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Valdis awoke with a gasp, heart hammering in her chest. She sweltered under her furs, and her skin was sticky with sweat. It took a moment for her eyes to adjust to the near darkness. She was in bed, safe inside the confines of her personal quarters. The light from the embers of the hearthfire was dim; it seemed the sun had yet to rise. Valdis groaned, passing a trembling hand through damp hair. It's not real, it's not real. Beside her came the soft, soothing sounds of Oswald's breathing. He was still blissfully asleep.
She got out of bed, first finding her leather slippers, then a thick woollen robe to wear over the shift she wore to sleep. She was shivering—and not only because of the slight chill in the air. Her throat was parched; gods, she needed a drink. She muttered a curse as she took the jug on the table beside their bed: it was empty. If she was in luck, then perhaps there was still an unopened cask of ale in the meadhall. Before heading out of the chambers she shared with Oswald, Valdis turned to look at him, eyes lingering over his sleeping form. In the early days of their marriage, when her nightmares had been more frequent, he had often been awoken by her pained grunts. Always he'd gather her into his arms, offering sweet words to comfort her.
But now she was reluctant to steal him from his slumber. His brow was smooth in sleep, making him look like the carefree, boyish youth she’d married more than seven years ago. Oswald had lost his title to King Guthrum, but not the duties that had once come with the crown. That had been the source of numerous fights over those last three years; Oswald might have been able to stomach yet another blow to his pride, but Valdis was not so humble nor gracious. Again she and her husband had been used like pawns in the game of clan politics by a warlord who claimed their glory while they toiled in the shadows.
Once she had even raised her voice, screaming at Oswald that she was tired of not fighting back while others trampled over their hard-earned rights. Of course their daughter Eadith had chosen this time to totter into their chambers. The child’s blue eyes had widened in fear and shock at the sight of the fury etched on her mother’s face; Eadith had burst out crying and ran out of the room, prompting Oswald to rush after her—but not without sending his wife a well-deserved glare beforehand. Shock and self-disgust had pinned Valdis into place, and all she had heard inside her mind were echoes of Rued’s snide words: how in truth she was nothing but a callous bitch who could not even control the storm of emotions inside of her.
(It had been an unpleasant reminder of the hold the bastard still had over Valdis even years after he’d been gone from her life—that, and all those stolen moments where she’d flinched in fear from Oswald’s tender touch. Again she had wondered: what would it take for her to be finally free from the poison of his memory?)
Only time would tell if Guthrum would prove a better master than Halfdan. Valdis tended to mistrust men who sought power over all else, those willing to do anything to get what they wanted. Of course she had not welcomed this new tyrant with a forced smile, as Oswald had done. Valdis could only find one mercy out of this mess: that it had not been expected of them to bend the knee to the likes of Aelfred of Wessex. That would have been an injustice she would have not been able to swallow.
Gods, but her head felt as if it was about to come apart at the seams. Valdis staggered in the near darkness, making for the meadhall. She stopped along the way, a familiar fear creeping up her spine. Immediately, she headed for the corner where the children slept. Her heart seemed lodged in her throat; the hands grasping her robes were cold and clammy. In her head resounded a low growl, a promise of pain and violence that felt so real she could barely breathe.
I will take everything from you.
Only a few tufts of blond hair showed from underneath the furs where Eohric slept. Valdis could not stifle a sigh of relief as she saw him stirring, legs stretching and kicking. He'd grown so tall those last few moons, his limbs and cheeks losing much of the roundness that had made him so adorable as a toddler. Across from him, the girls were sharing a cot. Eivor mumbled in her sleep, her little brow finally free of the frown she usually wore. Surely she was lost in the world of dreams. Eadith's pale curls fanned around her head like a halo. Her normally pink cheeks had lost a bit of colour. Valdis's breath caught in her throat, and she reached to touch her daughter's neck with trembling fingers. The sweet child felt warm, heartbeat fluttering like a bird's wings. Valdis let out a choked sound, eyes burning.
I will take everything from you.
She stumbled away from her sleeping children. Rued had never told her these words, not exactly. But for near on seven years she'd heard them in her nightmares. At first she'd dreamed of Burgh Castle—of the hundreds of ways Rued could have killed Oswald while she watched, helplessly. A sword through the heart. A knife slitting his throat—or worse, bare hands choking the life out of him. Even a rotting head thrown her way while Rued and his men laughed and laughed. Always Valdis would see the light, the life, fade from those astonishing blue eyes. Always she'd cradle him to her chest, too shocked to shed any tears.
Always she would be unable to do anything to save him from the evil she had brought to his once-peaceful home.
Then it was Elmenham that she would see burning, it would be her people screaming and running from the cruel bite of a blade. Armed only with his father’s sword, Oswald would bravely, but futilely, stand against the incarnation of Valdis's worst nightmares; in spite of all her efforts, she would never reach her husband in time to stop that blade from burying itself into his chest. Rued would then stare at her, ice-blue eyes blazing, as Oswald breathed his last at his feet, tears streaking his grime and blood-covered cheeks.
I will take everything from you.
And you will watch as all you hold dear is destroyed by my hand.
It had been years since Valdis had had that dream. Sweet, peaceful years where she finally could sleep without dreading those visions of doom and despair. She had believed that perhaps the gods had finally relented in tormenting her mind. That perhaps the Nornir had instead woven for her a happier future than she had first feared.
Valdis had thought wrong. Tonight, she'd heard her children scream as they saw their father being cut down, she'd heard her little ones cry out, Mama, Mama, help us, as Rued turned his blade on them.
Tonight she had been reminded that she was nothing but a fool, a helpless, hopeless fool.
She let out a choked sound, hand going to her mouth. The vaulted space of the meadhall was silent and still, save for the crackling of the hearthfire. The servants were asleep, and they would only be roused at first light. Gods, she felt so foolish, like a spooked child who needed to be reassured that monsters did not really go bump in the night. Valdis could easily imagine the grating sound of Rued’s laughter if he knew just how far she had fallen. She had spent most of her life forging a thick armour around herself, to be protected from the cruelties of men and gods alike, only to rip open her own ribcage to bare her heart to an uncaring world that would gladly destroy all she loved.
Again she saw Oswald’s empty eyes staring back at her, again she heard her children’s wails of pain and fear. It’s not real, she told herself. They’re here with me, they’re safe.
But how could Valdis be sure? It was well known that the gods often spoke through dreams, that mortals could catch a glimpse of the Nornir’s tapestry during the dark hours of the night. Could the great weavers of fate be cruel enough to let harm come upon her kind fool of a husband and the sweet children he’d given her?
Yes, Valdis thought. Yes they are…
After all, as far as she knew, Rued still lived.
With shaking hands, Valdis took a cup and poured herself a drink. The ale was warm as it touched her lips, and she’d nearly spat it back, her stomach rolling and recoiling at its sour taste. Valdis slammed the cup back on the table, taking a crisp breath. To no avail; the image of Rued’s large silhouette, dark against the background of Elmenham in flames, seemed etched in her mind.
The first time she had rebelled against him, he had followed her across the whale-roads to East Anglia, and others had suffered in her stead. Who knew to what twisted ends the man would go to destroy Valdis’s life if he was given another chance?
Who knew who else would pay the heaviest price because of Valdis's weakness?
She heard soft footfalls behind her, and her breath hitched. "Lass?" someone murmured, as she whirled on her feet, reaching for—the knife that was not at her waist, it turned out.
She ground out a curse, heart beating a painful tattoo in her chest. Finnr was holding out his hands in a soothing manner. "Easy, girl," he muttered, "it's me, it's only me…"
Valdis let out another swear. That was the crux of the matter. If there was someone whose company she would have sought right now—well, it would have not been Finnr, that was for certain. Unable to utter a sound, she glared at him, earning herself a sigh from the man.
"I didn't mean to sneak up on you," Finnr continued. If that had been anyone else, Valdis would have said he looked concerned. "Trouble sleeping?"
Valdis scoffed. She would have loved nothing but to snap at him, yet the furious rebuke seemed lodged in her throat. She paced a little, pinching the bridge of her nose.
"You should be resting," Finnr said, with more of that uncharacteristic softness. "What you've suffered earlier this week—"
She looked at him sharply, silencing him. "I'm fine," she barked. "It's fine. The healer said—I probably was not too far along—I've rested enough." As he quirked a thick grey brow, she insisted, "I'm fine."
"Lass," he said, with another sigh, "I'm no stranger to the topic. My wife had more miscarriages and stillbirths than living children. It takes time to heal from these matters. Both physically and mentally."
Again Valdis felt the urge to lash out at him, though this time her anger was smothered by a surge of nausea. She hadn't even been sure she'd been pregnant; when she'd felt that warm wetness on her thigh, a few days ago, she'd thought—well, perhaps it was only her cycle, three moons too late, perhaps it had been nothing, but then the blood had just kept on flowing, and she'd started to feel faint, vision blurring and knees buckling under her weight, and—
Valdis sucked in a shaky breath, passing her hands over her face. Her cheeks were still wet with sweat. She hadn’t even known if she had wanted this child—the thought of a fourth pregnancy was daunting, and so was the prospect of taking care of yet another little one in the current chaos of her life—and yet grief mingled with relief, fear cut through cool acceptance. No, she was not in mourning; she was frightened of something she could barely name, as if putting it in words could bring her imagined terrors back into the waking world.
Perhaps you deserve it, came the sour insinuation. Valdis had not converted to her husband’s faith—in fact she loathed the two-faced hypocrisy of most Christian priests—but it was impossible to live with someone—to love someone—without coming to hold some of the beliefs they espoused. The Christians put much stock in the concept of retribution; they believed that just punishment always came to those committing evil acts, in this life or in the other.
(And, as Rued always delighted in reminding her, Valdis was far from being a good, pure-hearted soul; she had hurt and maimed and killed others, innocents whose only crime had been to stand in their way…)
She shook her head, feeling as if she was going to be sick. “That’s not—I had a nightmare.” Valdis looked back at the old man, eyes widening. Had she just blurted that out—to Finnr of all people? Gods, she could definitely hear Rued’s laughter ringing in her ears now.
“A nightmare?” Finnr pawned at his beard. “What was it about?”
This is foolish, Valdis wanted to spit out, but the words that instead tumbled out of her mouth were, “Elmenham, burning. And my family…” Her voice broke. She could not say it out loud. The horror was still too fresh in her mind, almost as if she could truly feel the warmth of their blood on her hands.
“I see,” Finnr said, levelly.
“It was Rued,” Valdis continued, all the while screaming in her head, fool, fool, stop talking. “Perhaps it is a vision from the gods. I’ve heard from the völva that—”
“No,” Finnr cut her off, “it is not. Rest assured of that, lass.”
A part of her wanted to believe him. The childish part which still saw something good and pure in a ruthless world—the part that Oswald had made grow, little by little, with those careful, nurturing hands of his. Instead, she narrowed her eyes and said, “How so?”
“I’ve had these dreams as well. Dreams of my family, I mean. Of them suffering while I was unable to save them.” Finnr’s eyes had grown dim and dull, and she felt a dull pang at the sight. “But only after their deaths. Not before.”
“Then…”
“These are not visions from the gods, child. These are your fears made manifest in your mind.”
Valdis scoffed. “How would you know?”
“Because Rued is dead. I had Eivor find him—and I had Eivor kill him.”
It took a few precious seconds for his words to truly sink in. “You went behind our backs,” she hissed, with barely constrained anger. “You disobeyed your king. Undermined his authority. If Oswald knew—”
“I would not have gambled on the lad’s life,” Finnr snapped, silencing her. After a tense moment, he added, “And I would not have gambled with yours either.”
Valdis stared at him in shock. She knew he cared for Oswald, in his own grouchy way, even if he would never dare to admit it, but she had never been aware that he'd also grown to—Valdis frowned, suddenly unable to meet that earnest gaze. She could not explain the jumbled mess of emotions currently assailing her heart. Her first instinct was to dismiss his candid admission with a sneer; her second was to scream at him as she had done with Oswald, not so long ago. But there was a part of herself, small as it was, that made her want to bury her face into her hands and weep. Torn between these options, Valdis could only keep silent.
“If given the choice, I would do it again,” Finnr continued, more gruffly. “Because I would not risk the children’s lives as well.”
Of course he wouldn’t, she thought. All of the old man’s smiles, rare as they were, were brought about by her children and their antics. He was an unreliable fool, certainly, but she knew he would do anything to keep Eohric and the girls safe.
For a moment, she could only hear the thumping of her heart in her ears. If Finnr spoke true, then he was gone. Rued was truly gone. Her family was safe.
…were they?
Valdis had lost everything before—her parents, her happiness, her pride. She knew all too well that the gods were a callous lot—or, more precisely, that they could be cruel in their indifference. She shivered despite herself. Something must have shown in her eyes as Finnr reached forward, touching her shoulder. She was too troubled to slap his hand away.
“You are not the first to suffer such dreams,” he told her. “Speak to Oswald. Perhaps he—”
“No,” she said, “no, he’s carrying enough of a burden as of late, I would not trouble him with mine as well.” He’d taken the news of her miscarriage harder than she had; it had been one of the rare times she had seen her husband openly weep. It was a sight that she did not care to witness again.
“Then confide in others. Your brother, friends from your clan, even—”
“You?” she said, disdainfully.
Finnr sighed. Pulled his hand away. “I don’t care if you don’t trust me. But speak to someone, you foolish girl. Eivor, or that wife of hers, perhaps. Surely they know a thing or two about nightmares.”
Valdis’s eyebrows rose up her forehead. Since when had Finnr been so wise? So perceptive? Sobering up had done wonders for the old fool. Or perhaps that wisdom had always been there, immersed under enough ale to drown a man.
She mulled over the idea. Remembered the joy she felt at the sound of Eivor’s laughter. Thought back on the easy camaraderie she had formed with Randvi; the woman was a kindred soul if such things truly existed. It would do Oswald some good to see his old friend again, and she could all easily imagine the sweet smile that would grace his lips at the sight of his formidable protector. And the children would love to have a visit from their ‘aunties’, Valdis was sure of it.
She inhaled, deeply. He was gone. Rued was finally gone. In time he would become but a memory—frightening only if she wasted more precious time remembering his hatred, his disdain. Yes, Valdis doubted she would ever be free of him. But people like Eivor and Randvi and Oswald and even Finnr… these people remained. They were here, and they were real, not the product of an overly-frightened mind.
In time, under their caring touch, perhaps she would grow to become someone worthy of their love. Oswald certainly believed so—and she trusted in his honest wisdom as much as she revered the power of the gods.
A slight smile tugged at her lips. “Perhaps you are right. It would be good to celebrate years’ worth of friendship. To renew old oaths in those times of uncertainty.”
“Exactly,” said Finnr. He was silent for a while before adding, “Until then, if you ever have nightmares…”
Valdis rolled her eyes. “Fine, you old fool. I will ask for help if that keeps you off my back.” More sternly, she said, “You will tell Oswald what you did, however.”
He had the decency to look ashamed, muttering, “The lad will be disappointed.”
It was touching to realize just how deeply he regarded Oswald’s opinion. Valdis had changed over the years—but so had Finnr, it seemed. “That ‘lad’ has just seen the turn of three decades,” she countered. “If you don’t tell him, then I will.”
She and Oswald had vowed never to keep secrets from each other when they had married; the hard-won peace of the last few years solely rested on the strength of their union, after all. They were as different as day and night, and while that made them a well-balanced ruling couple, love had not always been enough to bridge all the cultural and religious chasms that still existed between them. They had learned to compromise. And to communicate. Valdis snorted at the thought; the sagas she’d heard from love-starved skalds usually did not sing about either topic, did they? Of course they didn't: people wanted to hear about brave dragonslayers and valiant shieldmaidens, not marital spats concerning noisy Christian priests meddling in a lawfully wedded couple's life.
“I will tell him,” Finnr said, finally managing to meet her eyes. “Boy deserves that, at least.” Valdis folded her arms, raising a brow. He awkwardly coughed. “Man. Whatever. He’ll always be a green boy in my eyes.”
“You soft-hearted fool,” Valdis said, with another smile. “Thank you. For… well, for listening.”
“I didn’t, back then,” he mumbled. “Was too caught up in my own world to check up on the wife. Or the girls. And now…”
“I understand,” she told him, lightly touching his arm. He seemed surprised by the gesture. As was she, in truth. “I will return to bed. Oswald will be wondering where I have gone otherwise. Good night, Finnr.”
Finnr managed to return her smile, very briefly. It was rare to see such a genuine expression directed toward her, coming from him. She almost liked it. “Sleep well, lass.”