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I'd always liked to draw, for as long as I could recall. One of my earliest memories was my mother finding me smeared in charcoal as I sketched endless mountains on my bedroom wall. Of course, my art had improved a great deal since the drawling of a toddler, and my latest passion had been drawing people as oppose to landscapes. I liked watching the way that people moved, the little details in their face that remained unnoticed by the rest of the world. I liked seeing what no one else saw.
Every few minutes, I peered up from the worn notepad that I'd pulled from my satchel. My pages were running out and I knew they'd be in short supply; especially once we left York. Nevertheless, I had to draw when I felt as inspired as I did at present, and so that was precisely what I did.
The brothers sat a few feet away, discussing plans for battle. Ubbe still urged for peace, and I could tell that he was close to doing something drastic. Ivar still relentlessly fought against any call for peace.
I'd believed that I'd remained largely invisible, despite the few curious glances that I'd shared with Hvitserk as he attempted to peer over to see what I was doing. A small grin creeped over his face as he finally are a look at the small drawing, a grin that I couldn't help but mirror as the both of us turned back towards Ivar.
The youngest brother furrowed his brow, frowning at me with a small huff of frustration. "What are you doing?" He demanded, gesturing towards the old notepad and pencil as I worked away.
I couldn't help but bite down the smile that was trying to form on my lips, cheeks blushing as I averted my gaze oncemore. "I'm drawing you." I mumbled under my breath, hoping to finish off the picture before he demanded to see it.
"What?"
"I said I'm drawing you!" I raised my voice, giving my own huff of similar frustration at the infuriating prince. Ivar looked back at his brothers, as though searching for some kind of answer, before looking back at me. Once again, he looked as if his genius mind had ceased to function as his mouth hung slightly agape. I could tell that he knew not what to say, giving a small chuckle at the boy's rather sweet awkwardness.
Without another word, I placed the drawing in front of him, giving a small smile before I left.
I didn't notice the brothers all staring after me as I departed, the three of them switching their gaze from the life-like sketch to the door that I slipped out of. I knew that art - or at least art as I understood it - was not exactly something that they were familiar with.
I didn't dare glance back, leaving the room before I felt even more embarrassed by my little drawing. It was some time before the three of them left, likely due to their previously heated discussions, and I'd asked one of the healers to accompany me in gathering some more medicinal herbs. Her name was Frida, and I'd grown rather fond of her over the last week or so.
Of course, Whitehair accompanied us - even if we didn't travel too far from the gates - and I made sure to stay close by him in fear of previous events that had transpired within this same location.
As I rolled my sleeves over my hands, pulling up some of the stinging nettles, I couldn't help but chuckle at a memory of my mother.
"You see, it's these damn Romans!" She cursed, wafting her hand in the air as though she could shake the stinging pain out of it. "They ruin everything."
"Mother," I laughed, pulling up a few doc leaves to hand over to her. She gave a small grumble, placing them on her swollen land before kicking the little nettle that had caused her so much pain. "It's just a stinging nettle, you'll survive. You don't have to eternally damn the Romans."
"Well it's their fault!" She grumbled grumpily. "Crazy bastards bringing these damn death plants here because they thought it helped you to survive the cold. I mean, who in their right mind hits themselves with nettles? Hm?"
I laughed at her little rant, pulling on my leather gloves before pulling up the nettle. She gave me an odd look, questioning what on earth I was doing now. "They're very good for you." I answered with a small smile. "They have many medicinal properties. I'm going to make nettle tea."
The sharp sting struck first, I simply ignored the pain as I shoved the violent little plant into my satchel. Whitehair's eyes shot over to me as I gave a hiss of pain, Frida quickly running over with a doc leaf just as I'd done for my mother.
"Here," She smiled gently, rubbing it on my swollen finger. "We should use this to make a tea." She suggested. "Or take it back and make a soup for the sick and tired to eat. It will invigorate them."
I nodded in agreement, eyes catching on another plant that I'd once heard so much about. There, by the gate, was an old birch tree.
"They still to this day tap birch sap, it's a tradition in many Scandinavian countries." My father explained as we walked past the sapling in our garden. "They say it's drinking marrow into the bones."
I smiled at Frida when she too found her gaze at the birch tree, both of us simultaneously having the same thought. While she snapped off one of the smaller branches, I emptied the contents of my bottle on the floor and fastened it to the tree so that we might collect the sap.
Whitehair watched us both curiously, before declaring that sunset would soon be upon us and that we needed to return back to camp. Frida and I complied, leaving the bottle to gather as much sap as possible, and returned inside the old walls of York.
The sound of the sick and injured made my heart ache. I wanted nothing more than to help them.
It seemed that since the battle, a sickness had rampaged through York, killing even more than the battle had. It was awful. I knew that with modern medicine and the knowledge of doctors from my time, they could likely be helped. But I didn't have that knowledge. I was, after all, a historian not a physician. And so I could do nothing but watch and hope and try my best to ease their suffering with herbal remedies.
When, finally, I had reached the Church, I gave a heavy sigh and sat down upon the floor. I was tired, wanting nothing more then the comfort of a bed and a long sleep. But when I opened my eyes, I gave a small start upon realising that I was not alone.
"Ivar I-" I attempted a greeting, far less capable of forming words than I'd hoped. It seemed he often had that effect on me. "Hi."
He gave me an odd look, as if I was acting strangely, though I suppose I probably was. I knew I should probably have expected to see him there and yet, simply being in his presence made those nervous butterflies return to my stomach again.
"You left York again today." He commented, though I wasn't exactly certain of the purpose behind his comment - whether it was to reprimand or simply an observation.
I gave a nod, looking down into my lap. It seemed that I was more nervous now than when I'd first arrived here. Perhaps I was. When I first arrived here, I had no attachment to this place or its people. But now, that was not the case. And I felt as though my deeds mattered.
"I can't be afraid forever." I commented plainly.
He gave a small nod, the faintest hints of a proud smile crossing over him. And I couldn't help but smile back.
"Thank you," He spoke out of the blue, making my gaze dart up to meet his. "For the drawing."
It was then that I noticed something in his eyes, something that told me that no one had ever done such a small deed for him before. Something that told me that no one had ever looked back at him like this before. My cheeks heated, but I couldn't avert my gaze this time. Instead I held it, looking back with all of the kindness in my heart.
"What can I say," I answered gently. "You inspire me."
