Shadows beneath the flame

The fires crackled high into the night with music and laughter. Elyswith sat quietly on the far side of the hearth, her hands folded in her lap, though her gaze wandered to the festivities. The tall, wiry man who had first captured her at the monastery, Floki, danced erratically in the center of the room. His movements were as strange and unsettling as the man himself, but the others seemed to find him endlessly entertaining.

"That's Floki,'' Athelstan whispered beside her, leaning closer. ''He's... unique.''

Elyswith only nodded, her eyes following Floki as he twirled and shouted incoherent praises to the gods. The room seemed alive with energy. The norsemen sang and cheered, raising their horns of ale high into the air.

Bjorn, red-faced, stumbled down the room with a half-empty horn in hand before collapsing into his mother's lap. Lagertha caught him effortlessly, brushing his golden hair back and kissing his forehead as he fell asleep. Gyda sat beside her, her small hand tucked into her mother's, watching the revelry with wide, curious eyes.

On the other side of the room, Ragnar stood near the man who had spoken in his defense earlier. His brother, Rollo, she had learned. Their voices were low, their laughter occasional but easy. Elyswith hadn't spoken to Rollo since their arrival, but his presence was formidable, his eyes often shadowed with something dark and unreadable.

The party reached a crescendo when one of the men raised his horn and declared loudly, ''Let's raise a toast to Ragnar—to his future and his freedom!''

Ragnar turned to the crowd, raising his hand. ''No, no, no,'' he said, a teasing smile on his lips. ''To friends and freedom!''

''To friends and freedom!'' the crowd roared, the sound echoing through the hall.

Elyswith shifted uncomfortably as Ragnar began walking toward her and Athelstan. He carried two horns of ale, one in each hand, his steps unhurried but purposeful. When he reached them, he crouched, holding the horns out.

''Will you drink with me?'' he asked, his smile curling mischievously at the edges.

Athelstan hesitated only a moment before taking the offered horn. ''Of course,'' he said with a small smile.

Elyswith shook her head, refusing the drink. ''No, thank you.''

Ragnar tilted his head, his smile growing. ''Still so stubborn,'' he teased, setting the untouched horn on the ground beside her.

His gaze lingered on her as he leaned back, resting on one knee. ''Thank you for taking care of my children,'' he said, his voice warm. He nudged Athelstan with his elbow. ''You're good Christians.''

Athelstan chuckled, the sound surprising Elyswith. For a moment, her brother looked unburdened, as if he'd forgotten where they were and who they were in this land.

As the night wore on, and the heat of the fire became overwhelming. Elyswith slipped quietly out of the hall, hoping to find a moment of solitude in the cool night air. She leaned against the wooden wall of the small house, letting the crisp breeze brush against her cheeks.

''You don't like celebrations?'' Ragnar's voice came from the shadows.

She turned sharply to find him standing a few paces away, his hands resting casually on his hips.

''I like quiet,'' she replied softly.

Ragnar stepped closer, his grin widening. ''You're too serious, Elyswith.''

''Someone has to be,'' she retorted, folding her arms over her chest.

He chuckled, his blue eyes glinting in the moonlight. 

''You've been watching me all night.'' he said, suddenly.

It suprised Elyswith. ''I have not,'' she said quickly, her cheeks burning.

''You have,''  he insisted, closing the distance between them. His voice dropped, playful. ''Did you like what you saw?''

Elyswith felt her pulse quicken, her words caught in her throat. He was so close now, the heat of him radiating against her.

'' I think you're insufferable,'' she managed, her voice barely above a whisper.

The tension crackled between them like a storm. Elyswith felt her resolve wavering, her breath hitching as Ragnar leaned ever so slightly closer.

A sudden commotion from inside the hall broke the moment. Grunts and the sound of heavy footsteps echoed, followed by the crash of something falling. Ragnar pulled back instantly, his posture shifting to alertness.

''Stay here,'' he commanded, his voice low and firm.

Elyswith ignored him, her instincts driving her to follow as he hurried back inside.

The house was chaos. A group of armed men had stormed in, their presence hostile and deliberate. One of them stepped forward, his eyes fixed on Ragnar.

''Ragnar Lothbrok?''

Ragnar raised his hands, his posture calm but calculating. ''I am unarmed,'' he said evenly. Then, turning his head slightly, he spoke to Lagertha. ''Get the children.''

The men attacked without warning, and the room erupted into violence. Elyswith darted toward Athelstan, who had already gathered Bjorn and Gyda, shielding them with his body.

''Elyswith!'' Lagertha's voice rang out, sharp and commanding. She was moving toward them, her sword drawn. ''Hurry!''

Elyswith grabbed Gyda's hand, pulling her close as they made for the door. The sounds of fighting—clashing steel, shouts, and grunts—filled the air. As they ran, Elyswith glanced back, her heart pounding.