Hall of Flames | 𝐕𝐈𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒

20

[ 4 x 17 ]

The Great Army 

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Ubbe hadn't stopped thinking of his sister since his little brother told him about the arrow that was put in her belly. He knew she was strong, but some wounds people didn't overcome and he hated that he wasn't able to be with her. If she was even still alive, a small voice whispered at the back of his head, reminding him of the very real possibility that she could be dead. 

But he didn't want to accept that. His little sister couldn't be dead, it's not allowed. He remembered when she was learning to ride a horse and how terrified she was, Tyra only got on when he promised to ride with her. It didn't matter that he was only around three years older than her, she always saw him as this protector and Ubbe would never forget how important that made him feel. Something about being loved by his blonde little sister always made you feel special. 

She wasn't the sweetest girl and definitely not the nicest, but in no way did she deserve to die so young. She hadn't even reached twenty years old. The more he thought about his sister the angrier he became, his fist clenched around his cup and his eyes seemed to stare at the band on his wrist forever. 

He continued to think about the roles he had played in her life, protector, brother, friend. He wanted to make more memories with his sister, he wanted her to live and have a family of her own. Not die alone in a land she didn't know. 

So he didn't want to consider the possibility that he would never see her again because those thoughts were far too dark. 

"That is my knife." 

Ubbe's train of thought was broken by Ivar speaking. He sat with his two younger brothers in their field house, far away from Lagertha, her shield maidens and her fortification of Kattegat. 

Sigurd's eyes flicked up from his whittling at the door to assess Ivar, a moment later he continued hacking at the wood whilst coming inside and shutting the door. The youngest brother's head turned to the side and his glare settled on his brother. "That is my knife."

"No, it is not." Sigurd retorted coming to sit down on a stool. Ubbe's attention flicked up to stare between his younger brothers. 

Ivar held out his hand to his brother who now sat at the other end of the table, "Give it to me."

"You're crazy. It's not your knife." Sigurd scoffed, "Father gave me this knife." His tone was stern and he continued to whittle the short piece of wood in his hand.