Chapter Text
Chapter 1
I don't care if it's Artorius or Ragnarok or the Final Judgment...as long as it comes damned soon. But I doubt I'll be alive to see it for myself.
Askeladd's words faded away in the icy wail of the winter wind. Soon the driving snow, which burst from the low-hanging, dark clouds incessantly, had laid a white blanket of silence over them.
It was the first time he had shared his feelings, his innermost hopes, with anyone. It would also be the last time. For these words were meant solely for the ears of those two people into whose hands he had placed the future of this wretched world. They were meant solely for the children, no, the young men who remained ankle-deep in the snow a short distance away from him, their eyes resting on him with an intensity as if they had never seen him before.
Well...maybe they hadn't either. With the narrative he had just finished, a part of Askeladd had been exposed that had been kept under wraps for decades. It was understandable they were astonished.
He sighed. Not far from them lay Bjorn. Or rather, what was left of him. Just an empty shell. As much as he hated the Danes, he had to admit that it hurt to see him like this.
I wanted to be your friend.
That sentence had bored into Askeladd's heart like a sword blade. He had done Bjorn the favor...had told him that he had been his only friend.
But the truth was those words had no meaning. Bjorn had wanted to know him, but when had he ever let him get close?
If they had actually been friends, then Bjorn wouldn't have missed Askeladd's heartfelt wish. Then his words, as surprising as they had come to the boys, wouldn't have been new to Bjorn.
Now to sit here and tell Thorfinn and Canute all the things Bjorn would have so loved to be privy to felt like a betrayal after professing friendship to him.
Askeladd's mouth twisted into a brief, mirthless smile. What did it matter anymore? Bjorn was dead, nothing could be done about it.
And perhaps his death was only part of a larger plan. The plan that would also cost him his life. Perhaps it was the logical consequence of a changing world, where there was no longer room for people like Bjorn and him.
Askeladd braced himself, hearing a bone or two crack. When had he grown old? He didn't know. But looking into this brat's face made him realize how much time had passed. Despite the scowl Thorfinn wore most of the time - and despite the bruises Askeladd had inflicted on him during their duel - there was still something soft and childlike about his features. Sometimes, however, when Askeladd looked at him from a particular angle, he thought he could already see the features of the man Thorfinn would grow up to be in a few years.
If only he would stop living his life blinded by anger. Then Askeladd would be much more comfortable thinking about the future.
What would become of Thorfinn when he was gone? Whether by Thorfinn's own hand or that of another man...if he died, what would become of the boy who had spent ten years of his life kept alive only by the desire for revenge?
Thorfinn abhorred war. It had been he, Askeladd, who had drawn him into it again and again. Thinking back to Thors, Askeladd was sure that with this attitude, Thorfinn could bring about great things. Real change. If only he tried. The question was whether he would try. Or whether Askeladd's demise would finish him off as well.
A sudden noise made Askeladd, Thorfinn and Canute pause in irritation. It had been soft, faint. Barely audible in the roar of the wind, but close enough to reach their ears nonetheless.
An animal? No, impossible. There was nothing to be seen far and wide except the snowy landscape.
"Are we not alone?" asked Canute. He couldn't completely mask the uneasiness in his voice. Was it possible that someone had followed them? He stepped closer to Thorfinn, who, despite the bruises, stood up in front of him.
Askeladd observed the surroundings as intently as the boys. They all still remembered the threatening aura that King Sweyn had emitted. If the situation had escalated during their brief conversation, they might not have emerged alive. They had been hopelessly outnumbered. Not even Thorfinn and he could have done anything against so many men and defended the prince's life in addition to their own. But Askeladd was convinced that Canute was right in his initial statement. Sweyn wouldn't be so stupid as to launch an assassination attempt on him now. There was no reason for it. And it would put him in too bad a light. To be responsible for the death of one's own son was certainly not the best debut as king of a newly conquered country.
Once again they heard the sound. Louder this time. Was it...a groan? Yes, it sounded like a groan! But there was still no one to be seen. There was just the three of them and...
"Bjorn!" they shouted almost simultaneously, and Askeladd and Cnut rushed over to his body while Thorfinn dragged himself after them.
Sure enough. It was Bjorn. After Askeladd pulled the blanket off his body, they saw his eyelids flutter. His chest was rising and falling. He wasn't conscious, but he was...alive?
Askeladd shook his head in disbelief. "That can't be. I have...he was dead."
It was completely impossible that he had survived Askeladd's sword strike. After failing at the first stab, he had taken extra care. And even if he hadn't...after all this time in the snow and the heavy blood loss, it should have been impossible for Bjorn to make a single sound. And yet he did. Now he even started rolling back and forth! All three of them took a step backwards.
"We have to take him back with us," said Canute.
"What?" asked Thorfinn incredulously. "Are you insane? This is fucking creepy. The old man was right. He was dead. We all saw that."
"Thorfinn, you can see he's obviously not. We have to-"
"We should kill him." It was Thorkell who intervened so suddenly. Neither Askeladd nor Thorfinn or Canute had thought of the fact that he had accompanied them to the site of the duel earlier. Askeladd's story had distracted them far too much, and Thorkell had been loitering boredly in the snow at some distance while Askeladd had been narrating.
"We can't-" Canute started, but was interrupted by Thorkell.
"Of course we can. Why do you want to drag him back to Gainsborough so badly hurt? He was in a bad state before. Look at him now. He won't last another day."
They all watched Bjorn for a moment, who tossed his head helplessly, as if he was having a bad dream. Then Canute made a decision.
"I think Askeladd should decide this."
Askeladd frowned. "Why me?"
"You're the one Bjorn wanted to duel. He put his death in your hands and trusted you to send him over. Who else would decide if not you?"
Askeladd felt a bit unwell under the gaze of three pairs of eyes that were fixed on him, waiting. He had prepared himself for two things that day.
First: to let Bjorn go as quickly and gracefully as possible
Second: to grant Thorfinn his duel
Not a thought had he wasted on the possibility of not only revealing his past today, but also having to decide about Bjorn's demise one more time.
Why wasn't he dead? Askeladd was sure he had killed him. He had stopped breathing. If his chest had risen before, they should have seen it under the blanket he had spread over him. But there had been nothing. Thorfinn was absolutely right. This was creepy as hell. And yet ...
"Then I decide we'll take him back with us."
"What?!" Thorfinn stared at him in shock.
Thorkell shook his head and rolled his eyes. Only on Canute's face spread a relieved smile.
Without another word, Askeladd grabbed Bjorn, who moaned softly again, and threw him over his shoulder. It would be easier to bring him back to Gainsborough if Thorkell would lend a hand, but he didn't even think of helping and only eyed Bjorn skeptically.
Why Askeladd had decided to let him live? He didn't know. Perhaps Bjorn would regain consciousness later on and be horrified. For what Thorkell had said was true. Bjorn had been badly injured before. The wounds Askeladd had inflicted on him now only made things worse. It was quite possible he would die on the way. Or back at Gainsborough in his bed. But he couldn't. He couldn't possibly run Bjorn through with his sword again.
No, there was no real friendship between them. But he couldn't deny that the idea of not having Bjorn around after all these years had pained him. That he was now so suddenly still among the living, relieved Askeladd.
The group walked back to Gainsborough in silence. The wind and snowfall had abated, but by now the cold had crept into the bones of each of them. They froze miserably.
With the unconscious Bjorn on his shoulders, Askeladd made slow progress and Thorfinn dragged himself sluggishly through the snow. He wasn't badly wounded, Askeladd had seen to that. But the injuries he had sustained in the fight against Thorkell had not yet healed, and he had hopelessly exhausted himself in preparation for his duel with Askeladd the last few days. That the boy could still keep himself on his feet in such poor physical condition was incredible. However, it also kept Askeladd aware of how deep his anger ran, how far he was willing to go to exact revenge.
Thorfinn would destroy himself if it meant dragging Askeladd down with him. A lifetime of opportunity thrown away like it was worth nothing. Askeladd hated seeing Thorfinn like this and knowing he was to blame. Hated that Thorfinn's life would never be one iota better than his own under these circumstances, and that he wouldn't realize how pathetic it was until it was far too late.
Askeladd gripped Bjorn tighter as he stumbled over a stone he hadn't been able to see under the snow.
He fervently hoped that Thorfinn would wake up one day, that he would realize he couldn't go on like that. But he was a harder nut to crack than the prince.
Said prince paced only a foot's distance behind Thorfinn, trying to prop him up from time to time. Thorfinn shook him off again and again and murmured a few words to Canute, which, as much as Askeladd could understand, were of an extremely unpleasant nature. But Canute wasn't deterred and finally decided to carefully let a hand rest on Thorfinn's back. Surprisingly, he put up with it. Perhaps he was just too exhausted to discuss it any longer.
They had long since lost sight of Thorkell, who had run ahead of them with long strides muttering angrily to himself. He had left a wide swath in the snow that led toward the town. The group followed it wearily, while Gainsborough's houses in the distance came slowly, very slowly, closer.
The room that had been prepared for Bjorn looked exactly as he had left it. Of course it did. They hadn't been gone for long. And yet it seemed an eternity to Askeladd since they had left.
With an exhausted groan he let Bjorn slide off his shoulders and back into bed. He still hadn't woken up. But he wasn't dead, either. That was good.
"So what are you going to do now?" asked Thorkell, who had been waiting for them at the edge of town and was now watching the scene, leaning against the door. "I tell you, it would have been better to finish it."
Canute skipped over his words. "We need to check on his wounds. He needs new bandages. Thorfinn, can you get some, please?"
"I'm not your errand boy, Princess," he replied contritely, but set off anyway. Askeladd raised an eyebrow in surprise.
He had noticed the boys were getting along better after initial difficulties, but he had never seen Thorfinn so tame. That was...extremely interesting.
But he had no time to think about it now.
Careful to move him as little as possible, Askeladd and Canute peeled Bjorn out of his clothes.
"You don't have to get your hands dirty," Askeladd said.
"Don't talk nonsense. I'll help if I can. - Thorkell, get some fresh water so we can clean the wounds."
"Why is Thorfinn asked politely and I get an order?" he asked, playfully indignant, but still did as he was told and went on his way.
When Thorfinn and Thorkell returned a little later, Askeladd gently began to wash the blood from Bjorn's torso. Tired Thorfinn settled down on a stool next to the fireplace and watched the procedure suspiciously.
They all sharply sucked in the air as the true extent of the wounds adorning Bjorn's torso came to light. The injury Atli had inflicted on him was infected and had begun to fester. Askeladd's sword, on the other hand, had left clean, deep stab wounds, one of which seemed to have struck Bjorn's heart directly, just as Askeladd had planned. But of course that couldn't be. If he had hit, Bjorn wouldn't be lying in front of them muttering to himself as if in a fever dream.
Suddenly, Thorfinn's words flashed through Askeladd's mind again.
This is fucking creepy. He was dead.
They should get help. None of them had outstanding medical knowledge. It would be better to consult someone. And yet...Askeladd wasn't sure that was a good idea. Not now, after seeing the puncture wounds before their eyes. And the other three didn't seem interested in looking for help either. Instead, Thorkell and Canute also sat down.
And waited.
The day passed liked this. When it dawned outside, Thorkell set out to fulfill the task Canute had given him. To make contacts. And get unrestrainedly drunk one more time in the process. Thorfinn and Canute stayed into the night, but when the prince's eyes fell shut, Thorfinn gruffly grabbed his arm, pulled him to his feet and to the door.
"Sleep well," said Askeladd, who had only been watching the scene out of the corner of his eye because most of his attention was on Bjorn. When the two had left the room, Askeladd eyed him closely once more.
Not even the glow of the fire could conceal how pale he was. Bjorn had always had a tanned complexion, even in the winter months. Askeladd had never seen him look so sickly pale. Someone who took just a quick look at him would probably think he was a corpse, but he was still breathing.
Yes, his breathing had even become more regular. He seemed to be sleeping peacefully.
Askeladd expelled his breath in relief. Could it be that Bjorn was recovering? With these injuries, that was actually completely out of the question, but it sure looked like it.
This was crazy. Completely insane. Askeladd knew Bjorn was tough, but was he supposed to be physically strong enough to jump from the brink of death? Atli had hit organs when he had attacked him. If Bjorn actually managed to get well, then, Askeladd thought, he should probably start believing in miracles.
In miracles. Or curses.
"Are you sure? You're not in pain?" asked Askeladd.
"Surprisingly, no. I just feel a little stiff," Bjorn replied.
The hazy dawn hadn't quite broken over Gainsborough when Askeladd was awakened by a tentative shaking of his shoulder. He had intended to retire to his own quarters to sleep, but had finally, with his head full of unanswered questions, fallen into a dreamless, deep sleep.
He was awakened by Bjorn, who had risen up in bed seemingly effortlessly, as if his injuries were hardly worth mentioning. And only a little later, Thorfinn and Canute opened the door, looking at Bjorn with the same amazement that Askeladd had. Seeing him sitting there, Canute turned on his heel - Thorfinn trotted grumbling after him - and returned some time later with a tray richly covered with food. He carried it himself, for Thorfinn's arm was still injured.
Askeladd's gaze remained fixed on him. On this young man who had changed so much in the past few days. Despite this change, despite the alert, far-sighted look he now displayed, he was different from other leaders Askeladd had met in his life. Like Thorfinn, Canute hated war and the senseless battles it brought. He cared about his followers. He didn't want to see anyone die for no reason. It was these qualities that had convinced Askeladd he was the only man he would ever follow. Seeing Canute put the tray on Bjorn's lap and implore him to eat something confirmed him he had made the right decision. Thorfinn's freshly bandaged arm had not escaped Askeladd's notice either. Canute must have doctored it before going to bed the previous night, even though he himself had been tired.
Bjorn, who was listlessly nibbling on a piece of bread, brought Askeladd back from his thoughts. "I thought I was dead."
Askeladd and the boys cast meaningful glances at each other. How much should they tell him? Would it worry him if they revealed he had actually not been breathing for a period of time? And were they even absolutely sure that had been the case?
With a brief shake of his head, Askeladd asked them to be silent and the boys nodded imperceptibly.
"I'm sorry it was more agonizing than necessary for you. And I'm-" Askeladd interrupted himself. What was he supposed to say? I'm sorry that apparently my second sword stroke didn't kill you either?
"I'm glad you're doing so well," he said instead. "What would the priest say? It's a miracle."
"Are you really not in pain?" wanted to know Canute. He had tied his hair back in a ponytail, which gave him a confident air. Askeladd remembered well how he had initially hidden behind his long hair when a situation made him uncomfortable. "Let me see your wounds again."
"That's strange," Canute commented a little later when he sat at Bjorn's bedside after removing his bandages. "They don't look any worse, but they don't seem to be healing either. Are you sure you're okay?"
Bjorn nodded. "Yes, very sure. Except..."
"Except?"
"I kind of have no appetite. Nothing tastes good."
"Nothing at all?"
"No."
Canute put a hand to his chin, pondering. "Could this be some kind of shock? Maybe we should consult someone after all who-"
That's as far as he got, because suddenly a commotion broke out in front of the house. It all began with a sharp cry that, as unexpected as it had come, froze the men's blood in their veins. Thorfinn, who had positioned himself at the door after his and Canutes's return, opened it a crack and looked out.
"Do you see anything?" asked Askeladd.
"People. There are more and more of them. They're gathering next to a house nearby. Something must have happened there."
Canute was on his feet in a single bound. "Let's go see what's going on. Askeladd, you come too. Bjorn should be resting anyway." And with a quick glance at Bjorn, he added, "At least try to eat a little. You need to get your strength back."
To get to the scene, Askeladd, Thorfinn and Canute had to push their way through countless bodies scurrying back and forth, and be stepped on by just as many people.
They had only recently arrived in Gainsborough and accordingly many people still didn't know what Sweyn Forkbeard's son looked like. It gave them a certain anonymity at the moment, which was an advantage. But at this moment it was annoying, because of course nobody went out of their way.
When they finally made their way to the front row of onlookers, their breath caught. Askeladd had seen many unpleasant things in the past years. Hundreds of completely disfigured men on the battlefield. But all of these had been battle wounds. Chop wounds, stab wounds, neatly severed limbs. This was something completely different, and Askeladd was sure that if he had eaten anything that morning, he would be swallowing hard to keep it down.
Thorfinn seemed to feel the same way, and Canute had lowered his head and put his hand over his mouth, as many of the onlookers did.
In a dark alley between two houses lay a man. Or what was left of him, for he was alive but his body was completely covered with deep bite wounds. His shirt was torn and stained with traces of still fresh blood. In addition, his right arm and left hand were missing. His sword lay far away in a corner. Whatever had happened, it could not have been long ago, for he was conscious despite the severe injuries and whimpering in a tear-stained voice. He seemed incapable of anything more because of the pain. Two men had made their way to him and were talking soothingly before trying to elicit what exactly had happened, but he didn't answer.
"Was it a wild animal?" sobbed a young girl nearby. Perhaps it had been she who had found him and screamed.
And she was right. It did look like the act of some wild animal that had found its way into town and attacked a perhaps drunk man who didn't know how to defend himself in his condition.
Thorfinn, standing between Askeladd and Canute, narrowed his eyes. "Something's not right."
"What do you mean?" choked out Canute. He breathed in and out deeply, as if trying to push back the nausea that had risen in him.
Thorfinn nodded in the man's direction. "The wounds. They're wrong."
"Wrong?"
Askeladd did likewise and took a closer look at the man's injuries.
"They don't look inflicted by an animal, is that what you mean? It seems too ... planned. One arm, one hand."
"And the bite marks...," Canute muttered as he forced himself to look as well. "They're strange. They don't seem to be inflicted by a wolf or anything like that either. More like...but that can't be."
Yes, it couldn't be. Yet Askeladd had come to exactly the same conclusion. The bite marks on the man's body looked human. Very human.
And that was the moment when Askeladd had to do like Canute and lower his gaze.
A very bad premonition came over him.