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Published:
2016-07-05
Completed:
2016-07-08
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2/2
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Louder than bells

Summary:

It really shouldn’t have surprised Inghean quite so much when by their third week in the village, she was referred to as ‘the tall one’s woman’. But it did. It really, truly did. Asbjorn/Inghean.

Notes:

This is hiddencait's fault. And mine, for being so predictable. I don't even know. This movie was far better than it had any business being. I hope you enjoy!

The title is from 'Drumming Song' by Florence and the Machine, because of course it is.

HUGE thank you to werebearbar for sharing her amazing Viking knowledge which I have totally pinched for this story.

Chapter 1: sweeter than heaven

Chapter Text

“You be more careful with those fish teeth, Mared,” Inghean said as she walked one of the village women to the door after cleaning and fixing up a wound she’d received from a fish that still had some fight left in him. “You know they like to bite even when they’re on their way to the fire.”

Mared held up her bandaged hand and frowned. “Little bastard. We’re having him first tonight, you mark my words.”

Inghean held back a smile and just said, “He deserves what’s coming to him.”

“Too right, miss,” Mared said with a firm nod. “You and your man come by, if you want. We’ve got plenty.”

Inghean hesitated, but only for a breath, before replying, “Thank you for the offer. I’m not sure when they’re finishing today, but if they come back early, we’ll all come by.”

“I’ll send someone to let them know,” Mared said before ducking her head and with a wave, she headed back across the little village road to the other women who were cleaning and preparing the day’s catch. Inghean watched her go and nodded when one of the fishermen walked past. He nodded in return, respectful and perfectly accepting of her presence in their little community.

It still felt odd to be so accepted; Inghean fought the urge to drop to her knees and sink her hands into the earth to know for certain that she was in no danger and that no one pursued her.

Their small band of survivors, three remaining Northmen, a Scottish princess, and a monk had rowed with empty bellies and parched mouths for three days before spotting a small village on the edge of the coast.

The inhabitants had been understandably cautious and suspicious. In truth, the group was too hungry and too exhausted to mount any kind of defence. Conall set them at some ease, as did Asbjörn’s quiet strength and the easy way he had with people. Inghean also suspected that the fact that such a disparate group was quite clearly bound together only furthered their cause. Such a group that accepted the differences so easily amongst themselves must be accepting in general.

Within a matter of days, they had regained their strength and when Asbjörn asked the village elder what tasks his men could complete for him, the elder looked him up and down, then asked, “How much do you know about repairing fishing boats?”

Quite a bit, as it turned out.

The Northmen were quickly put to work repairing and constructing new boats for the fishermen to use. Conall and Inghean found themselves taking the place of the village healer who had passed during the winter. Inghean drew on all she remembered from watching the midwives and healers at home and discovered she remembered more than she thought. What she didn’t know, she made up and so far, her talents were proving useful.

She hadn’t realised just how treacherous fishing could be.

Their small group took over a smaller longhouse on the edge of the village and no one seemed to find it odd that they should remain together. However, as the days passed, Conall would often stay the night in the healer’s hut in the village. Inghean, still possessing the sensation that she should always keep an eye on the horizon, stayed close to the Northmen, especially Asbjörn, who seemed to always be in her line of sight.

Therefore, it really shouldn’t have surprised her quite so much when by their third week in the village, she was referred to as ‘the tall one’s woman’.

But it did.

It surprised her quite a lot.

She suspected the reason it surprised her was due to the fact that despite Conall’s knowing looks and not-quite hidden smiles along with Gunnar’s outright grins and Jorund’s smirks, Asbjörn had not said a word.

Nothing.

Nothing passed his lips that she could have taken as a clue that he was aware of what the village thought of them, or that he even desired her.

He was as he ever was: stoic and simply there, should she need him.

He had to be aware of what they said, she thought as she looked out over the coast, her eyes automatically searching out his tall, broad form. She spotted him quite a ways down the beach, towering as he did above the others as they slowly maneuvered a large plank into joists that would curve the beam to be fitted to the bottom of a ship.

Perhaps he’s only trying to spare your feelings, she thought as she watched him work. Perhaps he doesn’t wish to force you into anything. Perhaps he’s only being gallant. It isn’t as though you’ve said anything either.

And what would you say? a voice that sounded a great deal like her old nursemaid said. You know how men are, dearie. Give them a drop, they’ll want the whole ocean. What is you want of the man? You figure that out first, luvvie. And, mayhaps, you have to be the one who speaks first.

With a wince of discomfort at the thought, Inghean closed her eyes for a moment and breathed in the salty air, before going inside the healer’s hut. She tidied the room wishing it was as easy to tidy her own thoughts and wishes.

She was absorbed in her task of grinding up some herbs for the poultices when there was a knock on the door.

“Come in,” she called looking up from her worktable. Her hands faltered slightly as Asbjörn walked in, ducking slightly under the doorframe. “I thought you’d be on the beach all day.”

His lips quirked up briefly. “Gunnar’s managed to shave a good portion of his skin off when we were sanding the boards down. The man’s adamant that only your salves will do.”

“You told him to wash it off in the sea, didn’t you?” she said smiling as she wiped off her hands on her apron before heading to her shelves.

“This village living is making him soft,” he said, the humour in his voice belying his words.

“Hmm,” she said as she plucked a small pot off the shelf. “Have him put this on and then leave it uncovered. Should fix him right up.”

She handed him the little pot and his fingers brushed hers as he took it from her. A shiver forced itself down her spine and she froze, her eyes locked on his.

Even he looked surprised by her, his eyes widening, before he asked haltingly, “Little Bird? Are you well?”

She swallowed as she nodded. “Yes, fine. Just a chill. It’ll pass.”

His forehead furrowed as he looked her over, his other hand reaching up to cup her shoulder and then smooth up to cup her neck, his thumb brushing the underside of her jaw. “Are you sure? Do you need me to build up the fire?”

She felt her body heat from his touch and she blinked at him in confusion as her insides curled and yearned.

His hands were so very large, it had been one of the first things she’d noted. So very large and so very capable; they could surely do anything to her that they wished, fair or foul, and there would be little she could do to stop it.

However, as certain as she was in the earth beneath her feet, she knew he’d never lay an angry hand on her. Whether or not she wanted him to lay any other kind of hand on her was a completely different story.

Determined to control her thoughts, she reached up and caught his hand in hers as she smiled. “I’m fine. But, I won’t turn down someone else seeing to that fire.”

The smile he flashed her only agitated her insides further and when he walked away to feed the fire, she pressed a hand to her middle and told herself to settle down.

She went back to her worktable and watched him add another log to the fire and stoke it so that it was burning steadily.

“Do you need me to move that cauldron for you?” he asked indicating the large iron pot she used for cooking.

“Not today,” she said. “It seems I’m only mending the odd fish bite.”

“Where’s our monk?” he asked coming over to her table and attempting a surreptitious dip of his finger in the pot of honey that one of the women in the village had traded her for one of her salves.

“Off to visit someone on the other side of the village,” she said as she neatly rapped his knuckles with her spoon.

He winked at her as he popped his honey-covered finger in his mouth. “He’s left you on your own?”

“He’ll be back tomorrow morning,” she said glaring at him. “And I’m hardly on my own in this village, am I?”

“If it was up to me, you’d never be on your own,” he said simply.

Inghean stopped and stared at him and his own words must have echoed in his mind, for he stopped and stared back. She watched the muscles in his neck move as he swallowed.

“I just mean,” he said, his voice thick and low. “You don’t have to be afraid. Of anything. Nothing’ll happen to you here.”

“I’m not afraid,” she said, her own voice hushed and she knew that she spoke the truth.

He nodded and looked away. “Good. That’s…I’m… Back to the ship. Gunnar’ll be moaning like a newborn if I don’t get back.”

“Nothing worse that Gunnar in one of his moans,” she said still just staring at him.

Asbjörn smiled quickly and then ducked out of the hut.

Inghean stood for a moment and then with a gusty sigh, she slumped next to her worktable, thoroughly done in and at a loss as to what to do next.

“Saints help me,” she muttered.


The rest of the day passed in much the same manner: Inghean would find herself deep in the middle of a task and her mind would wander towards thoughts of Asbjörn and his face, his hands, his teasing manner, his bravery… It would be about then that Inghean would make a disgusted sound, remind herself that she was not some little girl to be distracted by fanciful thoughts and she’d best get back to work.

But the thoughts would return and the cycle would spin once again.

It was with a sigh of relief when she finished for the day and closed up the healer’s hut to head back to their dwelling. She thought about going to Mared’s for the promised fish, but decided that solitude would be welcome this day.

The longhouse was quiet upon her entry, and she moved immediately to build up the fire in the centre of the room. She had just added some logs to the slowly building flames when the door opened.

Startled, Inghean spun around to see Asbjörn enter, but then come to a halt when he saw her.

As seemed to be their newly formed habit, they stared at one another for a long moment.

“Fish,” he said eventually.

“Pardon?” she replied, frowning.

“I thought you’d be with the others,” he said shaking his head a little. “Eating today’s catch.”

“Oh, no,” she said shrugging and turning back to the fire. “I didn’t feel like joining the others.” She prodded the logs with the fire iron. “Why are you – oh.”

She stopped her prodding when a broad arm reached along her side and a hand covered hers.

“You need to aim further down,” Asbjörn’s voice rumbled from somewhere above her ear. “Make sure you get the lower heat to stir. It’ll help the pieces on top catch. And I didn’t feel like joining the others either.”

“Oh,” she said as his hand guided the fire iron. Heat, that wasn’t solely due to the fire, flickered all over her body and she found herself leaning back into the warmth of his body. His arm that guided the fire iron curved around her and stilled.

Inghean felt his breath ghost over her temple and just as she began to turn her head, a loud noise stopped her.

Asbjörn froze behind her.

Blinking, Inghean asked, “Was… Was that your stomach?”

“Yes,” he replied in a strangled voice. “It’s been some time since midday.”

Unable to muffle a laugh, Inghean slid her hand from under his, leaving him to finish stoking the fire, as she said, “There’s plenty of stew from yesterday.”

She glanced at his face and could see a pink on his cheeks that wasn’t due to the sun. With a small smile on her face, relieved that she wasn’t the only one who felt peculiar, she set about heating up food.

After a moment, Asbjörn asked after her day and after she replied, she returned the favour. Stew was eaten alongside their conversation and Inghean felt herself relax as the sun dipped low in the sky.