VICIOUS [IVAR THE BONELESS]

CHAPTER THREE

Midnight hadn't passed when a group of warriors drunkenly left a cabin in Rogaland. They laughed and incited each other as they walked towards the main building. They shoved each other and their deep voices rumbling in the silent night. Some faint moans was being heard from distance.

"Probably the king collecting since his wife isn't giving anything." One of them mumbled drunkenly. The other hummed in agreement before chuckling. "Which reminds me of that disgusting christian that cripple has brought us." The man continued.

"Wonder if she's even been taken care of." Another man asked and the others laughed.

"By those wimpy christians? Maybe we should show her what real men do. Show her where she belong." The first man laughed.

"Make sure she doesn't get all cocky now when she's free of those chains." Another one of the drunken men spoke and soon their chest rung with laughter. "Isn't her cabin around here?" He wondered as he stopped, his warm breath almost fogging in the chilly night without it being winter. However their breaths was filled with mead.

"Yes, right there. Next to those banners." Another man mumbled as he placed a cup with a few droplets of mead left by his lips. Then he threw it away as he stomped towards the cabin.

Freya was sleep on the bed, her tunic clad body was covered in furs and her unbraided and clean hair was falling freely behind her. A branch snapped and her eyes opened quickly. The sound of men mumbling something closely made her sit up quickly. She reached under her pillow where she held her dagger as her eyes was glued to the door. The voices got louder as they walked closer.

"I'm going to show her." One man said with a deep and raspy voice. "That christian bítch!" His voice continued and Freya swallowed. She knew nothing would give her time to relax when she stepped onto the land of Rogaland. She was surrounded by enemies, the only man she remote could count on was Heahmund, a man she hadn't spoken with since they talked strategies in the tent in England.

"When I'm done with her I will push a cross down her throat." Another man spoke roughly as the others chuckled silently. Her breath was rugged and quick as she got out from her bed. She walked along the wall as she heard someone trying to open the wooden door with some difficulty due to their drunken state. Freya pressed her body against the wall, as if she wanted to disappear. She hardly got scared, she wasn't however the thought of drunk men in group always made her uneasy.

"Just come to me." She whispered, the words leaving her dry lips and her pupils wide when the door was slowly pushed open and hushing was heard. "I'm ready." She whispered as she twisted the dagger in her hand.

When the morning came the clouds was still hovering above Rogaland. Freya sat on a chair in the middle of her cabin, her body clad in her usual armor and her boots was resting in puddles of blood. She sat there and combed her hair, slowly braiding it after she had framed her eyes in a thin layer of charcoal. The room was reeking of the metallic smell from the crimson liquid, it mixed with the smell of the fish that was caught by the locals in Rogaland.