The farmer's return

The journey to Ragnar's farm stretched on for hours, the rolling hills and dense woods of the Norse countryside passing in a blur. The air was crisp and carried the tang of pine and damp earth, a stark contrast to the salty breeze of the sea they'd left behind. Elyswith walked beside Ragnar, her feet aching but her mind sharp, taking in every detail.

Athelstan trudged ahead, the rope around his neck still held firmly in Ragnar's hand. He bore the indignity with quiet grace, though his downcast eyes and tight jaw betrayed his discomfort.

''You should hold your head high, priest,'' Ragnar said at one point, glancing over his shoulder. ''Or you'll miss the beauty of the world.''

Athelstan said nothing, but Elyswith couldn't help but speak. ''How could he, with you dragging him like a beast?''

Ragnar slowed, his gaze sweeping over her. His smirk returned, playful and cutting. ''You're feisty.''

Elyswith's cheeks burned, but she held her tongue, unwilling to give him the satisfaction of a response.

As the forest thinned, Ragnar raised a hand, signaling for silence. ''Quiet now,'' he murmured, his tone a command.

Elyswith followed his gaze, her breath catching as she spotted a small figure among the chickens pecking at the dirt. It was a little girl, no more than ten, her golden hair gleaming in the sunlight. She hadn't noticed them yet, her attention fixed on the birds.

Ragnar tied Athelstan's rope to a nearby mast and stepped forward, crouching low. Elyswith watched in confusion as he mimicked the clucking of a chicken. The girl's head snapped up, her eyes lighting up with excitement as she whirled around.

''Papa!''  she cried, running toward him as Ragnar straightened and opened his arms. He scooped her up, laughing as he kissed her forehead.

Elyswith's heart ached at the sight, the tenderness so unexpected from the man who had so casually stolen their lives.

''Father!'' Another voice rang out, and a boy of about twelve came barreling out of the house. His joy was unrestrained as he flung himself into Ragnar's arms, clinging tightly.

''Bjorn,'' Ragnar said, ruffling the boy's hair. "Have you been keeping the place in order for me?"

The boy nodded earnestly, his face alight with pride.

Finally, a woman stepped out of the house. She was striking, her presence commanding even from a distance. Her braided hair framed high cheekbones and sharp eyes that softened when they landed on Ragnar. She strode toward him with purpose, and when she reached him, she pulled him into a deep kiss that left no doubt about their bond.

Elyswith glanced away, her face warming.

''Where is all the treasure you promised?'' the woman asked when they parted, her tone teasing but pointed.

Ragnar grinned, his confidence undimmed. ''The Earl took it all,'' he admitted, spreading his arms as if to say it couldn't be helped. "But I found it. I filled the boat."

The woman tilted her head, a small smile playing on her lips. ''I believe you.''

''You ought to,'' Ragnar replied, his tone light as he gestured toward Athelstan. ''I brought proof. This is a priest I took from the temple.''

He strolled back to where Athelstan was tied, leaning casually against a tree. ''Priest, this is my family. My wife, Lagertha. My son, Bjorn. And my daughter, Gyda.''

He turned to Elyswith with a smirk. ''And this,'' he added, 'is Elyswith. His sister.''

Elyswith bristled at his tone, but Gyda and Bjorn approached her with curious eyes.

''You speak our language?'' Bjorn asked, his brow furrowing.

Elyswith hesitated, but Athelstan answered. ''A little,'' he said, his voice quiet.

''Why are you dressed like that?'' Bjorn asked, pointing to Athelstan's robe. ''And why is your head bald on the top?''

Gyda, unabashedly bold, added, ''Are you a priest? What god do you like best?''

Athelstan eyebrows frowned together, folding his hands in front of him. ''There is only one God.''

The response hung in the air, and Elyswith glanced at Lagertha, who stood with her arms crossed. Her expression was unreadable, but her sharp gaze flickered with surprise.

Ragnar's eyes gleaming with amusement as he looked between Athelstan and Elyswith. ''Well,'' he said, untying the rope from the mast and handing it to Bjorn, ''take good care of him, Bjorn. He's yours now.''

Bjorn blinked, looking at the rope in his hands, then at his father. ''Mine?''

With that, Ragnar draped an arm around Lagertha's shoulders and led her into the house. 

Elyswith stood rooted in place, her heart pounding as she and Athelstan were left outside with the children. Bjorn stared at the rope in his hands, while Gyda tilted her head, studying Elyswith with curious eyes.

''Do you really only have one god?'' the girl asked, her voice filled with both skepticism and wonder.

Elyswith swallowed hard, unsure how to answer. The journey had only just begun, but she could already feel the threads of her old life unraveling.