From Cad'Nordium to Anderland and back again (FulMetl x Nihilistia)

[nihilistia]

Radgardt wasn't difficult to pick out among a crowd, even a crowd of northmen. The longer Ionene's golden eyes searched, the more unsettled she felt. His uncle found her, but his good news didn't quell the anxiety that felt like it was trying to crawl out of her throat. But her expression remained composed and she nodded at his invitation, and gave an empty though polite smile. The princess slipped her hand inside the crook of his elbow and allowed him to guide her away from the crowd of vikings and curious Anderlandians alike.

Since the vikings had set off, Ionene thought often about something Radgardt told her. His words had played on and on in her head, especially those hours she lay awake at night, not knowing where he was, if he was still alive. Dear gods, she was in for a lifetime of that. But he would become the reason she loved losing sleep.

When I return from the task your father has set before me, I will not be as I am now. Not until a day or two after, he'd said.

It had sounded like a warning, and now his uncle was reiterating it. She hadn't heeded it the first time, and she wasn't inclined to do so now, either. She could only understand as well as anyone who had never seen battle the kind of toll it took on the survivors. Their hearts, their heads. Ionene had also said something once, about how she'd do the hard work with him for the sake of their relationship. To her, that meant sitting in his low moments with him. She couldn't take the burden off of him, but he didn't have to suffer it alone. He was a frightful man, but Ionene was not frightened in the slightest.

The princess was torn from that train of thought when the older man placed something in her palm. She stared at the ginger parcel as he explained that her courtship with Radgardt wouldn't last as long as they'd initially planned. She understood what she was looking at immediately. Olaf was the first redhead the southern girl had ever laid eyes on, but the weight of it hadn't hit her yet. Her thoughts were still with her prince. Now was not the time for her to mourn someone she barely met. What she wanted was to hold Radgardt, but that wouldn't be happening. Nor would his homecoming kiss on the shore. Not this time.

Ionene swallowed thickly before nodding. "I understand," she said in that soft demeanor that came with much practice. An important skill for any noblewoman. "We bury our dead in Anderland. I have read such is not your custom. I ordered firewood for pyres be taken to the weatern shore," the princess said, indicating the direction. Downwind. "Healers will be along shortly for your injured. As well as servants with roast pork and plenty of ale so you may raise a glass to your fallen. Drink one for me, won't you?" She asked before taking her leave, one for the man she would never call brother. Ionene wanted to apologize, felt like she needed to say something, but all the words she could think of fell short of the occasion. She just offered a tight lipped smile and squeeze the man's hand before collecting her brothers.

"Prince Radgardt—" Sidare began to ask, sounding almost hopeful. He thought his sister was too good for a viking. Mother had come around to the idea, she'd actually been integral in arranging the marriage, but he shared the queen's opinion on most matters and hadn't changed his mind about their engagement.

"Lives," his older sister interjected, knowing it was what they were all wondering. "He will be back this evening to address father. No more gawking. These men have lost friends... and brothers," Ionene said and felt a tightness in her throat as she looked between all of hers, alive and well. "See that the northmen cared for and return to the palace. I'm taking the boys back. Don't linger and don't let the servants either," she instructed the older two princes. She'd intended on seeing to their needs herself, but she simply couldn't be there any longer. She'd never felt so close to someone's death, but she, and the rest of the Anderlandians, were outsiders to their loss.

After some whining from the younger two boys, Ionene returned them to the palace. She headed straight for her chambers. The sword Radgardt had gifted her was out on the desk, among her scattered charcoal drawings. She'd looked at it often in his absence, nicked her thumb on it one restless night. But she went for a little, engraved wooden box on the shelf where she stored the pins Olaf had gifted her, still in the worn leather case. She was saving them for a later date, but tucked the lock of hair in with them. Ionene mourned alone. Not for Olaf, but for his brother, their family. When they arrived in Cad'Nordium, she would only be returning one of the king's sons.

It was a few hours later when news came of Radgards arrival. The princess was dressed for court in her favorite shade of deep yellow. She was in a somber mood compared to her family's sense of victory, one that wasn't theirs to claim. She and her brothers were lined up by age, except for Iretil, only six, who stood in front of his sister, her hands on his shoulders. Ionene had had the good sense to leave Eydina with her nurse. Lurris wore her youngest son on her chest in an intricately woven wrap, fast asleep.

Ionene had hoped the little cry she'd had in her room would get it out of her system. She wanted to be strong for Radgardt, but she wasn't. The sight of the shrouded body made her eyes sting and her nostrils flare and she looked aside as the board Olaf's body laid on was placed down. No tears fell but her composure was superficial and she breathed out a sigh from parted lips.

The princess was trying to catch Radgardt's eyes. Even at a distance, she could see the splatter of long dried blood on him, saw the weariness on his face. It felt like he was the one she should be standing beside, but she stood like she was made of stone, even as the severed heads rolled. For once, she wasn't so shockable. Iretil, however, was distraught by the sight. She turned him and held the back of his head as he buried his face in her dress. Ionene kept him there as the shroud was pulled away from Olaf's body. She whispered something to him in Anderlandian that could roughly be translated as hush.

She couldn't tear her honey colored eyes from his lifeless form. Radgardt had spoken to her about how to handle his death, should he fall. She never once considered Olaf's mortality. She feared her prince might blame her, especially as he continued to not look in her direction. It was hard to set aside the belief that she was responsible for all of this. Perhaps that came with too many years of suffering her mother's high expectations.

Radgardt called him prince and that immediately tore Ionene's attention from Olaf. Her eyes flashed towards Jarl Gorm first, and then at her own father. Based on his reaction, she suspected that he was unaware of the fact that Olaf had no titles. She was sure that was Radgardt's intention. The death of a prince meant something. There were murmurs among the court and Ionene had no intention of speaking what she knew. She just looked towards her father.

"How did this happen!?" Sabir demanded.

 

[FulMetl]

"How did this happen!?"

Radgardt watched Sabir squirm in his own throne. All it took was walking up to the edge of the truth and stopping before he crossed the line. Men and women of the Cad'Nordium royal line wore bronze laurels during the burning of their pyres. Radgardt had stopped short, not actually calling him Prince Olaf, but that's the reality that should have been. With such a minor deception, he had the balls of a king pinched firmly, as if between a pair of hot forge tongs. Radgardt had seen desperate men before and Sabir looked the part. He briefly reminded himself that regardless of how the old man looked, one could not know the mind of another. Still, Radgardt had to follow this out to its conclusion. Sooner or later, he was going to marry Ionene and that would bind him to her family and Anderland for the rest of his days.

He'd just crushed the rebels under his heel and now he had to know exactly what Sabir was made of. For all he'd seen so far, Anderland was a nation of weaklings who crumbled like rotted timber under the heat of battle. Olaf's death was fated, but that alone did not absolve Sabir from the part he had played in it. And now the son of the man that Sabir had made an arrangement with was dead. Something deep within him knew that Sabir, almost certainly, feared any reprisal that father might be inclined to lash out with. Radgardt had a fist full of a political situation that he could club Sabir over the head with at will. It felt disgusting.

"Once my fleet had navigated the more interior islands, we camped in the forest."

**********​

"Here." Radgardt pointed at a particular position on the map, "We'll camp above the ridge line and in the forest. That way, the rebels cannot claim any high ground advantages. If they have access to heavy horses, in the forest, the won't be able to simply ride us down in the middle of the night before we can form a proper shield wall."

"Yes." Jarl Gorm nodded his approval, "But what of the siege weapons?"

"We'll move the rams above the ridge line tomorrow and let our host rest for the remainder of the day. The trebuchets will be more cumbersome and the stones they'll throw will have to be sourced locally. Best not to expend the effort until we are certain that this undertaking is fated to be a months-long siege."

The forest was not as thick as they'd have liked but it served. The bulk of his host slept on the long ship. Radgardt wanted to protect his efforts to spread information that he had only a hundred warriors in his host, so only his vanguard reached the shoreline to camp in the forest. They had to assume that there were scouts. He and Olaf had taken up watch for the remainder of the night.

"Can you feel it, Radgardt?" Olaf asked.

It was always an odd sensation when he knew he would see battle. There was an excitement in his chest, he had to expend an effort to keep his legs from fidgeting and the trembling in his arms. It was like if he swung a sword in that moment, the power behind it might make his arms snap and fly off like an arrow shot by a recurve bow. Of course that was not the reality, but Radgardt couldn't find any other words in any tongue that he spoke to describe it.

"I can." He told Olaf, "Unfortunately, I'm the leader of this mighty war band so I cannot revel in it. My head has to remain clear. Were it that I could lose myself in the haze with you, I surely would."

He stayed awake until morning and to almost midday of the next. His host moved the rams up the ridge and assembled them. They were constructed with a wooden plank wall that would protect those inside from archers and other objects being thrown from the holdfast walls, should the need occur.

Radgardt rested after the rams were assembled and he did not rise until early the morning after. He broke his fast on salted fish and water. Then washed his face, dried it on a cloth and dipped the first two fingers of each hand into dark colored face paint. He drew two lines down his face, from high on his forehead, down over each eyelid and stopped just above his chin. There were many stories as to why one wore paint into battle. Practically, Radgardt like putting it above and below his eyes as it shielded his eyes from some of the sun's glare. The stage was set, he need only address Jarl Gorm and Olaf once more, before moving out.

"Our scouts moved about the land and encountered no resistance." Jarl Gorm informed them.

"There'll be archers on the wall before this day is done." Radgardt said, "Be mindful of them and adjust your shieldwalls accordingly. If they leave the safety of their walls, be ready. If they give battle in the open field, watch for their shield to lock without ours, but no not go until the trumpet sounds."

Having more warriors than two shielded battering rams could hold, made things easier. Those inside did not have to work as hard to move them and their crews could be switched out. The Anderlandian sun was in full bloom of its morning, before they were in the position that Radgardt had desired. They were not far from the tree line. He chose a slow pace so as to not wear out his siege weapon crews. Foreign trumpets had been blaring most of the morning. His vanguard did not twitch until a rebel archer let an arrow loose.

"Shield Wall!" was the call.

"Hold!" Radgardt countered.

The arrow fell far short of their position.

"Even if they had Saxon longbows, we would be outside their reach." Radgardt said.

"How could you be certain they never traded with the Saxons?" Igor asked.

"After I sacked the library at York, the first thing I read was their maps. I remember that Anderland was not on any of them." Radgardt recalled.

The gates of the hold fast groaned open. Radgardt dared to hope as the watched ranks of warriors with shields and tall spears filing out. It was what he dared to hope for. He ordered the rams set longways behind them, front to back. Both Radgardt and Igor worked feverishly on the wheels of the rams, removing the iron pin that held the wheels in place. They dropped both of them to the ground and two shield maidens climbed inside each.

"You know what to do." Radgardt reminded them.

He waited a moment longer before calling for the shield wall. Today, it had tree sides and was back dropped by two, immobile, siege weapons. If the Anderlandian formation, with twice their number, attempted to surround them and climb up the back of rams, shield maidens lurked inside. They would open a hatch and strike with impunity. Attacking underneath with any bladed weapons, they could castrate or wide the backside of any man foolish enough to attempt it. The rebels were nearly upon them and Radgardt allowed himself to feel what Olaf had alluded to early this morning.

"Brace!" he bellowed.

Anderlandian shields crashed into Cad'Nordium shields. Ranks from behind thrusted long spears forward past the first rank. The rebel directly in front of him fell and Radgardt swung his sword down, breaking the shield of the rebel that stepped forward to fill the hole in the ranks. Another spear thrust from ranks behind dropped the now shiledless rebel. The next one hesitated to fill the hole in the ranks. Radgardt chanced a look back.

"Now!" he called.

A shield maiden popped one of the top hatches of the batting ram and let loose a long, low blast from a mountain ram's horn. Olaf's warband would join the battle on the rebels closest flank. Jarl Gorm's warband would move more cautiously. Covering their front and their heads from archer fire, his uncle would move between the rebels and the gate, preventing them from falling back into the hold fast. Radgardt had thought it a sound strategy and Jarl Gorm had agreed with him, but it was all for naught. The rebel formation was almost full routed by the time Olaf's formation got close.

"Run them down!" Radgardt decided.

By his own estimation, three dozen and maybe more, dead rebels lay about the field. Radgardt had a mind to slaughter them all to a man. Six fell by his own blade by the time Olaf's formation crashed into the fray. Men immediately started throwing weapons to the ground and holding shields over their heads. Radgardt's men started to sort them, taking the shields and checking them for additional weapons, until at last, they were down to two. An older man and his standard bearer.

"Heskarl Barkaros." Radgardt greeted.

"Prince Radgardt."

Barkaros was older and each spoke to the other with an unfriendly tone. Radgardt eyed the standard bearer carefully.

"He's your son and your heir?" Radgardt asked.

"What makes you say that?"

"Because he's not looking to you for answers or leadership. He's standing with you in defiant solidarity. You're not the first liege lord I've bested on the battlefield, and if the gods have love for me, you won't be the last. The king will decide their fates. Secure them both, we've two more holdfasts to take in the days to come." Radgardt said.

"Prince Radgardt!"

He turned at the sound of his own name. One of the shield maidens was setting atop one of the battering rams pointing back toward the palace. It was far enough that he could hardly see, but Radgardt could just barely make it out.

"The king flies your father's flag standard. His support for our actions has been made known across his kingdom."

She wore a smile on her face and rightfully so. Perhaps his relationship with his soon to be good father was on an up turn?

Radgardt turned his gaze back to his men. Most were binding the Anderlandian soldiers together, hands in front of them, in a line with a long single rope. Heskarl Barkaros had given his back to Olaf in defiance while his brother took him by the shoulder and spun the Heskarl around. Radgardt was so far away, he could only reach a hand and arm out toward them when he saw the flash of steel. It must have been a dagger hidden up Barkaros's sleeve. With a practiced hand that flashed like lightning, the old man thrust it into Olaf's abdomen many times. Radgardt ran but it felt like he was moving in quicksand.

"No!" he bellowed defiantly.

Olaf grunted and stumbled back many steps. Radgardt finally reached his brother as he dropped his sword and fell backwards. Radgardt dropped to his knees, speechless. He could see Olaf's hands thick with blood and he was struggling to keep his insides from spilling forth.

"Watch out." Olaf gasped.

Radgardt vaguely caught a glimpse of a fast moving shadow. He grabbed Olaf's fallen blade in his left hand, so that the sword was blade down. He slashed across at the oncoming figure and Bakaros's son came into his field of vision, dagger in hand. The blade of Olaf's sword caught the would be assassin square on the wrist and separated the entire hand from the arm. Bakaros's heir grasped the bloody stump and shuffled backwards a few steps. Radgardt rose wordlessly, flipped his brother's blade upright in his left hand and drew his own from its scabbard in his right. He darted forward, raised a blade in a feint and delivered a mighty kick to his foe's groin. The younger Bakaros's feet left the ground for a moment before the fell to his knees. Radgardt felt the man's breath rush past his face like the wind. He placed the blades over top of each other, with the edges against the throat of his enemy. From this angle, they looked liked a pair of over sized shears and Radgardt used them as such. He quickly drew the blades across each other and the head of Bakaros's heir traveled a couple feet behind the body before reaching the ground. The air around him stunk like iron, something he'd encountered before. Radgardt was blood drunk and for half a heartbeat he believed he was back in York, on a Saxon battlefield.

The haze from his mind cleared when he looked back at Olaf. With the threat cleared he rushed back to his brother's side and reexamined his wounds in earnest.

"Oh, No-No-No-No-No-No, Olaf...we have to get you back to the ships and to the palace..."

"No." Olaf whispered, "No healer can fix this Radgardt, not even Thomas. If they could, would you truly rob me of this fate?"

Radgardt tore his eyes from his brother's obvious mortal wounds. Olaf had a wild look in his eye and a smile on his lips, despite the trickle of blood that ran down the corner of his mouth.

"Valhalla is my fate." Olaf whispered, "At least this way, I will no longer be able to shame father."

"Piss on father!" Radgardt spat, "And everyone else who said such. I made you my second. I insisted they pair you with me in the shield wall when we were in York. I trusted you to lead the collapse on the Anderlandian's flank. I name you Prince of Cad'Nordium. Any who refutes it may fight me in a holmganga."

"Then I got everything I wanted from this life." Olaf managed, "It is fitting that mine should end today."

"I never wanted to be without my younger brother." Radgardt leaned forward and kissed Olaf's forehead.

When he pulled back and looked at Olaf, the light in his brother's eyes had gone dim. The dams of Radgardt's eyes gave way. His throat ached from the vibrations of his scream. It was partly rage, but mostly in defiance of a reality he never wanted to face. Olaf was to stand by him in sight of the gods when he took his oath to be bound to Ionene. Igor also fell today so it was left to Jarl Gorm to have that honor. Radgardt pulled Olaf's face into his chest and made a sound like a wounded child. He laid Olaf's body down gently and took up both blades as he stood. Heskarl Barkaros wore a blank stair on his face as stared at the headless, lifeless body of his oldest son.

"Release him." Radgardt demanded.

His warriors did as he demanded, for all knew what came next. Vengeance! Radgardt kicked the severed hand, still clutching a dagger, of the younger Barkaros toward the absent Heskarl.

"Pick it up." Radgardt urged.

Instead, Barkaros attempted to flee in dishonor. Radgardt pursued and watched as Barkaros triped over his own feet and caught himself on a tall wooden post, one that was used as a range markers for archers. Barkaros turned to lean against the post as he looked at Radgardt.

"No please." Barkaros begged.

Radgardt ran the Heskarl through with Olaf's sword, with such force that the blade stuck hard into the post.

"You beg like a pitiful scalded hound." Radgardt spat in Barkaros's face.

He took his own blade in both hands and cleaved hard at Barkaros's throat. It too stuck hard in the wood, but not before Barkaros's head rolled free.

Blood drunk still, Radgardt left his blades in the post, but turned his attention to those who surrendered.

"The maggots and the crows will grow fat from the lot of you."

He stopped when he felt a firm hand on his chest. Radgardt looked down to find his uncle blocking his path.


"You cannot take the lives of these men. They've laid down their arms and more than that, they are the subjects of the woman who would be your bride. We are not in Cad'Nordium. They are not free men who answered the call of a cause they thought noble. They are subjects of the Anderland crown. If they disobey their liege lord, they get a choice of death by the rope or by the sword. This was Olaf's fate, but that does not absolve Sabir of his schemes nor his manipulations. This battle has been won, but we are far from finished here. Do you understand?"

Radgardt understood well enough. They had to break two more holdfasts and once they did he'd make sure his people minded out every precious metal and mineral mine that sat on Barkaros's land.

"You lot!" he pointed to the Anderlandian warriors, such as they were, "Those who speak the common tongue get to live."

His uncle, Jarl Gorm, had the right of it. It was not Radgardt's decision to kill or spare these men, but they didn't know that and he'd use such to his advantage while he could. Six men scurried up and ran to him and quickly confessed that they did speak the common tongue.

"And you know the location of the other two rebels holds?" Radgardt asked.

"Yes! We can show you!" they admitted.

"I know where they are. I just needed to know that you knew where they are. Three of you will go to one and three to the other. You will all have a horse, three water skins and each team will take a head with them."


Radgardt watched as their eyes widened.

"You will tell the Heskarls that they have a choice. They may surrender to me, without terms and face the justice of King Sabir, or they may remain in open rebellion. Tell them that if they choose the latter, that I will be along to break their walls and gates. And if I have to do such work, I will claim the heads of every man of lawful age, according to Anderland's law, who is able to bear arms."

**********​

"Both Heskarls presented themselves to me the next afternoon and surrendered without terms. I was unaware of the harbor that existed on the opposite side of Barkaros's old lands. We seized his ships and sailed the remaining rebels up to the palace." Radgardt finished his tale at last.

It appeared as though King Sabir was listening intently, but looked at the floor in front of his throne while he did so. The palms of his hands lay flat against each other. The prints of his thumbs were tucked under his chin while the tips of his first fingers rested against the tips of his nose. Radgardt couldn't say what was truly on the king's mind but he could certainly guess.

"How will your father react-"

"Poorly." Radgardt interrupted, "How else might a father react to the death of a child."

Radgardt had not expected Sabir to react in this manner. He was showing a side of himself to his court. A side that a king should know better than to show.

"Sabir spoke once more, "Is there any manner of compensation-"

"You may not buy my brother's life!" Radgardt bellowed at the mere thought.

Radgardt and Sabir, neither with their composure, glared at each other for a long silent moment before Radgardt broke the silence.

"But in truth, you are not wrong King Sabir. Father will demand something and these days he fancies land. The provision you and I made should be amended. Heskarl Barkaros's lands should pass to me and without any time restrictions. Before you protest, add a provision in the agreement allowing Princess Ionene to name the successor of the Heskarl seat."

There were no gasps or murmurs from the court attendees and that surprised Radgardt. Father would demand vengeance, which had already been delivered by Radgardt's hand. He would further demand compensation, which the deal he just proposed also delivered. He could have easily propose that the land return to the crow after Radgardt's life ended, but he didn't. It was something Ionene said once in the secret garden, and not just what she said, but how she spoke about Lurris.

She's always cross.

"I will agree to your terms, Prince Radgardt." Sabir said.

From the moment he met me, he sought to use me. I'm just returning the favor. We'll see how this plays out, now that Ionene has a measure of power.

It was a meager measure of power, but a measure indeed. Radgardt turned his full attention to her next.

"Your highness, I know that this did not turn out exactly as we hoped or even expected. Tonight we will burn the pyres of the dead. On the morrow, my brother's ashes will depart for the north. For the sake of politics, you and I need to be wed before they arrive. Their voyage will take a fortnight, so you and I have less time than that. I know that is not what we planned for. You are formally invited to attend our burial pyres tonight. That also extends to your mother, your father and your brothers and sisters, but no more."

 

[nihilistia]

Her brothers all fidgeted through the tale. Mother swayed with Rynlor on her chest, patting his bottom to keep him silent so she could listen. Sabir and Ionene were the only ones still. Even as her brothers tears warmed the silk of her skirt, she could only look at Olaf. His skin was pale. Paler. All the northmen looked a bit pallid to her still. She recognized Radgardt's sword over him. His body was clean and dressed and she couldn't scarcely see a scrape on him. Her stomach turned at the thought of what she couldn't see as his story played in her head in the thankfully poor detail of someone who had a soft start at life.

When Ionene finally moved, it was the subtlest shake of her head at her father's question, that the notion of losing a son could be anything less than an outrage. The way Radgardt raised his voice made her skin prickle. She quickly corrected herself and that was all until her name was brought up. It almost startled the princess as she hadn't expect any part in this. Her golden eyes flew up to the viking, finally looking at her with all that weariness on his face. She wanted to go to him. The King agreed to the arrangement and Ionene nodded at the invitation, petting her brother's head. A fortnight. She suspected their marriage would be fulfilled in half that time, maybe less, and she wondered if they would still see out summer in Anderland. "Of course I will honor your dead with you." She couldn't promise the rest would come. And though she wanted to follow, she watched the northmen go. Now was not the time to test the truth to his warning.

Her bright silks were too joyous a color. She dressed in black and silvers as nightfall approached. She told her brothers to do the same and got the younger two ready in darker, understated clothes, no fineries.

Lurris came to stop her as she was trying to tame one of the boy's curls. "The burning of bodies is barbaric. The boys are too young to understand–" the queen objected and, for once, Ionene did not back down.

"They aren't! Many died for the sake of this foolish uprising. It cost the life of a prince. It would be disgraceful for them not to show," the princess answered. Not disrespectful, but firm. She'd play into Radgardt's lie. "They already think we are a weak and spoiled people. They feel used, and they'd be right. I will not have my future family look back on this arrangement as a mistake."

In the end, they'd all be there, save for Eydina and the babe. Ionene was the first to show, around dusk. She didn't seek Radgardt, but his uncle. Thankfully finding him quickly, she still felt terribly out of place in the viking camp and didn't want to attract attention. She needed a little bit of time alone with Olaf's body. Art was one of those topics she'd studied. Mostly she drew botanicals in her notebooks. Sometimes insects, or birds. Never people. But Ionene attempted to capture his likeness on a piece of thick parchment in charcoal. The way he looked when there was brightness in his eyes and a curve to his lips. She crumpled up a few before she felt satisfied. The smell of rot hung in the air, but she knew his mother and father would want to see his face once more. His hand was cold when she touched it to thank him for returning Radgardt to her.

Her parents and brothers were there as they began to light the pyres. Ionene stood with them, next to her still irate mother. Perhaps because she knew there was truth to what her daughter had said. The massive fires were breathtaking, in a wonderful and terrible sort of way.

Once they were all lit, spires of smoke curling upwards towards the stars, and Ionene broke away from her family. Lurris briefly objected and reached after her, but the princess was already gone. She approached Radgardt's side, looking up at his face, bathed in warm, orange light as she cautiously slipped her hand into his and squeezed tight. "I had the chance to speak to your brother," she told him, watching the flames climb. "I don't know how to be a wife, but I know brothers," she said with a brief flicker of a smile. "I looked forward to a familiar face in a strange place. I'd give my life for any one of my brothers. I'm sure you feel much the same."

Ionene passed the parchment towards him. It had been sealed in melted wax for the journey overseas. "I couldn't see before just how much he looks like you. Like your father, I suppose," the words made her throat feel tight and maybe he heard it in her voice. "Though I wish to never have to see you like this, I know it's the death you all so strive for. I don't understand it, but all men must die one day, and fate will reunite you." She didn't like to think of it, but it was what he believed. Who was she to deny fate? Who was she to deny him entrance to Valhalla?

She spoke little more as the pyres burned low. Her hand stayed in his and her head tilted to rest briefly on his shoulder. Perhaps quiet reverence was best. Ionene prayed silently to her own gods, not sure if they'd hear, until it was time to dismiss herself and take her family away.


The princess would be back, late in the night. After all the years she'd spent staying in line, she wasn't scared to step over it now. It was for good reason. Sivus helped to get her there. Most of the men would be celebrating their victory, but she suspected Radgardt wouldn't be with them longer than required. He was too deep in his mourning. More than a few Anderlandian women had invited themselves into their camp to make coin off of the men with fire still burning in their blood. Radgardt was too honorable for that, or so she hoped as she let herself into his tent and removed the hood of her cloak. No one could see her there.

"Radgardt?" Ionene spoke softly, knowing better than to believe he was asleep. "I know it's improper for me to be here, but I will not be denied," she told him defiantly. "You haven't slept," she could tell. "I wish only to remedy that," the princess said stepping closer. "Drink this," she said, extending a small vial of herbal tincture. "It soothes the nerves," she said and sat at the head of the bed. It was the last place she should be, but her intentions were pure. "Rest your head, won't you?" She asked, indicating her lap. She'd consoled her younger siblings on many occasions when they were unwell. She was good at it. This was different, but she'd try.