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Althena had often faced troubling situations, but this by far was the worst. In the weeks that had passed, she had learned much about these heathens and their way of life but every day she wondered why she even bothered. As each day withered away, she realised that she would never be free. There was no happy ending, of that she was certain.
As she had spent more time with them all, she had gotten to know each of the brothers. She'd decided that she didn't like Ivar, and she supposed he felt the same. Perhaps she could empathize with his pain and his situation, but the two were almost polar opposites and as things stood they did not see eye to eye. He loved his Gods as she loved hers, he was cruel as she was kind. It seemed in every way they differed and neither could quite understand the other.
Hvitserk, she had decided, was more approachable. He wasn't standoffish as his younger brother was and, despite their differing beliefs, she didn't mind him.
And then there was Ubbe, her now husband. The first night that she'd arrived, she was both terrified and enraged, and she believed that he could tell. Nevertheless, he treated her with respect - far more than she had expected - and kindness. It was difficult to hate someone like him, she had come to learn, and yet she still tried. As clever as she was, she was also stubborn in equal measure.
She recalled that night well, she'd sat in the corner of the room with folded arms and a pout as he tried to tell her that it was alright. As he could see she was not a fan of being anywhere near him or anyone else in the camp, however, he'd simply given her the bed and slept on the floor next to it. At least then he could keep her safe without having to worry about her stabbing him in the middle of the night. Which she had considered doing on more than one occasion.
She hated to admit it, as she lay there comfortable, but she almost felt sorry for the fact she'd forced the poor man to sleep on the hard ground. She wasn't sure when, exactly, but she'd found it necessary to place furs over him during the night - perhaps only to show that she wasn't completely ungrateful.
Still, however, she couldn't bring herself to like any of them. They were pagans, they'd killed men of God and holy Kings. How could she ever feel anything but hatred for those that stood against all that she believed?
As for Ubbe, he seemed to find keeping her out of trouble a full time job. Be it her starting fights with anyone who used the word 'Christian' as a term of offence - fights that she couldn't finish - or praying out in the middle of camp to her God, just to annoy people. Especially annoying Ivar.
Still, he tried to keep her from getting herself killed, as difficult as such a task was. Of course, Althena didn't exactly make anything easy for him. Despite how hard he tried, Ubbe couldn't even get her to look him in the eye without being slapped or threatened.
"Dear Lord," She began, in Latin - a language that few here had bothered to learn even a phrase in. "Forgive me for my failings and my sins. Please give me a sign, teach me what to do and how to prosper. I know not my purpose anymore. I know not these people and their customs."
"You know," Hvitserk's voice almost made the young Christian jump out of her skin in terror. "Praying to your God in a camp of Heathens probably isn't your brightest idea."
Althena looked over, standing up and lifting her chin. "I am a Princess still. If anyone dares hurt me then they will answer to the forces of my kingdom and every other in the realm. Do you think that King Aethelwulf would take kindly to a Christian Princess being murdered by pagans? I think not."
Hvitserk looked at the brave girl with a small smile. Of course she was afraid, who wouldn't be in her situation, but she was strong and he admired her for that. Everyone did.
"Where's Ubbe?" She demanded, most uncharacteristically as she usually seemed to avoid the eldest present Ragnarsson.
"Helping pack for the journey..." Hvitserk explained, only recieving a confused look in response. "To York..."
York? Why were they going to York? York had no Kings who took part in the execution of their father. Unless this wasn't about their father. Unless this wasn't about avenging his death and taking what was owed to them through previous generations. Unless this was about conquest; about battle; about death. Unless this was exactly what she'd thought of Pagans in the first place, little more than warmongers.
Either way, she had things that she needed to say. And the thought of sitting idly by while York burned was detestable to her. If she could even attempt to save innocent lives then she would. So she walked on, past Hvitserk and past the many tents of men and women. She walked onward toward the small gathering that held her husband - and the man she'd grown to loath, Ivar. If she died then so be it. At least her death would spark the hearts of Saxons everywhere against these Pagan invaders. She was ready to die for her faith. Were they?
