Before the earl

The great hall was alive with noise, a cacophony of laughter, shouts, and the clatter of cups against wooden tables. Smoke from the hearthfires coiled through the air, mingling with the scents of roasted meat and sweat. Elyswith stood frozen near the other monks, her heart pounding as she took in the scene.

The sheer number of people was overwhelming. Warriors and women, children and elders—all gathered in the expansive room. At the far end, on a raised dais, sat a man whose presence seemed to command the room. He was heavyset, his face lined with years and authority. The Earl. Beside him, a striking woman lounged with the confidence of someone who knew her power. Her laughter cut through the noise like a blade.

Athelstan knelt several paces ahead, a rope tied around his neck like a leash. The other end of the rope was held by Ragnar, who stood before the Earl, his posture relaxed yet purposeful.

Elyswith's stomach churned as Ragnar began to speak. His voice was strong, carrying easily over the din of the hall.

"The raid was simple," he said, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. ''The men there had no weapons. They were like babies — helpless.''

The crowd laughed, but Elyswith's gaze was fixed on her brother. When Ragnar gave the rope a sharp tug, Athelstan stumbled forward, landing hard on his knees.

Elyswith flinched, her hands flying to her mouth, though she dared not move. Ragnar's eyes flicked to her, his expression unreadable, before he turned back to the Earl.

''This,'' Ragnar said, gesturing toward Athelstan, ''is one of their priests. A holy man.''

He gave the rope a dismissive push, and Athelstan fell back on his heels, his face pale but composed.

''We captured several of them,'' Ragnar continued, his voice rising as he addressed the crowd. ''They'll fetch a good price as slaves. But what I find most interesting...'' He paused, turning toward the gathered Norsemen. ''Is that there must be many more lands like this to the west. Places filled with treasure, just waiting to be taken.''

The room quieted as murmurs spread through the crowd. Ragnar's enthusiasm was infectious, but the Earl leaned forward, his expression skeptical.

''How did you find this place?'' the Earl demanded. ''Others before you have failed.''

Ragnar's smirk deepened, and he inclined his head slightly. ''We were more fortunate than others. Thor himself guided us across the sea.''

The Earl did not seem impressed. His gaze swept over the captives, the treasures piled in the hall, before he sat back with a grunt. ''Everything you brought back belongs to me,'' he declared.

The men who had been on Ragnar's ship stiffened, their grumbles rippling through the crowd. Ragnar's expression did not change, though Elyswith could see his grip on the rope tighten.

The Earl raised his hand, silencing the room. ''Each of you may take one thing for yourselves. That is all.'' His eyes fixed on Ragnar. ''And you, farmer, what will you choose?''

Ragnar reached into the pile of treasure, pulling free a golden bowl. With a grin, he set it on his head like a crown, drawing laughter from the crowd.

Ragnar's laughter joined theirs, but it was short-lived. His grin faded as he stepped forward, tossing the bowl back into the pile. ''I choose him,'' he said, nodding toward Athelstan. ''The priest will be my slave.''

The Earl's wife burst into laughter, her voice echoing through the hall. The other Norsemen roared with approval, their jeers directed at Athelstan.

Elyswith's stomach dropped, her chest tightening with terror. If Ragnar took her brother as his slave, what would happen to her?

Her mind raced as the Earl waved a dismissive hand. ''As you wish,'' he said, though his tone suggested he cared little for the matter.

Ragnar stepped forward to claim his prize, but as he passed the group of monks, his eyes found Elyswith. He stopped, his head tilting slightly as he regarded her.

''And her,'' Ragnar said suddenly, his voice loud enough to cut through the noise.

Elyswith's heart stopped.

The Earl frowned. ''You already made your choice.''

Ragnar shrugged, his grin returning. ''What use is a priest without his sister?''

The room fell quiet as the Earl considered him, his expression unreadable. Finally, he waved his hand again. ''Granted.''

Elyswith barely registered the words before one of the warriors grabbed her arm, dragging her toward Ragnar and her brother. Her pulse thundered in her ears as she stumbled forward, her breath coming in short, panicked gasps.

Ragnar's hand closed around her arm, steadying her. He leaned in, his voice low enough that only she could hear. ''You'll thank me later,'' he said, his lips curving into a playful smirk.

Elyswith glared at him, her fear momentarily giving way to anger. But she said nothing, her fingers clutching at Athelstan's sleeve as they were led from the hall.

Her mind was a whirlwind of fear and questions. What did Ragnar intend for them? And why had he chosen to keep her, despite her silence and defiance?

As they stepped into the cold night air, Ragnar glanced back at her, his gaze lingering. Whatever his reasons, Elyswith had the unsettling sense that her life was no longer her own—and that Ragnar would never let her forget it.