Chapter Text
In her sleep, when she sleeps , she dreams of green fields that stretch as far as her eyes can see. Blue skies and even bluer seas, all in arms reach. All the things she could ever want and more. A free path unwasted and untethered to things that may hold her back. Crisp, fresh air to fill her lungs and the feeling of the wind passing her by as she rides far away. To where she doesn't care.
Mercia. East Anglia. Wessex.
Anywhere that isn't here.
Because here , the place she finds herself when she's awake, is a human pigpen .
Men, women, and children alike standing side by side with no room to move. The crying and the screaming are all she knows, the sounds of this place much more bearable than the smells. The stench in the air is far from sweet, and by far worse than any scent she's ever smelt in her last twenty years of life. Not that she has a life anymore: for it has been taken from.
Here, she is no longer Sigrid Kjartansdottir .
Here, Sigrid is a slave, waiting to be sold to the highest bidder.
Fat lords with bellies full of ale and pockets brimming of silver come by daily, examining the slave traders' wares and taking home their new property to do whatever it is they need to be done. The bodies that stand shoulder to shoulder with her here will become servants, workers, and whores.
Sigrid is strong but she will probably be sold for her body, not skill.
For it was her skill that landed her here in the first place.
After what feels like a lifetime of waiting, Sigrid is pulled from the crowd. Tattered rags as clothes and her long raven hair a tangled mess, as her icy eyes scan the group of bastards who wish to break her The slave trader holds rope her hands are bound with. A necessary precaution they needed to take with her after only her first hour of being brought for trading.
She's been here before.
This place has not destroyed her… yet.
"Now this one… she is pricey, yes, but for good reason, my friends," One hard tug on the rope and the two soldiers on her side bring her to her knees, "True, she is scarred and a bit dirty, but this ones a ripe age to be pupped. Hell, with a bit of hard scrubbing she might even have beauty." The fat lords laugh, Sigrid wishes silently for Valhalla, "the bidding starts at-"
Before he can name his price, a soldier yells out:
"Horsemen approaching!"
The trader, seeing the riders approaching, hands the rope off and walks out to meet four riders. Three of them are hooded, and one is not. He looks like a warrior. Saxon . When the other three take off their hoods, Sigrid recognizes one of the Christian priests. He's been here before.
"Hello!" The trade starts as he walks closer, "It is my friend, the silver monk. And with guests." He stares at the one female amongst them, a smirk on his face, "And a woman! How pleasing." Two of his soldiers now stand at his side, Sigrid knows the trader will not play fair, "I have forgotten your name, silver monk, but not our price."
"Do you have our man," The familiar monk asks, "Guthred?"
"I have your man." The trader replies quickly, "Of course, I have your man."
"Then I shall see him." The monk demands.
Sigrid knows the monk has no power here.
"No! You will give me the silver, now." The trader's voice is leveled, but his games are clear, "She looks strong. I like that."
"The woman is not part of the price-"
"Good strong legs, to hold on to my arse."
If she could, Sigrid would stab the man for her , but the woman looks strong and does not flinch. The familiar monk with her, however, is losing his patience, "I wish to see Guthred. Guthred!" The monk yells, "Make yourself known! Guthred of Cumberland, can you hear me?!"
From out of a tent, new yet familiar faces appear. One Sigrid knows all too well and would love desperately to make disappear.
Her brother , Sven Kjartansson.
"I will decide when you see your man," Sven tells the monk as he approaches with his own warriors, "You will give us the random and you will give it now." As he stops, Sigrid wishes her hands were not bound, "You will do everything I say," as the two monks get down, his eyes shift to the woman, "You will come down from your horse girl." Alone, Sven steps closer to the woman, who grunts in disgust when he touches her face, "Too old to keep. Take off your skirts."
She remains stone-faced. Impressive. "I will not."
From behind Sven, another man Sigrid recognized approaches. His name is Fisk, and he is their Father’s retainer, "Lord, there are horsemen missing."
"What are you saying?!" Sven questions, barely turning back.
"Men are missing," Fisk repeats himself, "I counted five more horses than are here. They must be hiding, lord."
"Priest, is my man correct?" Sven asks, "There are further horsemen?'
"He is correct, Lord," The other priest finally says, "but these horsemen, they came from nowhere... and asking us to where we were traveling." This second priest seems almost anxious as Sven, Sigrid can hear it in his voice, "And we prayed that they would leave us, vanish."
"You wanted rid of them?" Sven asks.
Of course, he's scared. Coward.
"Believe me when I say this, they were not of this world, Lord," the priest explains, "They are not men like you and I are men." The priest then signs to his God , and the silver monk and woman follow suit.
"What do you mean they are not men?" The trader questions.
"Well, w-why are you doing that?" Sven studders. He's getting anxious. "This… signing your god?" The crowd starts to whisper, feeding off of Sven's growing fear.
"We were asking his protection, Lord," The priest replies in all seriousness, "From the horsemen."
"If they are not men," now the trader seems worried "what are they?"
"Please," The priest responds, "to speak to them may summon them."
"From where?" Sven questions, perhaps not fully believing even though the men around him now question the truth to the words of this priest, "You tell me nothing."
"Can we not simply give you the silver and be on our way, Lord," the priest begs, "Please?". The silver monk next to him raises a bag up.
"There is nothing to fear but the lies of a priest." Sven's words, though strong , do not instill peace in the now fearful men, "I know it."
In the distance, there is the sound of an animal. Fisk turns around, staring into the darkness, "Lord?"
As Sven turns around to see what worries Fisk, the priest signs once more to their God, "Oh, dear God in heaven, it's him."
Something approaches. They all can hear it. The eerie sound of something, someone, moving in the darkness.
"It is who?"
Everyone is now looking to the shadows. Horses whine in the distance, as men brace for whatever might be out there. Lights appear first, then it becomes clearer. Five men on horseback equipped with touches ride into the slave traders camp and suddenly the fear shifts into a panic.
"We've come for your souls!" One of them cries out.
"Your souls!" Yell another.
The five men surround Sven and his warriors, and it is only now that Sigrid can see that one of the men wields a sword as opposed to a torch. And on their face seems to be the skull of an animal.
"Who are you?" Sven yells, hand on the hilt of his sword.
"I am Odin's messenger to command. I've come from Corpse Hall!" The skulled faced rider yells, his words sending chills down the spine of every Dane there. The rider points his sword in Sven's face, "You are Sven Kjartanson?" He takes a moment to reply. Like the coward he is , "You will answer me!" The rider yells with anger.
His answer comes with a stutter, "W-what do you want with Sven Kjartansson?"
"I've been sent to take the souls of both Kjartan and his son," the rider explains. His words get Sigrid's attention, and quickly she rises to her feet.
"Attack." Sven's words come out less like a command and more like the words of a scared child, "Attack!" He finally yells, his men scattering as two of them approach the skull-faced rider.
The rider takes down two of Sven's warriors with ease and then goes for Sven himself. Instead of just killing the man, like Sigrid hopes, the rider throws Sven down to the floor and places a foot firmly on his back, "No man shall move, or Sven Kjartanson will die! You will all hear me!" He yells out his commands as his riders watch the crowd, "All of you must leave this place! Go, or with one touch of my horsemen, you will be cursed"' The slave trader starts backing away, the rider has struck true fear into them all, "Go!"
With his words, men begin to scream and scatter. Sigrid can see Fisk, clearly intending to abandon his men. Her eyes then turn to the trader, who has walked back into the sword of the woman he dared to touch only moments ago.
"You are going nowhere but to the devil himself," The woman tells him as she pulls the blade out. As the trader groans and falls to the floor, his two soldiers who once held firm grips on her let go and begin to run away.
Sigrid’s eyes stay focused on the one with his foot on Sven's back, waiting to see what he does, "I should kill you now. I should take you piece by piece!"
"No, please, spare me!" Sven begs from the floor.
Kill him, Sigrid chants in her head.
"Odin would forgive me, I am sure of it!"
"I will be a changed man-"
"You will never change!" The rider yells, "you cannot change!
And then, as the rider is yelling in anger, Sigrid realizes something. This... not man ; he knows Sven personally and hates him for a reason.
"Lord!" The priest yells out, approaching the rider slowly, "Lord, I beg you. That he fears you is enough! Let him take this fear to Kjartan."
The priest knows who this not man is under the skull mask. Something bigger is happening here.
Why aren't they killing him?
The not-man is now growling, a fit of overwhelming anger clearly consuming him. After a few minutes of frustration, he leans up, his sword no longer to Sven's neck.
"May we free the prisoners, Lord? Search the pens for a friend, a King ?"
A King? Sigrid almost wants to laugh.
There are no kings here. Only slaves.
"You may." He answers, "I have no business with you."
"Thank you, Lord," the priest replies as he backs away, "We shall leave this place just as soon as we have found him," there is a change in his words. As if the priest now warns the rider, "It would be for the best."
The priests are now screaming that name again. Guthred. Sigrid, however, cannot be bothered with whatever it is the two priests are doing. Instead, her eyes stay glued to the man whose foot still remains on Sven's back and all she can think is why in Odin's name is Sven not dead?!
As the foot moves off Sven's back and he can finally lift his head to look behind him, the rider lifts a fist to strike him, "Find your way home in darkness!" And with one fierce strike, Sven is now unconscious.
Wait? No! He deserves to die…
He needs to die.
"What are you doing!?" All heads turn quickly to face her. Monks, the riders, and slaves alike now stare in Sigrid's direction, "You are letting him live?! Sven Kjartansson deserves death!"
The rider walks a few steps closer as the man who came with the priests and woman rushes over to tie up Sven. Now that he is only inches away from her, Sigrid can see the man's blue eye from behind the mask, "And who are you that begs for the death of this man?"
"Someone who knows, more than anyone, that he deserves it," Sigrid replies as she lifts her bonded hands, "Sven is the bastard who has brought me here to be sold, Lord," With a frustrated snarl she gets closer to the man, "If you are truly sent from the Gods, you will kill Sven Kjartansson this very night. No one deserves it more."
The rider turns back, looking at the woman, "Take her with you, I would like to hear more about her hatred towards Sven Kjartanson," and as he turns back to face her, the last thing Sigrid can see is his fist….
And then darkness.