Chains and choices

The trek to Kattegat had been challenging. The path was uneven, the air brisk with the salty tang of the sea carried on the wind. Elyswith trudged alongside Athelstan, the weight of a bag strapped across her shoulders. Her brother bore the brunt of it, his back laden with sacks, his hands raw from the chafing ropes he carried.

It wasn't enough for Ragnar to enslave him—no, he had to humiliate him too. The sight of her brother being dragged by the neck like a beast of burden made her stomach twist. Every tug of the rope sent a flare of indignation through her chest. She clenched her fists at her sides, forcing herself to remain silent. 

The group slowed suddenly. Ragnar had stopped, his expression unreadable as his piercing eyes fixed ahead. Elyswith followed his gaze and froze. Two monks was there, their lifeless bodies hanging from their wrists, swaying gently in the breeze. Their faces, pale and drawn, bore the clear marks of suffering.

Elyswith's breath hitched. She fought the tears as they started to blur her vision, some off them falling when Ragnar turned back toward them, his expression unexpectedly sad. Was that... empathy? The softness in his gaze was gone in an instant as he yanked the rope, pulling Athelstan forward with a sharp stumble.

''Move,'' Ragnar said curtly, the edge of his voice snapping her back to reality.

Her tears fell unchecked now, but she kept her head high as they resumed walking. She would not give Ragnar the satisfaction of seeing her crumble, though inside, she felt sick to the core.

By the time they reached the Earl's hall, night had fallen. Torches blazed along the entrance, their flames dancing in the cold air. Ragnar ushered them inside, his hand firm on the rope as he pulled Athelstan along. Elyswith walked beside her brother, her hand steadying his arm as they stepped into the room.

The Earl sat at the head of a long table, coins strewn across its surface. His calculating eyes swept over them as Ragnar strode forward, pushing Athelstan down onto his knees with a practiced ease.

''Ragnar Lothbrok,'' the Earl said, his tone sharp and authoritative.

''My lord,'' Ragnar replied, bowing his head slightly.

The Earl's eyes flicked to Athelstan, his lip curling. ''How do you find your new slave?''

Ragnar's smile was easy, disarming. ''Useful,'' he said simply, though there was an undercurrent of amusement in his voice. ''They're both... very useful.''

The Earl leaned back, his fingers drumming against the table. ''And what do you want, Ragnar?''

''I want to sail west again,'' Ragnar said, his voice steady, confident.

''And why should I grant you that?''

Ragnar's grin widened as he leaned over the table, his voice dropping into an almost conspiratorial tone. ''I've spoken with my slave. He isn't as stupid as their god— but their god is rich. My slave tells me there are other lands, many cities to the west, and one not far from the temple we raided."

Athelstan, still kneeling, looked up sharply. Confusion clouded his features, but he said nothing.

Elyswith remembered, the drunken conversations in the firelit farmhouse. Athelstan had shared more than he should, too inebriated to realize the consequences.

Ragnar continued, unfazed by Athelstan's bewilderment. "There's a large town near the temple, with more temples and more riches."

Athelstan suddenly broke the tension, his voice loud and unsteady. ''No! I was lying. There's nothing there.''

Elyswith closed her eyes and sighed. Her brother's defiance was brave, but it only served to amuse Ragnar.

''You see?'' Ragnar said, chuckling as he gestured toward Athelstan. ''Even he knows it's worth visiting.''

The Earl was quiet for a moment before tossing a small pouch of coins onto the table. ''Very well. I sanction this raid—but on one condition. My brother, Knut, will accompany you.''

Ragnar's jaw tightened briefly, but his smile remained. ''As you wish, my lord.''

The night was darker still as they emerged from the Earl's hall. The cold was biting now, and the flickering torches offered little warmth. Ragnar once again pulled Athelstan forward with the rope, the frayed end taut as he strode ahead. Elyswith walked beside her brother, her fingers brushing his wrist in a silent gesture of support.

But Athelstan stopped abruptly, his feet planted firmly in the dirt.

Ragnar continued walking until the resistance on the rope halted his steps. He turned slowly, his expression darkening as his piercing eyes fell on Athelstan.

''Walk,'' Ragnar commanded, his voice cold.

Athelstan just bowed his head, sinking to his knees in defiance.

The tension in the air was palpable. Ragnar's lips curved into a dangerous smirk as he approached, drawing a knife from his belt with a slow, deliberate motion.

Elyswith's heart raced as Ragnar crouched before Athelstan, the blade glinting in the torchlight. She stepped forward instinctively. ''No!'' she said, her voice trembling but resolute.

Ragnar's eyes flicked to her, his smirk softening into something almost amused. Without a word, he slipped the blade under the rope and sliced it cleanly, the frayed ends falling away.

''Run away if you want.'' Ragnar said simply, his tone light. 

Elyswith stood frozen, her heart pounding as Ragnar rose and walked toward the road ahead. Athelstan wavered, staring at the ground where the rope had fallen.

She knelt beside him, taking his hand and gently pulling him to his feet. ''Come on,'' she whispered, her voice thick with emotion.

As they caught up to Ragnar, his smirk returned. His eyes flicked to her, lingering for a moment before he turned back to the path ahead.

Elyswith held her brother's hand tightly as they walked. She wasn't sure what game Ragnar was playing, but one thing was clear—he wasn't finished with them yet.