#this turned out stupidly long ajdhfjg

[osferth]

shieldmaiden

summary: Eydís has long been the most loyal of Brida’s shieldmaidens. They have always been close, but Brida’s enslavement following their defeat at Tettenhall changes everything. For Eydís, it means reuniting with a boy - no, a man - she never once thought she would see again.

pairing: sigtryggr x oc

tagging: @levithestripper @morosemagick @timetravelingpenguin1066 @volvaaslaug (thank you for your help!!!) @treasures-of-jorvik @1blue-green1 @fallingintomagic

Many Danes lie dead on the battlefield at Tettenhall. Those that survive have no leader: Cnut’s body has been found in the woods, and Brida is missing. Eydís sits awake well into the night, for sleep does not have the decency to spare her from the memories of all that she has lost. 

A rumour begins to swirl around their depleted camp that Brida has been enslaved by the Welsh, that Uhtred Ragnarson had been seen nearby, and suddenly Eydís feels a hot rush of anger towards the Dane-Slayer for letting it happen. She knows Brida will have wished for Valhalla, and he - despite all that he has suffered - did not fulfil that wish.

But there is little to be done. The Saxons have the victory, the numbers, and the Danes have neither. It is with a heavy heart that Eydís sends her prayers to the gods, even though she knows that recovering Brida will be close to impossible.

After months of bleak news, a report of Danes sighted in Wealas sends Eydís all but flying down to the kingdom with only a few men in tow. She doesn’t stop until she reaches Deheubarth, where she finally sees these Danes for herself.

The first to greet her is Brida, whose stomach is significantly rounder than when Eydís had seen her last. She is pathetically relieved to see that both Brida and her child appear to be as well as possible under the circumstances.

“I did not see you after the battle… I feared you hadn’t survived,” says Brida, drawing Eydís into a hug.

Eydís holds her tightly. “I was worried myself,” she weakly grins, although she sobers upon noticing the angry bruises marking Brida’s neck and wrists. “I hope you killed the bastards that did this to you.”

Brida smirks. “You arrived in time, then.”

Despite their warm reunion, guilt continues to eat away at Eydís. “I am sorry we didn’t come back for you. We wanted to, truly-”

“There was little you could have done,” Brida says. “I understand. Please don’t think that I’m angry with you, I could never be.”

Eydís knows she speaks the truth, but still tears well up in her eyes. “Forgive me-”

“There is nothing to forgive,” Brida assures her, embracing her regardless. “Now come,” she adds, wiping Eydís’ face with a smile.

She beckons Eydís into the great Welsh palace, although it has been all but desecrated. Several warriors sit idly chewing on the food scattered across tables, following them with her eyes. There is something strangely familiar about some of them, but Eydís cannot seem to put her finger on it. 

“I came as soon as I heard talk of Danes here,” she admits, watching the men she brought sit alongside the others. Soon, they are talking and laughing as though they have known each other for longer than a few minutes, and the sight brings a smile to her face.

“Yes. They sailed over from Irland,” Brida says, giving her a knowing look, and at once Eydís’ head snaps up. 

She had once counted herself as one of them, back before they moved across the sea. Her childhood spent in Irland is now little more than a memory, although one she often looks back on with a great deal of fondness. 

To now be faced with it is something else entirely.

“Eydís,” a somewhat-familiar voice asks, “is that really you?”

His hair is longer, she thinks, and his voice has deepened. While such change is to be expected after a decade, it still manages to come as a shock to her.

“Indeed it is, Sigtryggr,” she answers finally. “You’ve grown.”

“While you have not,” he replies with a tinge of amusement, and she rolls her eyes. 

“Rognvaldr is not with you?” she questions, looking around unsuccessfully for his brother. 

Sigtryggr shakes his head, regret seeping into his features. “I had no time to go back for him, but… I have been told he is alive.” 

“Did you hear where he could be?” 

“Iceland,” he answers. “I understand he has joined the Danes there.”

Eydís sighs. She grew up with both brothers, and as idiotic as Rognvaldr was back then, she knows the love Sigtryggr has for him. Being separated like this must be a terrible burden to bear.

“You miss him,” she says finally. He nods. “Then, we can miss him together.”

The corners of Sigtryggr’s lips turn upward and Eydís returns his smile. 

“When will we be leaving here, then?” she asks eventually.

Strangely, he frowns. “Leaving? To go where?”

“To Wessex or Mercia,” says Brida, chewing on a leg of chicken as she strolls over to them. “I'm tired of killing farmers and their wives.”

Her thoughts mirror Eydís’ own.

“My men have travelled from Irland after months of battle,” Sigtryggr points out. “They are tired. And where better to rest than here? We have food. We are safe. There's no reason to leave.”

Eydís wills herself to understand his perspective, but she simply cannot - the Sigtryggr she knew would have leapt at the chance to avenge them. “Edward and Uhtred slaughtered our kin. They must pay for that! Surely you-”

“And they will,” Sigtryggr says, calmly cutting across her.

Eydís does not know where this new attitude is coming from, but right now it is beyond infuriating.

“When?” Brida demands.

“When the time is right,” he replies simply.

Eydís rolls her eyes to the heavens. For once, can he not be so fucking serene?

“I did not keep myself alive in that hole in the ground to watch your men get fat here while the Saxons grow stronger,” Brida spits.

“They are weak now after Tettenhall,” Eydís adds. “They will not expect us to attack.” Although her words are reasonable, her tone is clipped. 

Sigtryggr sighs.

“You have a warrior's spirit, and this is good,” he says. “But if I ask my men to fight, it must be for a reason I believe in. They will fight to protect their families, or for food, or for land. But vengeance for Tettenhall... it is not enough.”

Incredulously, Eydís stares at him. “So we will wait until the Saxons grow stronger and risk another Tettenhall, then.”

“Eydís-”

“What?” she snaps. “Is that not what will happen?”

“I-”

“I will go to find our allies to the north,” Brida interjects before they can argue, although her own irritation is tangible. “They will fight the Saxons.”

Sigtryggr exhales and nods. “Then that is what you must do.”

“I will need ten men to escort me on my journey. You owe me that.”

“You can have five.”

Eydís glares at him, and storms off without a word.

Wandering the halls of the palace surprisingly helps to soothe her temper. The noise in the room she left fades with every step she takes, until soon she is embraced with silence. It gives her time to think.

Eydís simply cannot equate the reckless, ambitious boy she had grown up alongside with the cool, indifferent man she has just clashed with after ten years apart, no matter how hard she tries.

She takes a left and finds herself in the largest bedroom she has ever seen. It must have belonged to a princess or a queen, if the silk dresses scattered across the ornate furniture are anything to go by. 

Eydís looks completely out of place in comparison. Her braid is messy, her armour worn, her eyes tired and sad. Sighing, she kicks her boots off and sits cross-legged on the bed, staring at the pendant of Thor’s hammer in her hands. It had belonged to a friend of hers, one who had died at Tettenhall. Eydís half-believed she would never stop mourning him.

“Eydís?”

It is Sigtryggr, awkwardly standing in the doorway as though he is unsure whether to enter or not. The uncharacteristic sight almost makes Eydís smile.

“Brida is going to kill her captor. Will you watch?”

Despite her happiness at being reunited with Brida, Eydís has no intention of doing so. “Do not delay her,” she says simply. “I’ll stay here.”

“As you wish,” Sigtryggr replies. “I will send for you when she leaves.”

Eydís nods. “Thank you,” she says curtly.

He gives her a crooked smile that she inexplicably returns before he turns to leave - and just for a moment, she sees the boy she had once adored.

It is not long before Sigtryggr returns, this time without a word that needs to be said. Eydís jumps up at once, secretly grateful for the distraction from her thoughts. Any longer and she feels she may go mad.

After a long embrace, Eydís sees Brida off. As her shieldmaiden, she offers to accompany her at first, but Brida quickly refuses, insisting that Eydís needs to remain behind and reacquaint herself with Sigtryggr… no matter how badly they have clashed at first.

“She will be safe,” Sigtryggr says, moving to stand beside her.

Eydís merely nods. She watches until they are out of sight, and wordlessly walks away to eat.

Eydís knows she has not been herself since Tettenhall, and nobody expects her to be. They all respect her reluctance to join in their conversation and her wish to be left alone. So it annoys her to no end when Sigtryggr catches up to her as she is about to return to her room.

“Can I speak with you?” he asks.

“About what?” But she already knows the answer.

His gaze is almost beseeching, willing her to shed her cold demeanour and allow him to explain himself. It is only, only because she had loved him once that she lets him in.

“Speak, then,” she says shortly. “Tell me why the loss of our people at Tettenhall is not a good enough reason to fight.”

“I am not minimising your loss,” sighed Sigtryggr. “But if I am to be a good leader to my men, I must be cautious.”

“My loss,” she scoffs.

The look he gives her hints at exasperation. “What use is an attempt at vengeance if it is not to our advantage?”

Eydís laughs derisively. “So you will content yourself with a Welsh fortress, then, and fight only to defend it against Hywel or invaders.”

“I have control here,” Sigtryggr counters her, “enough to create stability for the Danes that they will not find elsewhere.”

“And what about all those dreams you told me about?” Eydís says accusingly. “Time and time again! About how you would become a great warrior, how you would rule over your own kingdom! The Sigtryggr I knew would never settle for this, he would never miss an opportunity to avenge his fellow Danes!”

Sigtryggr exhales deeply. “That was the wishful thinking of a green boy,” he reasons after a moment. “Eydís, I understand your pain-”

“Do you?” Eydís shouts suddenly. “Do you really?”

His infuriatingly serene attitude towards her suffering thus far has not exactly proven that he has even a semblance of empathy.

“Yes,” he insists, “I do. More than you know.”

“No, you don’t,” Eydís hisses. “You have no idea. If you did, you would be angry. You would be raring to show the bastards exactly what happens to those who hurt us. You would feel the need to avenge those you lost, and instead-”

“I understand perfectly well,” Sigtryggr interjects, his voice a little louder than he perhaps intended it to be.

To Eydís, it finally sounds like his calm, collected mask is slipping. 

“Where is your anger, then?” she asks. “Where is your willingness to fight? ”

His jaw clenches for a second. “I promise you, it is there. But we cannot blindly rush to our deaths as Cnut rushed to his!”

“We will not be blindly rushing to our deaths!” she snaps. “Did you not hear Brida’s words? Tettenhall has weakened them. If we do not strike now, then we give them enough time to prepare themselves. This is the best chance we have, Sigtryggr. Only a fool would give it up.”

She is met with silence, and realises at once the truth behind his reluctance.

“You’re afraid.”

Sigtryggr’s head snaps up at this, and he gives her a hard stare. “Of what?”

“You’re afraid of repeating Cnut’s mistakes,” she says.

“It is not fear that drives me to make my decisions,” Sigtryggr counters, but his voice has risen again. 

Eydís merely shakes her head. “There’s no use in lying to me. This isn’t some tactical decision based purely on logic or strategy. No… you are afraid of repeating whatever took place in Irland, aren’t you?”

This mention of Irland is the final crack in Sigtryggr’s calm exterior.

“Then forgive me for not allowing myself to be ruled by my every whim!” he shouts. “Forgive me for not wanting to see my men share the same fate as your friends!”

His flippant language quickly reignites her anger. “My friends?”

“Yes, your friends!” he retorts. “I-”

“They were my family,” Eydís interrupts, her voice a guttural growl. “Don’t you dare speak of them when you cannot even find the courage to help us avenge them. Don’t you dare.”

He opens his mouth to speak, and she hopes his next words will be an apology, because if not-

“Why not? If I am the coward for keeping my men safe, then Cnut is the fool for allowing yours to be slaughtered.”

At this callous remark, Eydís finally loses all control. “Get the hell out of this room!” she screams. “I can’t even look at you right now!” 

Her breathing is ragged with rage as he gives her one final unreadable look before leaving, perhaps accepting that he has gone a step too far.

She slams the door behind him as soon as he has passed through the doorway. Much of her heated fury falls away in that instant and is replaced with grief. 

Eydís ignores the dirt on her boots soiling the fine linen sheets as she sits on the bed and cries for all that she has lost. Not just her friends, her family - but her friendship with Sigtryggr, too. She cannot help but recall the childhood she spent with him, questioning how something so happy and innocent can be destroyed so badly. Ten years spent apart has created distance between the two of them, and she wonders whether it can ever be closed.

As angry as she is with him, she misses him, too. Even when they quarrelled as children, the feeling it invoked has remained the same - it is unbearable.

After an indefinite amount of time, one of Sigtryggr’s men appears at her door.

“You are needed,” he says.

Eydís scowls. “What for?”

“Sigtryggr believes Hywel will return tonight to retake this place,” he answers, either indifferent or oblivious to her foul mood. “He is devising a plan as we speak.”

In truth, this is something she should have anticipated but, with the tumultuous events of the past few hours, their current situation has not crossed her mind even once.

Still, she reasons, this will be good. Battle will harden her weakened spirit.

Sigtryggr’s plan is simple: they will fire up arrows and rain them down upon the Welsh force - thereby setting the field ablaze and trapping them within the flames, leaving what remains of them for his men to swiftly finish off.

Despite the icy atmosphere between the two of them, they silently elect to remain beside each other throughout the fight, which occurs nearby in Dinefwr. As predicted, King Hywel and his men return under the cover of darkness, and are promptly surprised by the Danes. 

Not being particularly proficient with a bow of any sort, Eydís waits with Sigtryggr until Hywel orders a retreat and is promptly thwarted by a second line of fire. She draws her sword and pushes her way through with the other men, hacking and slicing at what is left of Hywel’s men until there is no one left standing.

Breathing heavily with adrenaline, she lowers her sword and instinctively looks around until her eyes finally land on Sigtryggr. Her anger towards him is momentarily forgotten in favour of relief, although she always knew he would live today. 

He, too, is surveying the smouldering battlefield, and she lets herself admire him for a moment - how far he has come. Where once was a budding fighter now stands a true warrior. Although it is a natural progression, Eydís only wishes she could have been there to witness it.

His head turns while her eyes are still on him and they inexplicably share a long gaze, trying desperately to read the other’s expression. Eydís wonders whether it is just weariness in his eyes, or perhaps a longing for the same things as her. The simple security of childhood, the fledgling affection between them that may well have grown into something more had she not left so suddenly.

The moment is quickly shattered when someone approaches Sigtryggr to speak, and both turn away from each other with the same churning feeling in their stomachs.

As Eydís approaches the door to her room that night, she finds Sigtryggr already waiting there for her. Rather than turning him away, she enters and wordlessly bids him to follow her in. 

Sigtryggr begins to speak as soon as they are both seated at the foot of the bed.

“I’m sorry for what I said earlier,” he says. Eydís breaks her gaze from the floor to look at him, her expression unreadable. “It was thoughtless and stupid of me.”

“I know,” she replies, inadvertently making him smile.

“I did not mean to hurt you,” he continues, “but I know my words did the opposite. I’m truly sorry, Eydís.”

She regards him for a moment; his guilt is palpable, the sincerity in his eyes clear, and her heart yearns to forgive him in an instant. 

“I know,” she repeats. “It’s alright.”

A line appears between his brows. “You lost so many dear to you,” he says. “The last thing you needed was for me to-”

“Sigtryggr,” she says. “It is in the past now. What’s done is done.”

All she wants now is to forgive and forget, but before she can do the latter, there is something she needs to know.

“What happened in Irland?” she asks gently.

Sigtryggr swallows, and Eydís feels her stomach sink. Every warrior has experienced defeat in some form or another, but this feels much heavier than that.

“We were driven out of our settlements by the Irish,” he says eventually, staring at the floor. “What you see here is all that is left of us. Many were lost, they-”

He breaks off and puts his head in his hands. Eydís gently squeezes his shoulder until he can collect himself well enough to speak again.

“I dream about it sometimes,” he admits. “Everything that could go wrong, did. I am lucky that Rognvaldr survived, but everyone else, they…”

Eydís watches this brave, stoic warrior fall apart before her eyes, and she takes him in her arms without a second thought. Her heart breaks as she imagines the worst, and tears soon leave tracks in the soot on both their faces. His mother and father and little Ødger, who had been a second family to her during her time in Irland - they are no more.

“I’m sorry,” she murmurs. “I didn’t know.”

Sigtryggr sits back, but his hands linger on her forearms. “Exactly. Do not apologise, Eydís. You didn’t know.”

“Even so. I suppose we both feel like shit now.”

He smiles at that. “We don’t have to.”

In response, he receives a questioning look. 

“At the very least, we have each other now, don’t we?” he says. 

Eydís rolls her eyes at the sappy phrasing, but the corners of her lips turn upward slightly. He is right, they do - for better or for worse.

“I will not keep anything hidden from you any longer,” he promises. “We always used to quarrel as children because of that, and we have spent far too long apart to repeat that.”

Eydís grins - he never would have admitted this as a boy.

“While we have the time, I would like to get to know you again, Eydís.”

“Me too,” she says brightly. “What would you like to know first?”

Sigtryggr laughs. “Well, to begin with, how have you been?”

Eydís hums. “Lonely, mostly. I miss everyone.”

“I do, too,” he says softly. “So, we can miss them together.”

At the familiar phrasing, a smile tugs at Eydís’ features.

“I missed you,” she murmurs, resting her head on his chest. His arms wrap around her at once, as though they were always meant to be there. “You fought well today, you know. You’ve finally become quite the warrior.”

Sigtryggr presses a soft kiss to the top of her head. “I would hope so,” he grins. “Thank you, hjartað mitt. I missed you too… even your sharp tongue.”

Eydís snorts, but his words warm her cheeks. 

“You’ve always been quite the warrior,” he continues with a smile.

“Well, that only took you over a decade to admit,” she laughs, and he laughs too. 

Irland and Tettenhall may have changed the two of them in more ways than one, but not for the worse. Despite everything, the love they have for one another has survived - and no matter how stupidly sentimental that sounds to Eydís, she knows it is the truth.

.

hjartað mitt = my heart