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Saga
May 3, 2020 1:15:34 GMT
Post by Red Irish Dragon on May 3, 2020 1:15:34 GMT
Arlan’s hands still shook with the sudden rush of adrenaline, his breath slowly coming back under control even with a few pained swallows. He tried again to see who the shadow was, the familiarity enough to start to calm him but not quite clear. Not for several uncertain moments.
“Fell?”
He sounded surprised to recognize the warrior leaning over him, trying to provide some room for him to recover. The panicked response he had begun with faded as he looked about, slowly recognizing the space they were in, as if there was some very big gaps to fill in his memory. He remembered walking home from Magnhild’s, then… something going wrong. And then he was here… how? Why? The questions were obvious in his expression, only slowly recognizing his own injuries as one hand started for his throat.
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Saga
May 3, 2020 22:46:46 GMT
Post by Kelathi on May 3, 2020 22:46:46 GMT
Arlan was disorientated, confused. He knew he was fearful of something, but by the look on his face, he wasn’t quite sure what. Could he not remember what happened? The image of Arlan, weakly struggling against his attacker rose unbidden in Fell’s mind, and he was quick to push it away, feeling anger once again bubbling and threatening to boil over. Now was not the time. He needed to function, to see to Arlan’s wounds. “Your head, Arlan, you’re bleeding.” He explained quietly, his voice low and strained with words unspoken, lifting the damp, darkened cloth he had been trying to press to it before the man had started to fight. “Stay still.” He rumbled, soothingly, one hand gently cupping the side of Arlan’s face. “Trust me.” He murmured, imploringly, waiting for the man's go-ahead before he continued.
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Saga
May 4, 2020 4:27:59 GMT
Post by Red Irish Dragon on May 4, 2020 4:27:59 GMT
Arlan’s expression remained confused as Fell explained his injury, as if only just realizing there was a throbbing pain he had been ignoring in his panic. But the look in his eyes as he let himself relax, fading again into the darkness, was one of trust. No grand statement, no outpouring of faith, just simple trust to let Fell do as he wished.
Even if, the last time he had gotten a similar blow to the head, it had been by his sword.
---
When he finally began to wake up, it took considerable time to finally recognize what he was looking at. Not that he hadn’t woken up looking at the ribs of the roof above many times already, but the fact that he was under them again. The last thing he recalled seeing was Magnhild. Hadn’t he been saying goodnight? It had been dark out, not the warm, sun-filtered glow of the rafters he saw now. He kept trying to push back a curtain of fog in his mind, knowing something happened next.
A face suddenly appeared to him, pieces falling but not into place, hinting at… Arlan didn’t know, the face, the fear that laced through him at the image, had shot him straight up in bed with a gasp. Then, the adrenaline and fear wore off to be replaced by sudden nausea at the near leap, and one massive throb that flattened him out again, crashing into the bed.
“Fuuuuuuuuck…” was all he managed to say, the drawn out vowel replacing an “ow.”
Oh… wait… he remembered hearing something about his head… and bleeding…?
Arlan looked down at himself, but feeling something against his neck. Why was his neck so sore? A touch showed it was wrapped, with a slight odor that suggested medicine. From who he didn’t want to guess. But the back of his head… that was what hurt the most.
… right?
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Saga
Sept 21, 2020 0:25:41 GMT
Post by Kelathi on Sept 21, 2020 0:25:41 GMT
Fell was calm. Albeit, only outwardly.
He stood with his arms crossed over his broad chest, a formidable figure, even with the blooming bruise on his jaw, and the split lip. Torsten, however… the same could not be said for. Fell’s fury had left him hunched over a little, one hand cradling a shattered arm, which had been haphazardly cast with rags. His face was a mess, his eyes puffy and swollen, so much so that he could hardly see, and his nose was quite clearly broken. Between the blood, his face was darkened by bruises- the clear handiwork of Fell’s rage.
It had not been long before the warrior had been summoned. It was not surprising, but it was infuriating nonetheless, as all Fell wanted to do was get back to Arlan. The warrior felt his heart tug with wantonly at the thought that Arlan might be awake by now, he wanted desperately to be by his side. But when one of the Earl’s henchmen had come for him, it had been clear that Eirik was not in the mood for waiting.
Now the warrior stood before the Earl, the majority of the village at his back. It hadn’t taken news long to get around, there was a healthy collection villagers, an amalgamation of those personally invested in Torsten or Fell’s wellbeing, as well as many stragglers whom were just curious to see what happened, what this was all about, and what the outcome would be. Eirik fixed Fell with his cold gaze, slouching in his chair as if bored of the situation already, his chin resting on his fist. “Tell me, Fellbjorn,” he finally began, after a few minutes of study. “Do you have anything to say about…” He waved towards the mess that was Torsten, appearing to be momentarily lost for words, before giving up and just motioning to all of him, “…this?”
Fell took a moment to answer, glancing over at the mangled man, before calmly meeting the Earl’s gaze once more. “This… coward attacked my slave. I punished him.” He explained bluntly, his gaze steady. A few murmurs rose up amongst the people as they considered his words. “Really.” The Earl responded. Now, his eyes sparkled, as if pleased with Fell’s answer- perhaps convinced he had caught Fell in a trap. “That is not what Torsten or Ove say. There are at least two witnesses to what you have done, and both discount your claim…”
“Three!” Baldur’s voice rose up from the back of the crowd, many turning to better see the warrior, who stepped forward and bowed his head slightly towards the Earl in respectful acknowledgement, despite his interruption. “My Lord, I am a witness, and what Fell claims is true. Torsten beat the slave beyond reason, he was unconscious when I arrived.” Displeasure and anger crossed the Earl’s features fleetingly, but settled back to his neutral expression rather quickly. “So,” he had to raise his voice to quieten the murmurs that had begun to ripple amongst the crowd- “Baldur, you say the slave was unconscious when you arrived, so you saw nothing. We are supposed to just believe, in good faith, that it was not Fell himself who beat his slave, and then beat Torsten.” Fell felt himself bristle in indignation, the muscles in his arms tensing as he fought to remain silent whilst the Earl continued. “This, after all, is not the first time you have been defiant, Fellbjorn. Two in defence, and two against. The odds are even and therefore…” Before he could finish, much to his chagrin, he was interrupted once more, this time, from a most unlikely individual…
“Fellbjorn speaks the truth.”
Although he rarely left the sanctity of his hut, Dag’s voice was unmistakeable. A sudden hush fell over the restless crowd, and it was clear the respect that the people held for him. Fell was surprised to have such a backing, the hermit rarely concerned himself with such events, perhaps it was because he too was aware of how thin the ground was that Fell walked on when it came to the Earl. But Dag’s support seemed to be an end to the discussion, the Earl knowing that he could hardly question their shaman without good reason, however badly he wanted to find an excuse to have Fell punished. Why the man would support Fell was beyond him, but he made a mental note to keep an eye on any future interactions between the two.
Even with the odds stacking against his wishes, the Earl clung half-heartedly to the hope that things would sway in Torsten’s favour, yet. So, he called for a spontaneous vote.
“All those in favour of Fell being punished, raise your hand.”
A few hands raised, some shooting up quickly, such as Ove’s and his lackeys, whilst others were more hesitant. Eirik’s expression was grim, and Fell could tell even without turning that the outcome was not swaying in Torsten’s favour. “And now, all those in favour of Torsten being punished…” Before the Earl had even finished his sentence, numerous hands had shot up, and it was clear that the majority of people believed in Fell… or at least, they were wary to contradict the words of their shaman. After a grim pause, the Earl spoke up, “Fell may leave unpunished. Torsten…” His gaze turned to the man, whom was breathing jaggedly, and looked as if he were about to pass out. A pause, as the Earl seemed to consider his next words carefully. “I think it’s pretty clear that you have already received your punishment. Let that be a lesson not to touch another Viking’s property. You may leave.” With that, a chorus of surprised and disgruntled voices arose, as the Earl stood, and merely left. A lashing would have been a minor punishment for the crime, whilst death might have seemed extravagant. However, men had died for less. But… to receive nothing at all? This lack of action unnerved the people, and it showed in the angered and confused murmuring that followed. Baldur looked about grimly, but as he returned his gaze to where Fell had been, he could see that he was already gone.
Fell was fuming, but not surprised at the outcome. The urge to beat Torsten into the ground again, but this time make sure he didn’t get up, vibrated through his body, and blood roared in his ears. The Earl was wrong, Torsten had not even begun to pay for what he had done. Fell wanted the man to be punished accordingly, and he wanted to be the one to do it. But if he killed the man after the Earl had clearly decided that he should live… Fell might not escape death, and then Arlan would be vulnerable.
At the thought, Fell picked up his speed, anxious to get back to the red-head.
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Saga
Sept 24, 2020 19:20:12 GMT
Post by Red Irish Dragon on Sept 24, 2020 19:20:12 GMT
Once the nausea had passed from his latest misguided attempt to sit up, one of a long series to return to normal, Arlan was forced to settle for laying on the bed. Above him, shimmering in the light were particles of dust, glowing with the outside sun. His gaze was distant, however, thinking of something far off, past experiences that had led to now. Not the night before, surprisingly enough, but further back.
Staring down a furious Fellbjorn when he had been caught with Runa. Being claimed by the man who had captured him, had tried to kill him. Facing down the English who had captured him, almost killing him in the process. Facing the English knights and their army alongside his fellow warriors, in spite of the odds against them.
All those times of risking his life, moments of fiery anger and fierce independence that overrode any survival instincts and somehow had not yet killed him…
Not once in those memories did he feel the fear, the unsettling sense of panic, that the previous night gave him. The image was still fuzzy to him, a shadow looming, a touch unwanted, but it was more than that. A sense of helplessness he wasn’t accustomed to, even as a slave. Childhood friends could attest to his dislike for being pinned or trapped, not from an obsession with control but a sense of agency, of self. Slavery had been a hard burden on him, some considering him less than even an animal, but he’d learned how to reclaim some of his own power. Bending rather than breaking, finding the loopholes where he could control one piece, even if it was just a fragment. But that sensation of panic? Of total helplessness?
The closest he had felt to this unease since arriving in the Viking village was meeting Dag, the crazy old hermit with his bones and mushrooms and smoky hut. Then again, Arlan had heard enough tales of the mad old wizards in the dark forests of home to be wary of them, never sure when they were trying to help, or hinder. But Dag didn’t tighten his heart at the mere thought… only having to go back into his den gave the Celt pause and a sudden list of other things to do.
Even lying there, safe and secure in the empty space, Arlan found it difficult to remember, the block seeming to come up more strongly every time he tried to push past. Or was it because, deep down, he didn’t want to know what it was that he feared? How was he supposed to function, to be, with something so foreign to him stalking his every step?
Finally, the hazel eyes closed in almost a grimace, shortly followed by his hands rising to rub and hide his face, the darkness it caused almost taunting the answer while remaining silent. A heavy sigh seemed to be accompanied by a creak, Arlan realizing a few moments later that it was in fact the door opening rather than his imagination. From between his fingers, at first the figure was blurry… a dark silhouette against the light from the doorway… as he was on his back…
Arlan half bolted into a sitting position again, a momentary wide-eyed look that was difficult to describe flashing across his face. It was a mix of the fear that he’d revealed the night before, merged with tension and anger… but it lasted barely long enough to fully be seen, as not a heartbeat later it shifted again, matching the groan and crash back perfectly with another wave of nausea making the entire world spin in all the wrong ways.
“Fuck…!” he managed to growl not so softly as his hands again went to his face, body tense, knowing that whoever came through the door would have easy access to him now, which didn’t help the sense of tightness in his chest. He was still unclear as to why he was struggling so much, or why the back of his head would throb so strongly. That was too closely tied to the night before… but one thing remained true, evident in how he seemed to pause in this position, as if waiting to see what the next move was.
If he went down, Arlan would go down fighting.
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Saga
Jan 17, 2021 0:06:06 GMT
Post by Kelathi on Jan 17, 2021 0:06:06 GMT
“Arlan!”
Fell instinctually went to take a hurried step forwards, wanting to be at the man’s side, but thought better of it. He paused instead, regarding the other with concern in his eyes. “It’s me, It’s Fell.” He soothed gently, his heart twisting painfully at Arlan’s reaction, a flare of anger rising in him at the one whom had caused it. He moved slowly to avoid startling the other, thinking that perhaps Arlan was still caught in the throes of a nightmare, and closed the door softly behind himself. He didn’t approach the bed straight away, unsure if his presence was needed, or even wanted, and instead kept his distance, busying himself with what was in his hands, setting it gently on the table. “I brought some food, I thought you might be hungry.” He explained, when he could see that Arlan was indeed awake, if a little disorientated. “And some mead.” He added, the bottle joining the plate of meat. He turned to Arlan, unsure what to do with his hands, feeling out of place in his own home. He opted for folding his arms. “How are you feeling?” He asked softly, his dark eyes even more brooding than usual.
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Saga
Jan 17, 2021 3:13:29 GMT
Post by Red Irish Dragon on Jan 17, 2021 3:13:29 GMT
… Fellbjorn?
The confusion was clear on his face as Arlan’s hands moved away after a few moments, needing to work through the spinning to focus on the figure. It was Fell… although Arlan was fairly certain he didn’t have a twin.
Once the two Fells had rejoined, he made himself sit up far more slowly, a hand rubbing at the back of his head again, clearly his main source of discomfort. He looked over at the food as the bottle was set down, the mead sounding far more appealing than the food. At the question, Arlan looked up, winced, rubbing his head again. “Like the ground under a stampede,” he grunted in reply, looking more annoyed about the discomfort than anything else.
He began to stand, but found himself quickly brought back to his seated position, eyeing the mead bottle with interest despite his situation. “A drink would help,” he half joked, a hand making a momentary attempt to reach for the bottle rather than the plate before falling, knowing he was well out of reach. Maybe Fell wouldn’t mind playing at fetch until the world stopped trying to spin every time he moved…
Perhaps strangely, Arlan made no mention as to what had happened. He was clearly confused at his own aches and pains, but something kept him from asking what they were from. Instead, of course, he pushed the topic elsewhere, perhaps a little predictably. “How is Magnhild? I haven’t… trained her today… yet,” he asked, for once not catching and correcting himself on her name.
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Saga
Jan 17, 2021 18:04:27 GMT
Post by Kelathi on Jan 17, 2021 18:04:27 GMT
An attempt at humour, even though the man was clearly still in pain. The corner of Fell’s lips quirked upwards, but hesitantly. At his comment about the drink, Fell grabbed the bottle by the neck, crossing the room to hand it to Arlan. “Drink always helps.” He agreed, sitting on the bed rather than returning to where he had been. Still, he seemed wary, as if unsure of how to act around the man. Arlan helped, however, with his questions.
“She’s good. She misses you, but she’ll cope.” The added ‘yet’ was welcomed by Fell. It seemed a good sign. He averted his eyes as Arlan drank, studying the wall instead. There were so many things he wanted to say, but he wasn’t an eloquent man, much more at ease showing his feelings physically rather than through conversation. So he warred with himself, willing himself to say what he wanted to say, but finding himself unable.
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Saga
Jan 17, 2021 20:59:58 GMT
Post by Red Irish Dragon on Jan 17, 2021 20:59:58 GMT
“Ah…” Arlan noted with what almost looked like a drunk smile as the bottle was handed to him, eyes half closed more to keep the world from spinning than anything else. “Tapadh leat,” he said in thanks, willing to put the one hand back to support him as he tilted the bottle up, taking several long, eager gulps.
The world only swayed a little bit this time as his head came down, licking his lips as Fell spoke, nodding slowly. Any faster would make things worse. “Mm. She’s a fine horse,” he murmured, surprisingly calm in the situation. Another careful if eager drink, this time wiping his lips on the back of his hand. “Ah… tha an stuth sin math,” he went on appreciatively, falling more into his native Gaelic than usual. It was easier, when things were so likely to spin.
But even Arlan could tell there was something amiss, in spite of what he was ignoring of his own questions. “Your face is as long as Magnhild’s,” he finally remarked, that same sort of crooked smile as that day on the dock, when things hadn’t gotten complicated yet between them. “Say what you have to say. Or-“ Here Arlan paused, having shook his head a little too hard and so needed to recover from a momentary wince. “Just show me what you want.”
(*that stuff is good)
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Saga
Jan 19, 2021 22:33:56 GMT
Post by Kelathi on Jan 19, 2021 22:33:56 GMT
Fell paused, Arlan calling him out on his brooding, dragging him from his tumultuous thoughts to face the man. Then, he did something surprising. The proud warrior, the giant, the man whom had cleaved the skulls of many and kidnapped Arlan… stood up, moved before the red-head, and then kneeled on the floor before him, head bowed.
“I’ve failed you.” He murmured, his voice rumbling with regret. “I should have protected you.” The pain was clear in his voice, as well as an underlying sense of anger. Anger at himself. “I’m… not worthy of you.”
Fell did not even kneel to his Earl, but here he was, kneeling to a slave. But Arlan was not just a slave, anymore, was he?
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Saga
Jan 20, 2021 1:50:17 GMT
Post by Red Irish Dragon on Jan 20, 2021 1:50:17 GMT
Arlan stared blankly at Fell as he spoke, the lighthearted smile giving way to confusion. He was hallucinating… that had to be it. Either he’d already had too much mead, or there were mushrooms of some sort in it, or-or something…
After a few moments of intense study, to make sure he was actually seeing Fell kneeling before him, Arlan unexpectedly rushed to drag the Viking back up, grabbing his shirt in an attempt to haul him up bodily. This was enough to make him dizzily sit back again, cursing sharply as he closed his eyes, willing the world to level out quickly. But his expression had been quite clear as he pulled Fell up. Despite the fact that he was trying to seduce Fell, to make him blind to his desire to run and be free… despite the fact that it was Fell’s fault he was there at all… seeing him kneeling to him felt… wrong.
“Never,” Arlan began sharply, forcing his eyes to open again, “Do that again.” The order was the most forceful thing he had said, dropping any pretense he might have been holding with the Viking. Another wince as he recovered from his headlong rush to stop Fell, Arlan took a deep breath to calm himself and shake off the uneasy feeling. “You might have forgotten, but I’m a warrior,” he added, meeting Fell’s surprised gaze levelly. “I can protect myself.”
Arlan’s voice never wavered, his gaze steady, even as he felt a lump in his chest at the idea that he hadn’t protected himself from something. But his eyes finally moved to the wall behind Fell, covered in weapons and shields. “If you really want to help me, then give me equal footing.”
The request was obvious. And for once, Arlan wasn’t really thinking about how it would help him escape.
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Saga
Jan 21, 2021 23:09:24 GMT
Post by Kelathi on Jan 21, 2021 23:09:24 GMT
Fell was not sure what he had been expecting Arlan to do, but for him to drag him bodily up would certainly have been on the bottom of the list. It was true, Fell had not considered at all that Arlan had been a warrior, or even that he still was, just in different garb. It suddenly occurred to him that he would feel the same, had he been captured. He had not treated the man with respect. That was neither here nor there when Arlan had just been a slave, but now, it seemed to him that everything was different.
An armed slave? It was unheard of. Even so, Arlan was right, he needed some kind of defence.
At first, it looked as if Fell was going to deny the slave’s request, as he took a few steps away, a hand running over his face, looking weary. Then, with a sigh, he motioned towards the weapons, looking defeated. “Take what you want.” He didn’t know what to think anymore, what to say, what to do. He wasn’t sure where either of them stood. Was he Arlan’s master? Was this man his slave? Or where they something more? Had anything actually changed at all, or was he just creating it all in his mind? This man had quite literally brought him to his knees, without even trying. How did it get to this point, where Fell quite literally hung on every one of his words, certain that if he were put in such a position, he would quite happily give his up life for him?
Was it all an illusion?
He was confused. He didn’t know how to respond to Arlan, and he was also taken aback by his own actions. He needed time to think, time to reclaim himself.
“Take what you want.” He repeated, firmer, turning to the door and intending to leave, hoping to reorder his thoughts.
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Saga
Jan 22, 2021 6:17:30 GMT
Post by Red Irish Dragon on Jan 22, 2021 6:17:30 GMT
Whether or not he accepted his request, Arlan was simply glad to see Fell off his knees. Which of course was ludicrous; he was the man’s slave, no matter how Fellbjorn might be torn on the concept. Even if the Viking didn’t see him as such anymore, others did. The whole village did.
He literally had the man at his feet, broken from whatever had or hadn’t happened to Arlan… and Arlan had given it up.
It was something that he would consider later, question his hasty actions and wonder what had possessed him to give up such an opportunity. Fell had once offered him anything he wanted, and Arlan had used it for an innocent set of clothes. Who knew how far he could press his luck now. But for now, the thought of not being defenseless appealed more than anything else.
Well… almost.
“What I want…” Arlan began, pausing as his own voice startled him, a concern that Fell would just walk out the door. A deep breath, steadying and yet a surrender. “Right now, I don’t want... to be alone.”
It was the closest admission he would make to what had happened, or almost happened, but the sober look in his eyes showed that it was a need, not just a want.
He just couldn’t say that yet.
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Saga
Jan 23, 2021 1:45:24 GMT
Post by Kelathi on Jan 23, 2021 1:45:24 GMT
Fellbjorn fully intended to leave. He needed fresh air, to clear his head, to think. But, as always, he found himself falling prey to Arlan’s whims, unable to refuse him anything. So he had paused, torn but only for a moment, before turning back to the man and joining him, as had been requested.
He may be a warrior, but he was weak when it came to Arlan.
***
A few days later, Fell found himself at the whims of someone else. But this man’s word could not simply be ignored, no matter how much Fell wanted to fight against it. In this case, it was the word of Earl Eirik.
Normally, suggestions of a raid had no shortage of men wanting to join, to whet their swords with blood and their appetites with treasure, for the exploration of new lands or the raiding of other Viking villages. Fellbjorn had once been one of those men, but his lust for fighting had only waned over the years. Now, with what had happened to Arlan so fresh on his mind, he was loathe to go anywhere. But Eirik, strangely, had insisted that Fell lead the raiding party, and he could hardly refuse. So he had made preparations, arranging enough food for a week, picking the men he intended to travel with, mostly volunteers that he knew, some that he did not- but not without making additional preparations for the situation back at home.
Baldur was not impressed with such preparations when it involved himself.
“I don’t understand! After what you did to Torsten I don’t think he’s going to try anything again.” Baldur had argued. But Fell had been persuasive, and despite himself, Baldur had agreed. He would stay behind, and keep an eye on Arlan. Discreetly, Fellbjorn had pressed, knowing that the man would not take kindly to knowing that Baldur had been secretly appointed as his bodyguard. It was not that Fell thought the man could not fight, but rather, Baldur’s presence alone would be enough to dissuade most looking for trouble. “You better bring me back some good treasure! Maybe a slave, a pretty little blonde.” The warrior had added, hopefully, and then that had been the end of the discussion.
Fell had yet to tell Arlan about his plans to set sail, but he was certain the slave knew, the talk was all about the village. Whilst the warrior had made it no secret, he had been avoiding broaching the subject with the slave, his thoughts still a mess, and unsure how to approach it, what to say, or even if he needed to say anything at all. He was afraid to do, or say the wrong thing again, although of course he would not admit this to himself, convincing himself instead that his silence was accidental. After all, he had been busy the last few days getting everything ready, seeing to the boat they would take and preparing the food, and Arlan had been spending so much time with Epona- they had hardly seen each other.
And today, in the next hour in fact, they would set sail. He had said his goodbye to his sister and her children in privacy, but here, families hung around the docks, kissing loved ones goodbye, exchanging keepsakes that promised the carrier safely. Fell tightened his hand around the trinket, staring out at the ocean, his arms folded across his broad chest. The fact that he had made such an item suggested that he had hoped Arlan would be here, despite everything. He felt foolish now. Didn’t the man constantly remind him, that he was just his slave? Why should he want to come and wish him safe travel? Why should he care, if the warrior lived or died?
An urge gripped him to drop the item into the water, but he was superstitious enough not to. That would be worse than not giving it to Arlan. So, he waited for his men to finish their goodbyes, certain by now that he was to embark on his travels without a a final word from the man, convincing himself that things were as they should be.
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Saga
Jan 23, 2021 3:06:52 GMT
Post by Red Irish Dragon on Jan 23, 2021 3:06:52 GMT
It had been an odd few days. Arlan had busied himself with Magnhild, and in general avoiding almost everyone of the village, still finding himself spooked by silhouettes he couldn’t fully identify. The only thing that seemed to settle him was knowing he had a hunting knife, courtesy of Fellbjorn’s generous offer to take what he wanted. He had to keep up a pretense, of course, and picked things that anyone would need for hunting, including a longbow and arrows - a valid excuse to be armed. He’d nearly drooled over some of the swords and axes, feeling an ache in his fingers to pick up such a fine weapon again, but he had managed to resist the urge.
Well… outside of the longhouse, anyway. Fell might have noticed that one sword had been put back at an angle one morning, after a new nick had suddenly appeared in the table.
When he wasn’t visibly working with Magnhild, Arlan had been focusing on retraining his hands and body to holding a weapon, realizing with alarming speed how rusty he had become. To be fair, he hadn’t held a real weapon for years - not since he was captured. No abbey would arm its slaves…
But what had been perhaps the oddest thing about those few days had been Arlan himself. Most of the time, he’d wake first and start making his way out, leaving Fell behind. Those mornings, even if he seemed to rouse first, he would just stay there as long as Fell remained. Never did he argue when Fell would get up, nor did he ask him to stay. He simply… didn’t leave first anymore.
That morning hadn’t been any different, although Arlan had wondered how long Fell had been awake as they laid in the big bed, since it seemed to be longer than usual. Not that he minded… but in the end they had both gotten up, Fell going about his usual business, and Arlan his.
At least, that seemed to be what happened. Arlan had noticed Baldur watching him working with Magnhild, making his way over when his curiosity got the better of him. “Slepnir is doing well!” Baldur teased, a grin on his face even as the horse that had nearly struck him sniffed hesitantly at his form leaning against the fence. “Surprised to see you here,” Arlan noted, eyeing him a little warily. Baldur took it in stride, shrugging. “Wanted to avoid the crowds,” he replied evenly, although he began to smirk a little at Arlan’s confused expression as he caught on before the Celt.
“Crowds? For what?”
“The raiding party. Fellbjorn’s leaving in an hour.”
He started laughing at Arlan’s wide eyed blink of surprise, which turned into a roar as Arlan cursed, jumped the fence and started running. It didn’t take the taller man long to catch up, but his pace was slowed as Arlan’s limp took over, dragging him down to a fast walk. The Viking surprisingly didn’t remark on their speed as they went, leading the way back down to the docks with an easy stride. He seemed curious as to why the limp was suddenly getting worse, but made no comment.
With Baldur’s help, Arlan made it to the docks in time, able to see some of the final preparations starting. Seeing Fell facing the ocean, he had started to run again, making it onto the dock and past some of the last supplies to be loaded. “Fellbjorn!” he called out, but at seeing the other turn he had hesitated, pointedly ignoring a few curious looks thrown his way. He finished coming up to the edge of the ship with his limp once more making his step heavy, and he seemed uncertain what to say now that he was there. Last time Fell had left, Arlan had watched from a distance. This time…
“While you’re out there, try not to get killed,” he finally decided to say, something a little more neutral than just be careful.
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