brave in the heart. vikings

CHAPTER 37

CHAPTER THIRTY SEVEN
an honest answer

After the failed attempt at taking Paris, the camp was quiet. The solemness of death hung over them all, thick like mist. The silence was eerie and Merida took to sleeping beside Bjorn, wrapped up in a blanket on the floor beside his bed.

His eyes remained closed but Merida sang to fill the loneliness. It reminded her of a time her brother had been injured, haven fallen from his horse, and she had stayed by his side. Just as her mother had always stayed by her bedside on nights when she was too ill to sleep or walk. The song set a yearning in her heart. For all Rangar and the Danes had welcomed her in, Merida missed home, her family, and her kingdom. She was their princess, after all.

Sun and moon, guide us,

To the hour of our glory and honour.

Bjorn had proven himself in battle. Tales of his prowess had quickly spread through what remained of the camp. They celebrated Merida too, recounting how she'd scaled the very top of the great wall, swinging her weapons as if she was hitting the ants beneath her feet. But Merida could think not of their fighting, but of the Princess on the battlements. They had failed in raiding the fortress city, the woman looking smugly over at the foreign invaders, and in her face, Merida saw herself. In those walls, she saw Dunbroch. In her heart settled a conflict, one that would not be shared aloud.

Paris would not be theirs.

At that moment, not many seemed to care. Not yet. Not with the wounded hanging on to life. Least of all Lagertha, who could concentrate on nothing but her anger at Bjorn's falling.

"Is he alive? They told me the news." The canvas of the tent was flipped open and Lagertha barged in, eyes wild until they came to sit on her son, softening only when she saw the hint of breath. "Is he dying?"

"I don't know," the healer said.

"Bjorn won't die."

Merida was sure. It was almost as if the padding of a heart beating beneath her hand was matching the thumping in her own chest. A promise. Entwined. He had not married a Princess yet, and had not fulfilled his fate.

"What happened?"

"He was proving that you don't need a title to be a leader," Ragnar said, eyes levelled upon where Lagertha crouched next to their son.

It was Rollo's turn to push through into the tent, his eyes finding Bjorn instantly before wrapping around to glare at Ragnar. His chest was bare, slick with sweat and mud, and he brought his fist to hit it.

"You should never have let him climb the ladder," Rollo said accusingly. "Now he may die."

"Bjorn will not die," Merida cut in, only to be ignored. Her hand tightened around Bjorn's.

"Both of you stop treating him like a child," Ragnar argued, tone never changing. His arms were wrapped over his stomach- he was not worried. "He's a man. So let him be one."

Rollo came to his feet again, teeth grating. "We came so close."

She wondered if he actually believed that- if he had seen the mountains of the dead that had piled before the ladders. Did he care? In Rollo's eyes was a victory worth anything?

"Next time we will not make the same mistakes."

Ragnar only pushed past him, giving no response. His hand was held against his wounds, a gasp leaving his lips as he walked from the tent. Merida quickly followed, leaving Lagertha with her son. But when she stepped out into the darkening night, Ragnar could not be found.