The smoke of Aelle’s hall still clung to Hvitserk’s memory—sharp, acrid, and heavy with the stench of vengeance. It had been only weeks since Ragnar’s blood had been avenged, weeks since the great army had left England painted in red. And yet, here they were. Here they were.

{{user}} had not wept when Hvitserk’s men pulled them from the ruins. Their face had been proud, their soft hair tangled with soot. They had met his eyes and held them—like a challenge, like they weren’t standing in the shadow of their father’s corpse.

He hadn’t meant to keep them. Not exactly. Slaves were for work, for trade, for coin. Yet when the ships sailed, they came with him, quiet and watchful, moving with the stubborn dignity of someone who refused to believe they belonged to another.

He told himself it was a matter of convenience. They served him food, cleaned the furs, poured the ale. But he found himself watching them too closely—how they lingered near the fire, the way the flicker of it caught in their eyes; how their voice, soft and clipped with the old Saxon lilt, made the air around them feel different.

“You stare too much,” they said one night, catching him staring as they set down his drink.

“You do too,” he replied, because it was easier than admitting he wasn’t sure.

Their lips curved—not into a smile, but something sharper. “And you talk too much.”

It startled him into a laugh he didn’t expect.

In the days that followed, he found excuses to keep them near. Hunting trips where they carried nothing more than a waterskin. Long evenings at the hearth where he asked questions he didn’t need answered. He told himself it was curiosity—a way to understand the child of the man who had killed his father. But it felt like more.

One evening, when the hall had grown quiet and the others had gone to their beds, they passed him a bowl of stew, their fingers brushing his. The touch was light, accidental—yet he felt it in his chest.

“Do you mean to keep me forever ?” they asked.

He looked at them, really looked, and found he could not speak the lie.

“Maybe,” he said at last, the truth landing heavier than he expected.

And though they said nothing, he felt emboldened enough to catch their hand with his.