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'So let mercy come and wash away'
Watching from a high tower, Othelia's eyes were wide as she spied the Norsemen's who had entered her hometown of York. She had been stupid and snuck back wanting to see what all the fuss was about. Now as she gazed out of the window, she realised that she'd made a grave mistake. None of these Norse men or woman seemed to be concerned about who they were slaughtering, men, women and children.
Fixing her small tiara that laid upon her raven hair, she observed a Saxon who was thin but strong. His hair was a light brown and pulled away from his pale face. Her eyes were fixated on the braids that were lining his hair, she wished she could do that to her own hair. She noticed the way in which he swung his sword with such ease, such a ferocity that it took only one blow to kill anyone who stood in his way.
For a second, she was so intrigued by his actions, she almost missed him looking up at her. The eye contact they made was brief before she saw a smirk on his lips. Othelia backed away from the window, she really had made a big mistake coming here to watch.
All she needed to do was find somewhere to hide. Her eyes moved around the room quickly, she could hear footsteps in the house, she was running out of time. Gripping the handle to the secret door, she pulled it open ducking down as she headed inside, she closed the door behind herself as she took the secret passage way through the home. She was grateful that all passageways led to the church, the only place she might find sanctuary.
Breaking into a run, she ignored any sounds she thought she heard only stopping when she got to the church secret door. In her panic, her tiara had fallen from her head, but she refused to stop to get it, she didn't have time. The noise from the other side of the door sounded much worse, her hands shook as she slipped the door open slightly.
The scene in front of her made her feel physically sick.
The Vikings were slaughtering the towns people and the priest. She noted the two nuns, one of which was dragged away, the second who fell into a man's arms before he laid her on the ground. She was confused by his actions but he was blocking her view for a moment.
Behind her, she heard a noise before a voice spoke to her. Othelia looked back at the man who had intrigued her, making a decision, she broke out of the small passageway only to be grabbed by the Norseman who had laid the nun on the ground.
Thrashing around in his arms, she knew she was not getting away from here, not alive.
"Who do we have here?" The Saxon spoke in a way she could understand him.
Othelia refused to answer, deciding to stand still now and take her death as a Princess would.
The man who had been chasing her came out the door. "Brother," the man who was holding her still greeted the man before his eyes looked at the jewelled tiara in his hands. "Where did you get that?"
Walking closer to her, the younger of the two men took the strange woman in. "She is the Princess."
"The King has gone and taken his family with him," the other answered as she kept still in his grip. She noticed his fingers were digging into her arms, she was sure it would leave bruises if she made it out of her. "Find Ivar."
Othelia looked up at the man who had spoken. She remembered Ivar very well. He had played chess with her brother, she remembered how her brother spoke about him for weeks after he left. She had watched the two of them play, intrigued by how he was still alive, after all, cripples weren't meant to survive.
"Whatever happens to her," the follower spoke with a smirk. "She's mine. No one touches her until I've had my turn."
Her eyes watched him walk away, she was well aware of what he meant. She was not an idiot. All she wanted was to survive. She would do whatever she needed to do if it meant living.
She was patient as they awaited Ivar's presence. Her eyes cast over at him, she knew it was him before he got to her. The cripple dragged himself along the ground angrily as he approached her. "Of course she is the Princess! Princess Othelia." Ivar nodded as he looked at Othelia before looking at the man who was holding her. "Brother, take our guest back. We must make sure she was not harmed."
Ivar was much different to the man she had met all those years ago. He was a mere boy then, now he was certainly a man and held some sway here among the people surrounding him. He recognised her instantly, no one else had the Princess' jet black hair and pale skin, something he had noticed about her when he last saw her.
"I'll take her!" The other one grabbed her from the eldest man's grip. "It is me who found her."
Ivar looked up at the Princess before looking at the man who wanted to escort her. "Hvitserk, she is NOT to be harmed!"
Othelia snatched her tiara back with her left hand before placing it back on her head. She was going to walk out of this church with pride, she wanted them to know that she was here if she was here too.
Hvitserk smirked to himself as he dragged her by the right arm. She looked at the people who had been her father's loyal followers, there were bodies scattered across the ground, blood every where. Othelia managed to swallow back the bile that rose in her throat.
"What exactly do you think kidnapping me is going to achieve?" She surprised the man who stopped walking to look at her. Hvitserk studied her, something about her was different to all the other women he had met. Her dark hair was perfectly straight and framed around her face, her eyes were a shade of grey with flecks of blue.
"You speak our language?"
Rolling her eyes, she ripped her arm from his grip. "Yes, I understand every word." She smoothed her arm of her black dress. "I can walk myself, thank you."
The Ragnarsson looked at her with raised eyebrows. "It seems you are going to be a worthy prize."
Othelia walked alongside the young man, her head was held high as she kept her composure. She was sure her time with the Viking's was not going to be pleasant, but it was something she had brought upon herself.
