Chapter Text
Alfred sat with his legs held up to his chest, a pillow resting on top of his knees to offer support for his wounded left arm. He was tracing a finger down the bandages, thanking God for it not being a fatal wound, he had been incredibly lucky, any closer to the right and his own blade would have gone through his ribs to his lungs or heart. More pillows cushioned him against the wooden headboard, he had somewhere to be, but in a mood that was totally unlike him, he didn’t wish to move from his bed, he was reluctant to go visit the young man staying in a room not too far away.
He didn’t want to come face to face so soon again with somebody who had haunted his nightmares for years. A person who had followed the devil himself into battle, who had come down on England like a scourge after Alfred’s family. They had been determined to wipe out all member of the royal families of England, first killing both of his grandfathers before relentlessly hunting down his father, mother and brother. They then returning for Alfred and his wife, but by the Grace of God they had all survived with the only injury being a painful arm and a few scrapes on Elsewith.
The younger sons of Ragnar Lothbrok.
He had met all of them now, except the one that died years before, the two older brothers, Ubbe and Bjorn were something close to friends to Alfred, but the two younger ones were different. He paused for a moment, remembering Ivar as a young boy who had played chess with him, he was nothing like the cruel man who died laying in the mud. He remembered Hvitserk, the slightly older teenage boy who came into the royal tent with Ubbe, asking for peace and tried to connect him to the young man who was caked in blood, sitting at Alfred’s feet on the battlefield. Neither of those young men looked anything like the dead eyed monsters they had become, and now the older of the pair was just a five minute walk from Alfred’s own bed.
It wasn’t the fact that Hvitserk was so close by that scared Alfred, he was bedbound and wasn’t going anywhere, too injured from the battle. Alfred was sure he couldn’t even crawl from his bed, but for extra safety there were a pair of guards stationed both outside his room and inside. He was under constant watch, totally at the mercy of Alfred and they both knew it. No, Hvitserk himself didn’t scare Alfred at all, he wasn’t even physically imposing. What did scare Alfred the most was when he looked at Hvitserk, the face looking back at him wasn’t cruel like most of the Vikings he had seen in his life. His features were soft, and he had a sweet enough face that was neither too masculine or sharp, he looked totally innocent and doeful, eyes often cast down whenever Alfred was in his room. He didn’t really look like a Viking if Alfred was honest, he could easy pass as any Saxon in the streets if he cut his hair, but Alfred knew all of that was deceptive. He knew of the acts of Hvitserk Lothbrok, they were whispered about almost as much as the acts of Ivar. He knew Hvitserk was often the fastest racing into battle, he had heard how Hvitserk cut down people like the wind, laughing as he went. Alfred had witnessed Hvitserk in the heat of the battle at York, fighting, face splatted in blood of the people he had just slaughtered. His face was lit with glee as his blade flew through he air, to him needless murder of the innocent was no more than a fun game. He had only recently watched as Hvitserk led men right out from the ground, screaming at the top of his lungs as he butchered the helpless men his brother Ivar had captured in bear traps. No, he was not innocent at all, he was no less cruel than Ivar, his acts just as monstrous. So why did he have such a sweet face that drew people in, why did he look like he wouldn't hurt a soul?
Hvitserk was the living reminder of how one should always be on guard for deception when it comes to evil. Ivar may have been known as the devil around here, but Hvitserk had all the devil's beauty.
Alfred stopped picking at the bandage, he needed to go speak with the Pagan no matter how much he didn’t want too. He rose slowly, using his right arm to lift himself, swinging his feet off the bed while holding his left arm as still as possibly. There was a dull pain all the way down his side, it started from his armpit and went over his shoulder, before running down his back in uncomfortable waves and flutters, too much movement made him feel sick to his stomach, he had vomited earlier that morning in front of his nobles, much to their horror. Elsewith had sent them all from of the room, unsure if it was Alfred’s lingering sickness or the pain. He knew this would take months to heal fully, if at all, for his main physician warned they could be irreversible damage to the tissue deep in his shoulder. Alfred knew God had protected him from the sword ending his life, but the damage to his arm had left him as vulnerable as ever, he hoped God would keep him and Wessex safe while he healed. He carefully pulled the sling back over his neck and allowed the pillow to fall on the bed. He carefully tucked his arm into the sling, breathing deeply as he did so. He pulled on his shoes with one hand before leaving his chambers. It didn’t take him long to reach the room there they were holding Hvitserk’s in. It was basically a room fit for a prince; a few eyebrows had been raised when Alfred said which room Hvitserk would stay in, as many wanted him in the dungeon.
Outside as expected, two guards stood keeping watch outside the room, they were mostly there for show, as were the guards inside. They had been instructed to watch over the son of Ragnar and to keep him in his room, but it was very unlikely in his present state that he would be leaving his bed. Alfred’s own personal servants and house aides were allowed in this area of the villa, but nobody else had access so it was mostly a quite job for them, they didn’t have much to do and most shifts involved standing quietly for the hours of their watch. Hvitserk didn’t know this naturally, he was allowed to believe the guards were as threatening as they looked. Alfred knew a visible deterrent worked much better than actual force.
Alfred walked pasted the guards and entered the room. The room was kept warm with flames held in baskets burning gentle to create a warm glow. Alfred made sure his new guest would be comfortable, he didn’t know how cold it got in Norway, but Alfred knew how cold England grew towards the end of the year, it was later summer, but they had not been a warm day in some time, just loads of rain and wind, when the winter arrived it would be even bitter. He had made sure Hvitserk was kept warm, given hot food and had fur blankets. Inside the room, by either side of the door stood two other guards, they had not been given any weapons while in there with Hvitserk. Alfred wasn’t going to run the risk of Hvitserk getting hold of any, both to keep him safe and the guards too. The guards outside the room had weapons but they were instructed to not use lethal force should anything happen, Alfred needed Hvitserk alive for his hope of lasting peace between their people. Alfred took a little glance over at the bed in the far corner of the room, Hvitserk was currently hidden from him by cushions and pillows gathered around him to cushion his body. Alfred knew that sword wounds would be painful regardless of how soft your bed was, but at least it would bring the other man some comfort.
“How has he been today?” Alfred asked in a low voice, talking to the guard closest to him.
“He has been quite Sire, it’s the same every day, he doesn’t really move. The physician came earlier to clean his wounds, I think he’s in discomfort but he wont take the medicine left for him”
Alfred sighed and slightly shook his head, he began to walk slowly closer to the bed. There was a cup on the bedside cabinet, it was not touched at all, he knew what was inside the cup very well, haven drunk plenty of the stuff himself. Next to the cup lay fresh linen bandages and wax tapes, spares in case any of the wounds opened during the night.
Alfred could see his face now, Hvitserk's eyes were closed and he appeared to be sleeping, he was laying curled up on his side but the position of the blankets were odd. He had pulled up the furs to hide some of his face, but the rest was gathered around his legs and the lower part of his back, most of his upper body was exposed to the air, with only a lightweight sleeping rope keeping him warm.
Alfred wondered if he had been too warm before he fell asleep, the fireplace was burning brightly, with fresh wood burning. Alfred considered if he should move the furs back over his guest, he was in half a mind to reach out to check if Hvitserk was feeling cold to the touch when he noticed a little bit of white in his eyes. He was awake after all, his eyes watching Alfred slightly, but as he was looking down he only appeared to be sleeping and suddenly Alfred was glad he didn’t act on his impulse.
He had clearly tried to lift himself on the pillows, they were gathered under him and around him. His shoulders were raised slightly with tension, his arms curling around and into each other, his hands coming to rest in front of his face, where he was holding the furs in place, maybe for comfort or as a defensive position, Alfred couldn’t tell. One of his arms had a dressing around the top, where one of the blades had cut him, it reminded Alfred of his own arm.
Alfred knew from speaking to both the battlefield physicians and his own physician the extent of Hvitserk’s injuries. Multiple laceration to his back, legs and his arm from swords, he had a few damaged ribs and bruising, most likely from being hit with shields and the physician noted Hvitserk also bore marks on his feet and lower legs that looked like slight burns, however they had happened sometime ago, they were not from the battle.
Alfred’s head swam with the details listed to him. By rights, Hvitserk should have fallen earlier with this number of wounds, but some force kept the young Pagan fighting. He had heard stories of berserkers, men who turned almost animal like in battle. His grandfather once told him these men were possessed by the devil, which allowed them to carry on fighting even with fatal wounds. The devil powered their body, the men were practically dead already but the devil moved them. Alfred looked back at the young man before him, he didn’t look possessed by the devil right now, he just looked tired and worn out. Alfred carefully sat down on the edge of the bed just like he had the day he captured Hivitserk in battle. Hvitserk made no signs that he had noticed Alfred, he didn’t even look up, but Alfred could sense the pagan watching his every move just the same.
“Hello Hvitserk” Alfred said, he was sure to keep his voice calm and level. He had no emotion in his voice, keeping it as regal as his grandfather told him too when speaking at Witans.
“You said you weren’t feeling well when we last spoke, so I hope you feel better today. I would like to continue our talk, the one we started the previous day, I won’t burden you with too much, I only ask you tell me who shall be ruling Kattegat now that Harald Finehair has fallen, and whether somebody, maybe one of your brothers or an ally of yours will try to come for you”
The only sound in the room was the fire, a log was quietly cracking.
Hvitserk lay there quietly, every inch of his body felt uncomfortable, his skin felt like it was prickling with sharp little pains no matter how still he kept. The little flames around the room were making him too warm. Back home, they would light the fires during winter when the earth froze under a blanket of snow, but this was not cold, it seemed to Hvitserk the Christians lit their fires even in warm weather, unless this was cold for them, it was late summer here but to Hvitserk who was used to much colder weather, it was far too warm for a fire. The difference in temperature was telling, even the air made him feel sticky and sweaty, there was way more humidity than he was used too, and none of the Saxon seemed to notice the moisture in the air, they just added more logs to the flames.
He had been dressed in some weird light clothing, it reminded him of Thora's nightdresses, it reached down to his legs but all it did was irritate his wounds more, he wanted to pull it off and just sleep in his pants like how he did back home. He tried pulling the furs down with his feet during the night when the heat grew too much, but doing that made him yelp like a kicked dog during the silent hours of the night. His body screamed at him to stop whenever he moved.
His efforts were ruined this morning when the physician returned to clean his wounds, he was joined by two woman who had covered their heads. He knew them to be ‘Sisters’ but he didn’t know who’s sister they were. He had encountered them before in York when he was pillaging with his brothers, he had attacked one once while she was begging for mercy, which he then showed her with his blade at her throat. They had rubbed a strange ointment into his broken skin, something that made him almost scream. Then they spread more of it under the dressings which made every wound sting and throb for a few minutes at a time, it was nothing like the soothing lotions and herbs they used at home.
Every movement caused him pain, just lying there hurt him too as the wounds on his back pressed into the mattress. The pillows didn’t help much, they kept the heat in his skin and it wasn’t long until he rolled off them, only to feel his wounds again. He had rolled over on his side when it all got too much, but that also brought more discomfort.
He had never been in a worst state in all his life, nor in such a dangerous place.
He couldn’t tell if they were hurting him or trying to help him. Most of all, he was tired. It was hard to rest at all with guards in his room, he fully expected them to attack him at any second. Between the heat, the pain and the loss of Ivar still so raw, Hvitserk had not rested at all, he dosed off to fitful sleep when he could no longer keep his eyes open, only to wake suddenly when the guards shifted on their feet. When he did sleep, Ivar’s face swam into his mind.
“Hvitserk?” Alfred asked.
Hvitserk blinked his eyes back open, he had almost fell asleep again. He forgot what Alfred had even said.
“Who is now king in Kattegat and where are your brothers? Is anybody coming for you that I need to be aware of?”
Alfred waited a little more, and finally Hvitserk answered him.
“He had a wife, Finehair, I guess she will rule now, unless somebody killed her. I don’t know who is ruling for certain”
He didn’t want to answer the next part, it was too painful, but he could see Alfred was waiting for answers and maybe talking would make the Saxon go away, Hvitserk just wanted to sleep.
“My brothers, they-“ Hvitserk started, he felt like he was about to choke.
He could see all their faces flashing through his mind, Ubbe’s eyes and his smile as he reached out to pull Hvitserk into a hug. Hvitserk could almost feel Ubbe’s forehead touching his own. Sigurd calling his name, inviting Hvitserk to spar with him. Ivar allowing him to rest his head on his shoulder and Bjorn, being so much larger than him, picking him and Ubbe up when they were both still children.
Then he seen Sigurd with Ivar’s axe in his chest. He seen the sword drop from Bjorn’s hand as he died, still upright on his horse. He seen Ivar’s eyes go still and staring. He felt the pain and longing to see Ubbe one more time before he sailed away forever more, unsure if he were even alive.
“- My brothers are dead”.
The fire kept crackling like mock laughing. Hvitserk pressed his face more into the fur, he just wanted to drowned everything else out.
“There’s nobody coming for me” Hvitserk ended quietly.
He scrunched up his face with the full weight of his words. It was true nobody would come for him, his brothers were all gone, Thora and Amma were dead, the only people who ever cared for him.
There would be no rescue party, he wasn’t considered important enough, even as a son of Ragnar. He had done nothing of note, had no achievements to his name, and most in Kattegat would forever remember him as the sorry excuse of a man who spent his time being drunk and out of his mind on drugs, before killing their hero, Lagatha. His reputation got even more disgraceful when he returned with his traitorous little brother to kill his other brother, this time with Christians in tow. They would sooner hold a feast to celebrate his capture than launch a rescue party.
Over on the other side of the room by the door, one of the guards slowly looked at the other, in shock but also relief to hear the sons of Ragnar Lothbrok were dead, for years they had terrorized this land with their terror and killing, to hear all but one were dead was nothing short of news sent from heaven itself. God had blessed them truly by casting the devils into the fire. The guard was sworn to secrecy, he was forbidden from repeating anything said in the villa, an oath he kept out of respect for both his king and his God, but clearly such wonderous news would not stay quiet for long. How glorious to finally live in a world where Ragnar Lothbrok could no longer terrorize the world, either personally or through his sons, and with the last one captured, that family’s reign of terror was over.
Alfred brought a hand up to his eyebrow and rubbed it, he took a deep breath as the realization of what Hvitserk just said went through him.
“I am truly sorry to hear that” Alfred said, he really meant it too. He took a moment to reflect upon the two men he had come to see as his friends. He would most likely be dead if it were not for their help, for Ubbe’s help to secure his position as king.
“If I may ask, what befell them?”
There was total silence again in the room, Hvitserk sniffed, and Alfred looked suddenly at the noise. The silence lingered on longer, Alfred hesitated for a second, had he upset Hvitserk by asking? Alfred knew personally the pain from remembering brothers who were no longer here. Hvitserk still didn’t move or speak and when Alfred glanced at his face he could see the furs were mostly hiding him now.
“I met two of your brothers when they came to these lands seeking refuge” Alfred said kindly to ease the silence.
“Bjorn did not trust me right away or my intentions but he was a good man and an excellent fighter. I hope he is at peace with your Gods in Valhalla. As for your brother Ubbe, I counted him as a friend, he was a good man. He helped my situation here when I first became king, if it were not for his aid then Wessex may have fallen to the Danes. I will pray for his soul, but I am sure he would have found his place in heaven.”
What?
That touched a nerve with Hvitserk. Why would Ubbe be in the Christian afterlife? Hvitserk lifted his head and his arms, trying to sit up. He meant to ask Alfred what he meant by that. Alfred for a second was startled by Hvitserk’s sudden movement, he was still looking at Hvitserk when the other man’s eyes met his for the first time since being here and Alfred was surprised to see Hvitserk’s eyes were different from his brothers. All the other sons of Ragnar had their father’s blue eyes, but this one had green eyes.
From his mother maybe? Alfred wondered, but then stopped in a second, for the look on Hvitserk’s face was not friendly at all, Alfred could see the rage in Hvitserk’s eyes. Suddenly he could see the Viking behind the soft features, he hid it well, but this was clearly the murderous look his victims seen before he killed them. In that moment, Alfred knew this son of Ragnar would take a lot more work than just kind talk, he was perhaps more like Ivar than Ubbe after all. However, Alfred wanted to give him a chance, there was bound to be animosity between them right now, his brother had just been killed in battle and Hvitserk’s current state was inflicted by Alfred’s own men.
The tense moment was broken when pain flared up across Hvitserk’s side, brought on by the movement. Hvitserk held his breath as a sensation that felt like his skin was ripping open flooded his mind, following that was a burning feeling through his body.
Hvitserk forgot all about Alfred in that moment, he just wanted the pain to pass quickly. He slowly sunk back into the pillows, he gripped the furs and closed his eyes tight. It felt like it would never pass. He could almost feel the swords cutting into him. Hvitserk couldn’t help but hate the king right now, hate his God. The pain slowly eased into a dull throb and Hvitserk stopped gripping the furs, he lay panting, sweat again making his back prickle, his breath coming out slightly faster among all that heat.
“You should take the medicine, Hvitserk. You and I have much to discuss, and you can’t focus if you are in pain all the time” Alfred said firmly.
Hvitserk knew what Alfred meant, there was a cup left for him by the physician with some fluid inside for Hvitserk to sip when the pain got too much. It sounded great until the effects started happening, they were far too similar to the drugs he used to take. It took the pain away, it helped him sleep during the long night hours when it seemed his wounds hurt more, but he became so out of it that Bjorn could ride into the room, waving his sword through the air, dead upon his horse, and Hvitserk would be too out of it to even notice.
He didn’t want any of that stuff inside him. He never wanted to be that person who was drugged up again.
“I don’t want to drink that” Hvitserk muttered from inside the fur.
The bed moved slightly as Alfred stood up, Hvitserk could hear his footsteps and hoped the Saxon was leaving at last, he looked up to make sure he was going, but Alfred had simply moved along to the cabinet by the bed, Hvitserk watched him and as he did, he noticed there was a sword hanging around Alfred’s waist. It was the same sword he had stuck into the ground near Ivar’s body to signal he had won the battle. The same sword Hvitserk was sure would kill him as he sat at Alfred's feet. Hvitserk couldn’t help but to give it a dirty look, that sword had become a symbol of both Ivar’s death and his capture.
Alfred picked up the cup and Hvitserk hoped he would take it away with him as he left, but Alfred did something even worse, he brought the cup to Hvitserk.
“Drink some” Alfred said, moving the furs back and lifting Hvitserk’s head carefully with his free hand, he brought the cup to Hvitserk’s lips, fully expecting him to drink, however Hvitserk didn’t move, his eyes were on the sword, now so close, he could pull it out right now if he were fast enough and stab Alfred. Both of the king’s hands were busy, he would at least avenger Ivar’s death by taking out the Christian, the one last thing Ivar wished for, but he knew it was hopeless. He would just hurt himself; he was too injured to fight back and he knew the king was fast himself, he would block Hvitserk’s attempts or even just slap his arm away and then Hvitserk would find himself killed for sure without achieving anything for Ivar.
Hvitserk didn’t move, not even when Alfred gently pushed the cup between his lips.
“Please take some, it will help you. I know your people and mine have no reason to trust each other, but I once give refuge to some of your family, I met your father when he came here and we spoke. My father and your father had great trust and love for each other, you can trust me too”
Alfred tried to pour the liquid into Hvitserk’s mouth, he knew from Ubbe how stubborn the Northmen can be, he guessed if he could just get some of the medicine into Hvitserk then the pagan would see it wasn't going to harm him, then they could talk more.
Some of it trickled in between his lips, so Hvitserk tried to kept his mouth closed to keep the rest out. He knew Alfred had just lied to him. Since when was King Aethelwulf and his father friends?
His father hated Aethelwulf and that had only increased after the massacre of the Wessex settlement. He still refused to drink, he tried to move his head back, but Alfred was still supporting his head up. He tried anyway, and as he did so he noticed something that he should have already noticed, it made his blood run cold. Around Alfred’s neck was the symbol of his religion, the crucifix they all seemed to wear. He had seen this on Alfred before but he hadn't took much note of it, but this particular necklace was one Hvitserk knew well.
It was the same cross his father had worn after Athelstan’s death; it had once belonged to Athelstan. Hvitserk recognized it at once from all the stones that adorned it, as a child he had often watched it around his father’s neck as it shinned in the sun.
Why was it on Alfred? Had the Saxons taken it from his father’s body and placed it on Alfred as a looted item?
Alfred noticed Hvitserk’ eyes were held on his chest, and looking down Alfred noticed his gaze was fixed on his cross.
“That was given to me by your father. It belonged to a Monk, a man named Athelstan” Alfred said carefully, watching Hvitserk’s face for any signs of recognition at the name, he could see there was something in Hvitserk’s face but Alfred was unsure what is was.
Hvitserk felt his insides rage. He couldn’t remember Athelstan very well, he was killed when Hvitserk was a young boy, but he could remember him enough to know he was important to their family, he had been their family. He remembered the anger everybody in town felt towards Floki, he remembered the sadness in his father when Athelstan was no longer with them. Hvitserk knew Alfred was lying again, there was no way Ragnar would freely hand over Athelstan’s necklace to some Saxon. It must have been stolen from his body.
“My father would never hand that over” Hvitserk said quietly. “Athelstan was like brother to him, he would never give that away”
Alfred's blue eyes were not too far away from Hvitserk's green ones. He looked Hvitserk in the eye.
“But Ragnar would give it to Athelstan's son, my father was Athelstan, Hvitserk.”
Hvitserk opened his mouth in shock and Alfred noticed, he quickly pushed the cup up and poured the rest of the liquid into Hvitserk’s mouth.
Hvitserk tried to move away in alarm, but Alfred kept him still as the last bit poured into Hvitserk’s mouth.
Alfred moved the cup away and lifted Hvitserk’s head to make sure he swallowed. Hvitserk coughed and glared at him. He was furious at having been outsmarted by this Saxon, he could see now Alfred had tricked him, he was clearly lying about Athelstan, but if so, then why? Everybody knew his father was King Aethelwulf.
Hvitserk looked at Alfred, who looked back apologetic.
“I’m sorry” Alfred said “But you need to rest. You need to heal if there’s going to be any peace between our people”
Hvitserk tried to wiggle back away from the king, there was a weird taste in his mouth and his tongue had starting tingling. So much for sipping the stuff, Alfred had given him the whole thing at once. He felt like he was going to be sick, it felt like his head was titling slightly to the side. He tried to get up but his pain stopped him, he wanted to get far away from here.
“There is something I do need to tell you” Alfred said.
Hvitserk noticed his voice was low and serious, he had used the same voice when talking to Hvitserk back in the tent.
“I spared your life for a reason, I would have been within my rights as king to take your life after the battle, as your people were defeated as invaders to this country. If you were anybody else I would have you hung in the courtyard for your crimes against God and England. I have put my own nobles to death for lesser crimes than what you and your brother did to this country, but the last thing I want to do is kill a son of Ragnar Lothbrok if I don’t have too. You have influence among Northmen, your father was famous among your people, he was the King, but if I feel you are leaving me with no choice, or if you force my hand, I will have no choice but to condemn you to death. Do you understand?”
“Yes” Hvitserk mumbled. He didn’t make eye contact with Alfred; he was going really lightheaded, his whole body was tingling now, he had no idea what was in that cup, he tried to hold his panic down. He swallowed again; he already knew Alfred had a reason for keeping him alive without being told; this was how it worked even among Vikings. His vision was going fuzzy, his eyelids begging to be closed.
Alfred stood watching Hvitserk as the medication took him to that numb place, he felt conflicted about what he just did and what he just said. He didn’t wish to give Hvitserk the whole drink at once, there would be no talking to him for the rest of the day, yet he could see Hvitserk was suffering and he didn't want Hvitserk to suffer if he didn’t need too, he was going to talk with the physician and instruct him to make sure Hvitserk takes the pain relief regularly to make him comfortable until his wounds were more healed, using aid from the guards if needed. He knew first hand how unpleasant that stuff was, it was a specialty of his mother’s creation whenever his stomach pained him badly when his sickness took hold, nothing else would calm the agony in his gut for him. It was Alfred who had told the physician to use the stock he normally held for Alfred to ease Hvitserk’s pain. As for what he said, he hated every word, he didn’t want to execute Hvitserk at all, it was Alfred’s intention to befriend the pagan and show him there was a better way than being a Viking. He wanted to make him an ally of Wessex, but he knew he had to give fair warning, for it was true if Hvitserk did force his hand, he would have to have him killed.
Alfred sat back on the side of Hvitserk’s bed, but he was unsure if Hvitserk even noticed. He seemed really dazed and not quite in good senses but he could still hear Alfred.
“You aren’t a prisoner here, you are a guest, but still I can’t allow you to leave here to return to your people. You can never return to Norway. If you were to go home, you would just return eventually with a new army and we would do battle and I would have to kill you. I still have much respect for your father and I never forgot about him, he saved my father's life, and now I save yours. I do not wish to be the one who ends your father's bloodline with my own hands, I feel I will be betraying Athelstan too if I were to do that, so you must stay in England where I know what you're doing”
Hvitserk made a small noise, his hand nudged a pillow, he tried to moved his feet to stay awake, but Alfred knew he would just fall asleep eventually, the effects were unavoidable.
Alfred pulled the furs up to Hvitserk’s shoulders and over his hands to protect him from the chill in the air, then held his hand on Hvitserk’s shoulder. He would stay with him to offer comfort, for Hvitserk had nobody else.
“Get some rest” Alfred told him as Hvitserk shuddered under his hand.
Did Alfred just say something? Hvitserk was sure he did, the pain had lessoned considerably, even the dull aches were almost gone, but replacing it were waves and waves of motion sickness. He could have been back on a boat, he could be laying next to Ivar sailing somewhere to raid.
“Mmm?” Hvitserk uttered, but nobody answered him.
Hvitserk thought he felt his head falling off the pillow. He felt like he was rolling. He opened his eyes only to find himself back in that room in Wessex. Alfred was gone and the room was much darker, the window on the far side of the room was black, reflecting the night sky, where did the sun go? The guards had changed shifts, he stared at them for a moment, unsure when they had even came in. He found himself stared at the ceiling without knowing he had rolled over onto his back. He was opening his eyes every so often only to find the candles burning lower, the embers in the fire were burning softly again, he didn’t even notice anybody coming in to add more wood. When he opened his eyes again it was to find himself blinking at the morning sunlight shining into the room in a brilliant bright pink. He felt like he was going to be sick for sure, in the distance he could hear geese calling to each other and birds that were definitely not seagulls singing with the coming of morning. He closed his eyes again and when he woke, groggy and still very much asleep, it was to a servant bringing him lunch he could barely stomach. This continued for a few more days, he was given sips of the liquid, he would wake to find Alfred in his room, he asked new questions, sometimes he came just to check on Hvitserk, his blue eyes looking at him with something like concern. He would sleep again and wake to find hours had passed, just how much time had passed he didn’t know. His tears still ran for Ivar during the times he was awake, but he had to keep quite or they would make him drink again. All he knew, if anybody really was coming to save him, they would have come by now.
They would have came weeks ago...