the Saxon soldiers above, I began to freeze like a deer in headlights. All I could think of was that cold day, the man above me with every agonizing movement.
My breathing became so rapid that I was hardly breathing at all, chest tight as I felt my heart pound like a drum. I knew what this was; a stress response to trauma.
This was what my father would've called 'war neurosis', and I was going into shock.
Whitehair steadied me as soon as he realised that something was wrong, gently helping me to a sitting position on the sewer floor. I could feel myself clutching my chest, trying to find more air as I felt unable to take a breath. Panic. That's what it felt like. I felt like I was drowning under feet of water with no way up to the surface.
"Iris, calm." He tried, bringing my blurry vision back to the real world and away from that horrible field. Though I could hear him, he still seemed muffled by the haunting sounds that forced their way into my mind - intrusive memories that I couldn't force away. "You're safe."
I didn't feel safe.
Finally, after what felt like a century of panic, one of the women passed me a cup. I knew, before drinking it, that it was not just any drink of mead. I'd already seen Ivar telling them to calm me down in the corner of my eye. I knew that once I drank it, I'd only wake up to the end of the battle. But perhaps that was preferable.
I didn't want to see anymore. I couldn't.
So, I took a drink. As my vision began to darken, I felt Whitehair lift me up onto one of the wooden beds for the sick. He gave a small frown, looking towards his leader - who looked equally concerned. The last I heard was Ivar speaking, talking to one of his men.
"Protect her with your life." He ordered, and finally the world disappeared.
