Winds carrying the gasps of nature flowed like waves. Endless and beautiful, such a sight entranced the old man behind Halle. Ulfberht glimpsed upon mountains soaring above heights men could never reach. Lakes reaching longer than the pools of water Franks would ever see. Animal callings, shrieks from birds and their sung chirps welcomed the blacksmith to Noreg, second to only Danmǫrk in conquering amongst Scandinavia.

Ulfberht stared at the black tattoos on Halle's arm, he'd nearly wet his undergarments when threatened to not call the warrior Berserkr.

"Do Ulfhednars have the same markings on their arms as Berserkir?"

"We share the same runes that embark on our bodies. It does not mean we are the same shaman-warriors."

Ulfberht was glad Halle wasn't angry at the mention of Berserkir, the one's who'd branded his arms with wounds.

"What are runes?"

Ulfberht knew of Norsemen and Normans but his interest in their culture was limited, he appreciated only their skill in wielding weapons.

Halle didn't mind answering as it was common knowledge to Norsemen, "Runes are our language. Norse fighters and shaman-warriors possess different ones—magical runes. They give us protection."

"Protection from what?"

"Curses."

Ulfberht prayed to god at the mention of curses, his protection laid in Christian faith.

After an hour of constant marching. ”Are we nearly there?”

”No,” Halle answered.

Their path through the woods was a shortcut back to Halle’s home. The warrior knew he would receive an ear-full from his father once he returned. Hopefully, his spoils of vikings would ease his rage.

He continued to wear the heavy chainmail covering him from head to toe. For an average farmer, he’d be tired bearing the weighted layers, let alone fighting in it. Halle trained wearing it daily, never removing armour in war unless necessary and underneath laid a stomach with no fat. Thor’s hammer seemed to have forged his abominable muscles.

Steps digging into grass, an old man in his late forties followed behind the same footsteps.

”How long till we reach this place,” Ulfberht asked for the fifth time.

”Silence Ulfberht. If your legs moved faster than your lips, we would already be there.”

The constant questions grated on his nerves, he could punish his thrall, though Halle thought better of himself. A noble neither tyrant nor a beast Franks spoke of.

”I’d be back in Francia by now and you with a greatsword at least worth more than a home if you’d sold me to my family.”

At times like this, Halle decided being feared as a monster was better.

”Quiet fool before l make sure you never speak another word.”

Ulfberht’s mouth shut tightly, hearing the threat.

Halle regretted owning this frustrating slave. He’d certainly owned a thrall before at the young age of fourteen. When he grew older young women and girls flocked to him, yet he stood unfazed maintaining a frosty expression—unapproachable. Being the son of a jarl had its benefits but to Halle, he solely saw the restrictions.

Never could he become a true fighter of the Hati clan, an Ulfhednar to fulfil an oath towards his long-time friend. A promise made between boys where he became the greatest warrior and his comrade in arms to be the greatest blacksmith.

Unfortunately, even though Halle was respected by the shaman-warriors, he could not earn their marks. Only calling himself an Ulfhednar in passing. His father denied him of it as he was the son of a jarl, he was to learn the council’s rules and let others fight for him. Loathing the idea, Halle wished for an escape. It followed behind him in the form of a man, who would forge his hope.

Danger beseeched Ulfberht the moment Halle’s sight wandered away from him. A wolf attacked, forcing Halle’s hand as he hacked at it with his ruthless sword swing. Dying with a single strike beheaded where it stood.

“You could’ve at least shown it mercy with a threat.”

“Mother wolves will not back down if hunting for their pups." Halle swung his blade to rid the drops of blood on it.

“How do you know it was a mother?”

“I used to have a wolf as my own pet.” Halle inspected the animal's corpse and paid his respects to it. He would not let any bodyparts go to waste.

“You still beheaded it?” The old man felt sorrow knowing the animal hunted for its babies, glad however to be alive instead of the creature.

Wolf carried on his shoulder, Halle held it with care, kill or be eaten was the way of nature. Townsfolk from Francia or the wealthy would not understand unless forced to feed an animal, raise the animal and then slaughter the animal. It was evident, as Ulfberht cringed at the beheaded wolf’s body hung on Halle’s wide back with head in hand.

”Why are we carrying it back, it’ll slow us down.”

”I’m the one carrying it and we Norsemen you call us, salvage any animal parts. More importantly, did l not tell you to be silent Ulfberht.”

The old man warily smiled before gesturing he would keep his mouth shut from now on. Blood stained Halle’s back, the animal’s remains dripped red. Ulfberht could not help walk further behind as the wolf’s dead eyes gazed at him in the hands of a warrior’s grip.

Tugging on the rope binding the senior, Halle pulled Ulfberht forward. The old man winced at the smell of a wolf’s corpse.

Ulfberht pleaded, “Could you at least hold the wolf’s head pointing forwards not backwards?”

To kill or to not kill, Halle constantly thought. He saw Ulfberht’s value in smithing, so he wouldn’t squander the precious opportunity of owning his personalised sword. Weapons were like a third arm for a warrior and would determine if they’d live or die.

In a world where others challenged each other in duels, power was on the stake with each fight outside and inside of war. But it became difficult enduring the master crafter’s quick mouth. In the back of Halle’s mind, he wished he had let the wolf feast on the man’s throat if only to shut him up.

The threat dissipated in an hour as once more Ulfberht asked, “When will we get out of this forsaken forest?”

Halle smiled for the first time in Ulfberht’s eyes, the Norseman grasped onto his amulet feeling the warmth of returning to his birthplace.

“We’re here, my home.”

A bustling town slept in peace within the lands of Noreg full of noise and activity. Ulfberht thought of Norsemen to be filthy poor savages who did not know the meaning of beauty in colours. Here, there were many men and women, children that wore bright tunics comfortably running around in clothes. Never were the colours dull within Ulfberht’s eyes from red to blue.

He couldn’t believe the Norsemen had such beautiful dyes, which covered the carefully weaved clothes.

From all of Frankia to the Irles of England to the lands of Ireland, they had thought Norsemen raided for wealth because they were poor. This contradicting view stood before Ulfberht, not matching any notion.

He asked in disbelief, “Are the Norsemen not poor?”

“We are poor in land, but we raid to gain wealth or our own estates. Vikings are a way of life, not who we are. We trade and travel outside the Scandinavian seas, so we aren’t poor.”

“Then who do you trade with? You’ve raided all of the coasts along England, the kingdom of Francia and even Gaelic Ireland.”

“There will always be people willing to trade with us and you are wrong about Gaelic Ireland. Dublin is safe from us,” Halle replied.

Ulfberht stared dumbfounded at Halle, “That’s because you Norsemen raided and became the rulers of the land.”

“Ostmen you mean. The Norse people that reside there now, no longer view themselves as a part of us warriors but as Ostmen.”

“It makes no difference if you call a Norse fighter an Ostmen, they are still demons of Satan.”

The glare in Ulfberht’s eyes made Halle smirk. He pondered how many times this old man would be dead if it wasn’t for him being his master. Any other Norseman would kill Ulfberht for his poor choice of words.

”You truly aren’t afraid of death, old man,” Halle said.

Noticing Ulfberht’s wrinkles frowned and deepened. Cowering from the fear seeping in his bones, Halle resumed pacing towards his hometown no longer bearing down his eerie stare.

“If we truly are the demons you call us, call upon your merciful god to save you.”

“One does not merely speak our heavenly father’s name and expect an answer.”

“Then your god is weak. Odin or Thor would give me strength and wisdom to kill a dozen men, while yours would let you die.”

“If l was fated to die then I will accept it.” Ulfberht's faith never wavered.

The response was no different from how Halle would answer if he was told by the priests of Odin that he was fated to die. Shocked and thoughts muddled he asked, “Tell me blacksmith. Why follow such a god?”

"Hadn't Noreg's men been converted to Christians?" Ulfberht replied with his own question. It was one that bothered him the most when speaking to this Norsemen.

"Only in name or else, you wouldn't be here right?" Halle smiled. "You still haven't answered why you believe in such a god."

Ulfberht did not ponder to hesitate, he spewed all the warmth god had gifted him. “My God is righteous and gives us his blessings to redeem our sins.”

“You sound as if you are a priest.”

“I’m not worthy of such praise.”

“It wasn’t a compliment, I’ve killed many priests and they all said the same thing before they met their end.”

Gulping, Ulfberht wished he could untie his bindings and gallop away on a horse as far away as possible from Halle.

“Do not speak when we enter the town if you care for your life. Unless I say for you to answer, just stand by my side, never in front of me since it's considered disrespectful.”

Ulfberht nodded his head. The pair stood out from the rest of the people, and Halle was spotted first with his lustrous armour glinting in the sunlight speaking of his treasure. Rope caught the eyes of many, their gaze travelled along bindings to meet a man in his late forties following behind their proud chieftain's son.

“Halle, it’s good to see you’ve returned in one piece,” a kind fisherman exclaimed at the sight of Ulfberht. He smelt of the sea and salt, as expected.

The blacksmith had the urge to pinch his nose smelling the heavy fish aroma but rope bound arms and hands together.

“Who’s this, a thrall?” Children waltzed up to Ulfberht curious to see the man nearing the age of elderly.

They poked at his waist and ribs, testing to see if he was similar to them. It was a first for some of the children to see someone not from Scandinavia.

Not all Noreg houses owned slaves, mainly the rich or those who ventured out to conquer possessed wealth to keep and feed a thrall. Boys and girls touched at his clothing, smooth silk, while others gathered to Halle wanting to hear his tales of the sea.

“I’ll tell my stories after l speak with my father. Children should help their parents instead of playing.” Halle bent a knee to speak on eye level with the kids.

He rid himself of the monster who killed many on vikings, gone was the one full of bloodlust. Children had a soft spot in his heart where regret and guilt held.

Mischievous youths chorused out, “WE WANT TO PLAY!”

“Children, do not bother the chieftain's son.” A tone of fear was imbued in the fisherman’s voice.

He was scared to offend Halle, the townspeople heard many rumours of the man. They came to respect him though with the generosity he often showed. Whispers and murmurs repeated in the mind’s of people on Halle’s reputation tainted with blood.

“Bad children will be eaten and thrown into the stomachs of Jǫtunns, are any of you bad boys and girls?” Halle said.

Silent, the herd of future generations, they shook their heads sideways scurrying back home to do any chores. Fables of Jǫtunns—giants; enemies of Odin scared the children. Ulfberht sighed in relief, he believed the younglings would rip at his expensive clothes with the way they pulled at his sleeves. He wished to hide scars from Berserkir sleeping on his arms.

The fisherman exhaled as well relieved to see Halle leave, the act caught the blacksmith's eye.

Strolling past many greeting Karls, working Norsemen from farmers, traders to blacksmiths that stiffly placed on smiles. Halle stopped at one particular home. A farm laid behind the house holding cattle in fences such as chickens and pigs. The home closed off to the public as a hole in the roof let smoke to breathe out of the abode.

“Where are we?” Ulfberht inquired.

Halle banged on the wooden doors, letting the clamouring doors shake until a booming voice raged on the inside.

“What do you want?!”

A young man garbed in dirty white linen tunic loose for movement. Sleeveless exposing toned muscles of repeated use of strength. His thick beard coated dark black, ashes and soot masking the apron and gloves fashioned in leather. He acted familiar with Halle, completely different to all the townspeople and karls.

“Agneli, it’s good to see you’re doing fine.”

“What do you want Halle, another sword! You still haven’t paid for the other blade you promised to pay. For the son of a jarl, you’re poorer than me.”

“Now is that how you show respect to the son of a chieftain, l should behead you where you stand.”

Agneli froze still for a moment and punched Halle on the shoulder.

“Damn it, you nearly scared the living daylights out of me. You lying maggot mouth, it’s too early to deal with you.”

Halle laughed nearly falling over as he held his friend's shoulder.

Agneli stared at Ulfberht then back to Halle. “You should’ve brought a woman for me instead of this old man.”

The dirty amulet hanging by Halle’s neck stained with dried blood caught Agneli’s eyes. “You don’t know how to take care of precious things, do you? Give me the amulet to polish.”

“You have my thanks.” Halle gave it to his friend to clean.

Clasping Agneli’s shoulder, he pulled on the rope that dragged Ulfberht forward. “I’m here for business. This is my new thrall, he’ll be yours to keep until he finishes making me a sword.”

“You’re using a thrall to make a blade instead of me, the best blacksmith in all of Noreg.” Agneli glanced at Halle with well-warranted scepticism.

“Well, they say this old man has made swords equal to the cost of land.”

Agneli scoffed, “I’ll be the judge of that. This old man looks weaker than the chickens l eat.”

Halle freed the man nearing elderly from his bindings, a pleasure to feel his arms not be tied together so tightly.

“A warning for you Ulfberht. If you dare try to escape or run away, I’ll make sure to cut your feet and hands even if it costs me the consequence of you never making my sword. Understood?”

Licking his dry lips, Ulfberht nodded knowing better to live than die trying the impossible of escaping this Ulfhednar’s wrath.

“What were you both saying before?” Ulfberht spoke in langue d'oïl, unable to understand the West Norse dialect that Noreg people spoke of inherently different to the Danmǫrk and Svíaríki people who talked in East Norse.

“You’ll be living here for now, with this man. He was the one l spoke of before, my blacksmith friend. Agneli will be your second master,” Halle said in the Francia language.

The old man forgot fear at the most peculiar of times. “Here! In this rat-hole home, l thought I would at least live in a house without the forge being inside the room.”

Not caring for Ulfberht’s feisty words Halle responded instead with, “If you can make the swords that are worth as much as you say. I may move you someplace else, but till then I’ll leave you to make the blade with Agneli supervising you.”

“This second-grade blacksmith won’t even be able to assist me, let alone supervise me.”

“Well, this second-grade blacksmith said you look weaker than the chickens he eats.”

Fuming at the insult Halle repeated for Ulfberht to hear, he rushed inside Agneli’s home ready to craft the best sword.

“Will he be a hassle to deal with?” Agneli glimpsed into his house being ransacked for iron.

“So long as you watch over him, tie the man up when you sleep, you’ll be fine. Who knows? You may learn a thing or two from him.”

“I highly doubt it, but how am I meant to understand him?”

“Just scream at him as you do with me until he knows what you mean.”

“I should be paid in gold coins for this lousy job.”

“Catch.” Halle threw a pouch of silver coins and flipped a lustrous yellow coin glinting with the sun’s light into Agneli’s hands. “A gold coin for taking after the thrall and helping him make a sword. The rest is for the other swords I’ve stolen from you.”

“At least you know when to pay up. Good viking I assume?” Agneli weighed the bag with his hand delighted to hear the clinking of coins.

Halle nodded solemnly, “Lots of death, but yes. A good viking as usual, l met a comrade named Arne.”

“Arne, his name sounds like he would have the eyes of a hawk.”

Halle laughed hearing Agneli’s words and stopped when he heard him continue.

“You’d be able to pay me with a pouch of gold coins if it weren’t for your stupidity, which makes you go on these vikings. Your father would give you wealth if you’d learn the rules of the council instead of picking up the sword.”

“Well, it can’t be helped. The sword calls for me and the promise we made.”

Halle returned Agneli's prior punch on the shoulder and ran before his friend could chase him. Agneli worried for the brute he knew for over a decade, as Halle left him in the dust sprinting to meet the last person for the day, his father.

Larger than any other home, a manor where the chieftain rested and planned for each gathering of the council to decree those guilty and innocent. Halle’s father did not lavish in the riches of silk and gold, rather he was better at spending it on weapons and setting out vikings, even if very few.

The defences of many lands had increased and raiding places wasn’t the same as it was three hundred winters ago, since the attack on Lindisfarne. Where past monasteries and monks resided. More chances of success viking on sea, battles could sway at any side depending on who was more skilled in tactics.

Stepping forth into his home, the long-time servant Tove welcomed Halle with a wooden bowl of water to clean his face. After doing the common cleaning of blowing his nose, the servant emptied the water somewhere to clean the household item. Gloom seemed to shroud Halle’s mind entering his father’s quarters. Long since his gaze fell on the blonde hair and gold beard of his father, trimmed as well as cleaned.

Silence filled the room for but a moment before Halle’s father signalled for his guards and advisor to leave the room. Erik Tokesson, named after the famous explorer, chieftain of the Hati clan, jarl and father to Halle.

Halle first offered the spoils of his raiding journey, jewellery, clothing and more he’d obtained.

“Did you enjoy the Danes company on the viking?” Erik did not glance upon his son’s rewards.

“Yes, father.”

“Did you eat and sleep well?”

“Yes, father.”

A plate hard in wood was thrown across the room clashing against Halle’s helmet he wore. Halle covered the amulet at his chest, in case his father threw more things.

“You foolish boar! You dare enter here wearing your spoils of vikings, here when l had told you to stay put. Have you no respect for your father’s words.”

Erik threw the jewellery worth more than a hundred silver coins at his son’s face.

“I had hoped to garner praise instead or your incensed words.”

“Praise? For what? Being more incompetent than a karl? I should’ve never let your mother teach you the way of the sword.” Erik saw Halle hold onto his mother’s amulet.

He sighed deeply too tired.

Karls were workers who made up most of the Norse population, a status above thralls capable of owning land and starting a business for themselves, but to the eyes of a jarl. It was pitiful for his son to be lower than a karl.

“Father, it was a blessing to learn of mother’s skill.” Halle grasped onto his gifted amulet harder, frustrated with the same old tired argument.

“It was more akin to a curse, you’ve even attempted to become an Ulfhednar without my approval.”

“Must we argue Father? I’ve come home tired from vikings, came here to offer riches and silk gained from merchants.”

“Son,” Erik called out with a commanding authority that would make all his servants, guards and people kneel. Halle stood straight as an arrow not backing down at his father’s gaze, never breaking the stare.

“I will not have you leave my reach once more, your mother would kill me if she knew you died because of me not being strict. As punishment, you will not be allowed to meet the Ulfhednars again this winter or summer.”

“Father!”

“Enough!” Erik shouted at his son.

“You were meant to be here when the negotiations took place between the Sverke tribe and the people from Danmǫrk. You embarrassed me in front of all my guests. You’re lucky one winter and summer is enough to store my rage away. Do you understand boy?”

Halle’s balled up hands turned white in indignation. Soothing his erratic breathing, he growled out, “Yes father.”

“Good, l will tell you about the talks another day. I grow old and tired, leave.”

Erik clapped his hands, allowing the servants and guards to enter back to their positions. Halle was about to stride back to his room, but a second clap stopped him.

“I nearly forgot. A gift from the Danmǫrk jarl, Frode. Bring the thrall in.”

Tied up and gagged with cloth, a woman of beauty stumbled into the room. Left flustered, her brown hair and clothing dishevelled. She appeared to be a lady from the lands of North Francia.

Halle wondered how the Danes managed to kidnap such a lady of gorgeous features.

“A pretty one isn’t she, I would take her as my own concubine if it weren’t for your mother stealing my heart.” Erik grinned towards his son, pleased to see the dazed expression.

“You could have women throwing themselves at you if you were to truly act like the son of a jarl as you are.”

“I do not need women.” Halle regained his composure.

Erik laughed, “Son you cannot lie to me. When your mother bewitched me into her grasp, she gave birth to you a year later after I promised to take her as my wife. You have the same look l did many years ago.”

“I will say it again l do not need this woman, besides I already own another thrall earned from my viking.”

“Then take her as another thrall you possess. The more the better. One day you will learn how great it is to be in line to be a jarl. This will be a small taste for you of true power instead of brute strength.” Erik ordered the female servants Tove and Gro of the house to drag the Francia slave to Halle’s chambers.

“Use her as you wish son, but never take her as your own woman. I have plans for you to marry another, understood?”

“Yes father.” Halle bowed his head.

He took his chance to leave as light fell for night to arise. Alone pondering in his room, he knew Tove and Gro were readying the thrall to look as pretty as possible. Charming enough in ragged clothes, he could not imagine how much more stunning she’d appear.

A knock Halle heard at his chamber’s door. He did not let lust ravish his mind, the young noble truly did not wish to enjoy the pleasures of a woman. Choosing a sword over such frivolous desires was more appealing to him.

“Enter,” Halle listlessly said.

Robed in dark blue, face concealed in her hood. Halle smelt the stench of blood from the woman’s clothing, he grabbed to reach his sword—too late as a dagger touched his throat. It halted in it’s piercing and the view of the perpetrator’s face was allowed for Halle to see.

“Slow, I would have thought you’d have better instincts by now. Halle Eriksson, Son of jarl Erik.”

The offspring of Noreg descendance often carried their father's first name as their last name added with the, ‘sson’.

“It almost hurts me more that you didn’t just call me Halle than the dagger near my throat Gunhild.”

Halle did not fear the close blade, it made him smile remembering how custom it was as a greeting between him and her.

“I could make the dagger near your throat hurt more if you’d like,” Gunhild smiled back with a blue line tracing across her teeth. A mark of a true Ulfhednar warrior.

“I’d rather you not.” The edge of the dagger was close to drawing blood on Halle's neck.

Gunhild cloaked in dark clothing retracted the blade flipping it around her hand. “As you wish.”

“What greets you here in my humble abode, Ulfhednar. I had thought l wasn’t allowed to come close to any.”

“You weren’t allowed but your father never spoke of anything about Ulfhednars approaching you.”

Halle chuckled a mighty laugh as he slapped at Gunhild’s back. “You sure know how to give me a welcoming return. Thank you.”

“You are welcomed. I must go now before I’m caught by the Ulfhednar elders or your father’s servants.” Gunhild bowed leaving immediately after saying their goodbyes.

Laying back on his bed again, Halle pondered how slow this year would go considering he could not meet his comrades this winter or summer. A second knock alerted him, Halle smiled wondering if Gunhild was playing another trick on him. Moments since she left, he would not fall for the same ruse twice. Readying his stance Halle said, “Enter.”

The door opened at a slow pace, Halle did not falter. A leg outstretched into his room, he leapt forwards darting towards the person holding onto something. Halle assumed it to be a weapon, in the period span of a second he retched it out of the woman’s hand. The person tried to fight against his grip but contradictory to his belief of Gunhild’s strength, she let go, unable to pull it back.

Oblivious to the scene in front of him, he held a blanket and his eyes saw a woman unclothed, bare and naked for anyone to see. Her hands alone covered voluptuous curves and private areas that made men’s carnal libido rampant. Shocked with the volts of Thor's lightning coursing through his veins, Halle recognised it to be the prior Francia woman.

She sobbed with rushing tears pleading in langue d'oïl, “Please give me back—”

Halle threw the blanket before the lady could finish her words, she was left dumbfounded as clothes were thrown at her.

“Wear them and be gone from my chambers thrall, I have no use for you.”

Halle threw his own clothes at her, he laid in bed with only garments. Surprised to hear the language she had just spoken from the words of a Norseman. Her blushing cheeks caught rosy red seeing muscles any woman would wish to touch, but the fierce tattoos stretching from his shoulder to forearm grounded her down to reality. She lay more in despair, afraid to go outside.

“I can’t, the servants made it clear they would punish me if l were to leave prior sunrise.”

“Then stay quiet here until the sun is high above the clouds.”

She thanked Halle profusely attempting her best to not stare at the abominable muscles of a fine man. The thrall stood in a corner and then sat curled into a ball hugging her knees, grateful she would not lose her innocence. She prayed to God hoping for fortune to be bestowed upon her.

Night grew cold and with a lone blanket thin in padding to cover her body, she quivered, groaning quietly. Too afraid to ask if she could enter her master’s bed, as she now belonged to him in the law of Noreg.

Halle heard every shiver and the clattering of her teeth. Irritated by the sounds he murmured drowsily, “Hurry and enter my bed before you get sick.”

Still slightly afraid to go close to the warrior. The thrall knew she would not be able to defend herself if he so wished to take her in his arms.

Halle noticed her gaze, the same one he would see in the eyes of men that fought him—fear.

Did she detest his appearance so much? Did she think he was a monster about to tear her to shreds?

Absurdity Halle thought, his mother taught him to never harm a woman lest he wish a beating from her. He fondly recalled the punishments his mother would bestow upon him, such as to help the farmers in the period where the scorching sun was highest.

A force to be reckoned with his mother was, yet too soon did Valhalla take her. Eyes staring into the thrall’s soul, Halle hated this fear he brought to people. The townspeople regarded him with respect, but how much did fear reign over that ‘respect’.

None, save for the children innocent of war. He can truthfully say with confidence his father and Agneli knew him without lingering dread, possibly Arne as well. Ulfhednars were the exception for they did not know such emotions.

Sheep everyone was, while Halle prowled like the born wolf he was meant to be. He considered himself a noble, righteous as the Norse myths which spoke of heroes. He killed, but for his people, he condemned the acts of rape even during the vikings. So why was he treated like a fearsome monstrosity? This thrall before him was evidence that spoke of his anger

Frustrated with this woman’s hesitation, he pulled her into his chest. Petrified in his arms, Halle’s scarred hands wrapped around her trembling body shivering not because of the cold but of his embrace.

“Sleep, I promise to not harm you in the name of my god, Odin. l shall not endeavour in any misdeeds.”

The words faintly calmed her and she tilted her head up to meet the closed eyelids of her master.

“Sleep,” Halle repeated.

It was as if he had known she stared at him. The thrall’s pupils focused on the man meant to ravage her and be the beast she had heard many tales of.

He gently hugged with warmth knowing cold enveloped her. She breathed lightly inhaling the scent of a man she never knew she'd like. The captured slave enthralled in the smell of cleanliness, most of the men in her life were incapable of such an aroma. Fatigued, she thanked God for the mercy of meeting this man who became her master. Head across Halle’s chest with a blanket of wool wrapped against both their bodies.

The thrall listened to the beating heart of this nobleman. Terror still ran rampant in her mind and she had many questions, she saved them for another day to silently witness at long last—peace.