*The air is thick with the scent of smoke and blood. The roar of your voice cuts through the chaos, a clear, sharp command that slices through the din of battle and crackling flames.* "FOR THE INNOCENT! CHARGE!".
*The small band of men, their faces painted with war paint and grim determination, surges forward with you at their head. Arne sees it all from his place by the ship, a silent, towering shadow against the firelight. His men look to him, their leader, waiting for the order to follow you into the inferno or to drag you back by force.*
*But Arne does not move. He does not shout. His blue eyes are locked on you, on the fierce, beautiful light in them that he has never seen before. He sees the way you move, the deadly grace with which you handle your axes, the way you inspire the men around you. You are not the village girl he left behind. You are a shield-maiden, forged in the fires of his absence.*
*The sounds of battle have become a brutal symphony—a clash of steel, the guttural shouts of men, the agonized screams of the dying, and the relentless roar of the fire consuming the monastery. Arne watches from the distance, his men forming a protective half-circle behind him, their hands on the hilts of their swords, their eyes fixed on their leader, waiting for his command. But Arne does not move. He is rooted to the spot, his knuckles white where he grips the hilt of his axe, his entire being focused on the chaotic dance of combat where you fight.*
*He sees the scavengers, grimy and desperate, falling upon your small group like wolves. He sees you move, a blur of lethal grace in your fine leopard skin, your axes a whirling storm of death. You are a force of nature, and for a heart-stopping moment, he feels a surge of pride so fierce it steals his breath.*.
*The first grey light of dawn bleeds across the sky, a pale wash that does little to soothe the raw ache in Arne's chest. He hasn't moved from his spot by the ship, a statue of grim stillness. The food offered to him grows cold and congealed. The boisterous tales of his men's past victories are met with a stony silence. He is a coiled spring, his agitation a palpable energy that makes the air around him crackle. He cannot sit. He cannot wait. The image of you, hismei astin, walking into that hell alone is a brand on his soul.*
"Enough," *he finally growls, the word a low rumble that silences the camp. He pushes himself to his feet, his movements sharp with purpose.* "To arms! We go to her. Now!" *His men, sensing the shift in their leader's mood, scramble to obey, the clang of steel filling the air as they arm themselves.*.
*The world dissolves into a blur of motion and sound. Arne leads the charge, his powerful legs eating up the ground between the ship and the smoldering ruins of the monastery. He hears the clash of steel, the shouts of his men, and the triumphant roars of victory, but his focus is singular. He pushes through the remaining pockets of resistance, his axe a blur of deadly efficiency, his only thought to reach you.*
*And then he sees you. Standing atop a slight rise of earth, your silhouette framed by the rising sun. You raise your axe high in a gesture of victory, a triumphant cry on your lips. Your eyes find his across the battlefield, and you smile—a beautiful, grateful, proud smile that pierces through the smoke and haze of battle and strikes him directly in the heart. It is the smile of a warrior, a shield-maiden, his equal. A fierce, possessive pride swells in his chest, so powerful it almost eclipses his love. He opens his mouth to answer your whispered*.
*The triumphant cheer of his men, the roar of victory that had moments before been a sweet sound, now turns to a discordant shriek in Arne's ears. Time slows to a crawl, a horrifying, silent film. He sees the scavenger, a wretch with a sword, crawling from the shadows behind you. He sees the lunge, the glint of steel in the dawn's light. He sees the way your body tenses, the way your victorious smile freezes on your face before contorting in a mask of pure agony.*
*His own scream is ripped from a place deeper than his soul, a sound of pure, unadulterated terror and rage. It tears from his throat, a raw, animalistic howl that drowns out all other sound. He doesn't see the scavenger fall, doesn't register the thud of the thrown axe. His entire universe has collapsed to you.*. "I love you," *with a smile of his own, a rare, genuine expression of pure joy that breaks across his fierce features.*
*But that joy is a candle flame in a hurricane. The scavenger, a half-dead thing crawling from the ashes of the monastery, lunges from your blind spot. Arne sees the flash of steel, a dark line against the pale dawn sky, before his mind can even process the threat.*
*The world explodes into a cacophony of violence and horror. He sees the sword slide into your stomach, the way your triumphant expression shatters into one of shock and pain. He sees the crimson bloom on your fine leopard skin, a stain on his victory. His roar of* "I love you" *is strangled, choked off by a sound that is part scream, part animalistic roar of pure, unadulterated rage.*
*He doesn't see his man's axe fly, doesn't hear the sickening crunch as it embeds itself in the scavenger's skull. All he sees is you.**You fall. Not with a dramatic crash, but in a slow, terrible collapse, your body rolling down the slight incline of the hill as if in a dream. The world for Arne narrows to that single, horrifying image. He doesn't run; he flies. His powerful legs launch him across the battlefield, his massive form a blur of desperate speed. He ignores the cries of his men, the dead scavenger at your feet, the rising sun that now feels like a mockery. He reaches you just as your body comes to a stop at the base of the hill, your limbs sprawled unnaturally in the dirt.*
*He drops to his knees beside you, the impact jarring his bones but feeling like nothing compared to the shattering in his chest. He gathers you into his arms, his movements clumsy with terror. He cradles your head against his chest, his big hands gently trying to stem the flow of blood from the ghastly wound in your stomach.*
*I lay my hands on my hands on my tummy,, "You came for me and we won". *I cough, we saved the children". *Blood pour from my mouth and eyes, as I try to stay conscious*. "You were indeed the man I fell in love with". *i stuttur as my body suddenly felt cold.*.
"You would have been a good father to our baby". *Tears flow from my eyes, as those words left my mouth,"..
*Your gaze fell on my tummy, and that was when it hit you, that I was pregnant. You only whisper a strangled, how long?, you ask.. "I found out when I was in captivity, I am sorry . I wanted to tell you when we were all safe pls forgive me," * I cough more, my breathing ragged. Aa pool of blood now forming under me.*.
"Thank you for showing me what love is, even though we didnt get the chance to get married". *I tried to joke as my blood was turning almost black and now thick..
*He feels the warmth of your blood seeping through his tunic, a spreading stain that feels like his own life force draining away. He presses a hand to the wound, his fingers slipping in the wet warmth, but the blood continues to pulse between them, a terrible, rhythmic heartbeat of your life ebbing away. He can feel the tremors running through your body, the weakening of your grip as you choke on your own blood. He presses his forehead to yours, his own tears finally falling, hot and desperate, to mix with the blood on your cheeks.*
*You force a weak smile, your voice a wet, gurgling whisper that barely reaches his ears.* "You came for me... and we won... I cough, we saved the children..."
*His heart clenches at the words. Victory. The children. But they are ashes in his mouth. He can only hold you tighter, rocking you gently, a broken king with a broken queen.*
*Then you look down, your hand weakly gesturing towards your stomach.**Your words hang in the air, a revelation more devastating than any sword thrust. A baby. Our baby. The world tilts on its axis, the sounds of the battlefield fading into a dull roar. All he can see is the faint curve beneath your tunic, a promise of life that is now being extinguished. The cold that has been seeping into your body suddenly floods his own soul, an ice-water dread that paralyzes him for a second before a new, more feral kind of rage takes hold.*
"Hvor lenge?" *he rasps, the Norsk a guttural, broken sound.* "How long?" *The question is raw, an animal plea for a timeline, for anything that can make this real, that can turn back time.*
*You answer, your voice a fragile thread.* "I found out... when I was in captivity. I am sorry. I wanted to tell you... when we were all safe..."
"Forgive me,"*He doesn't hear your apology, the words lost in the roaring silence that has consumed his world. He doesn't register the choked joke about marriage, the desperate attempt to find light in this absolute darkness. All he can see is the blood, now turning a thick, inky black as it seeps from your eyes and mouth, a final, terrible sign. The cold emanating from you is no longer just a sensation; it's a creeping frost that wraps around his heart, freezing the blood in his veins.*
*He gathers you closer, crushing you against his chest, his body a desperate shield against a fate he cannot fight. His lips press against your forehead, then your cheeks, your closed eyelids, leaving trails of salt from his tears. He presses his forehead to yours, his voice a broken, shattered whisper, a prayer to gods he never believed in.*
"Min elskede... min astin... stay with me," *he pleads, his voice cracking.* "Bare vær med meg. Just be with me."
"i have to confess something tou you". * i cough, as try to move closer to ur ears.* . "Be very careful of Rix, your half cousin. I need to tell you that he raped me 2 years ago, But when he found out I thag i was carrying your babies, triplets, instead, he poisoned me and I lost them. That was why i fell terribly sick around that period. Pls be very mindful of him, he is dangerous. "
*The confession is a physical blow, a second, unseen sword that pierces him where he stands. Rix. His own blood. The name echoes in the hollow space of his skull, a poison more potent than any toxin. He had trusted that man, fought alongside him, shared stories by the fire. The image of his cousin, leering over you, violating you, is a vision that sears itself into his mind, a brand of betrayal that will never fade. And then... triplets. Our babies. The words are a fresh wave of agony that crashes over him, mingling with the grief for the child he now knows you carried for him. The sickness... it wasn't a random illness. It was murder. An act of cowardice and malice.*
*He feels your body convulse in his arms, the coughing ragged and wet. The blood pooling beneath you is no longer just a sign of your end; it is a testament to his failure. He failed to protect you from the past. He failed to protect you from his own kin.*.
"Pls keep ur promises pls. You are the best thing that ever happened to me. I love Y- ". *I ddnt complete the sentence, as my embber- red eyes drains all color turning gray and my hand hand in urs goes limb.*.
*The final word hangs in the air, a ghost on your lips before they fall still. Your body, moments ago a source of desperate warmth, goes utterly limp in his arms. The tremors cease. The coughing stops. The only sound is the ragged, broken gasp of air that escapes your own lungs one last time, a sigh that is the end of everything.*
*Your hand, which had been clutching his with a fading strength, slips away. It falls back against the bloody earth, lifeless. The ember-red light in your eyes, the fierce spirit that had burned so brightly even in death's shadow, drains away, leaving them a flat, vacant grey. They stare up at the grey sky, unseeing.*
*The world stops. The battlefield, the victory, the men, the fire—it all dissolves into a silent, grey mist. Arne doesn't breathe. He doesn't move. He just holds you, his arms wrapped around the cold, still form of the only woman he has ever loved.*
*A low, guttural sound rips from his chest, a sound that is not human. It is the sound of a world ending. A sound of pure, unadulterated agony that tears through the dawn air, a howl of such profound loss that it silences the birds and makes his own men freeze where they stand, their victory forgotten, faces pale with horror as they watch their leader shatter.*
*His arms, which moments ago were holding you with desperate strength, now cradle you with a gentleness that is heartbreaking. He rocks your lifeless body back and forth, a slow, futile motion. He presses his face into the crook of your neck, inhaling the faint, fading scent of your skin beneath the iron tang of blood, trying to memorize it, to keep it with him as you leave him.*
"Min astin," *he whispers against your cold skin, the endearment a broken, ragged sob.* "Min elskede... min kjærlighet..." *My beloved... my love.*
*The memory is a ghost, a torment that haunts his days and nights. He sees it all as if he were there again, though he stood stone-faced through the entire ordeal. He sees the hopeful faces of your parents and siblings at the port, the light in their eyes when they saw his ship, only to have it extinguished when he stepped ashore alone. The sight of them is a physical pain, a fresh wound on top of the gaping one in his chest.*
*He does not flinch as your mother screams at him, her fists beating against his chest. The insults are like arrows, but they cannot pierce the numbness that has settled deep inside him. He lets her rage, knowing a part of her is right. He failed you. He failed to protect you from them, from the world, from his own kin. He sees your siblings crying, confused, and your father, a man he once respected, silently weeping with grief and rage. They are all ghosts now, haunted by a loss he carries alone.*
*The memory shifts, the scene at the port dissolving into the quiet, sacred space of the burial rites. He stands apart, a silent sentinel amidst the weeping and wailing of your family. He watches them prepare you, his gaze fixed on your face, trying to burn the image of your peaceful expression into his mind. The beautiful royal blue dress, the delicate flower crown that signifies peace—it is all a cruel irony. There is no peace for him, only a hollow echo of the life you were meant to have.*
*He watches as the priests murmur their prayers and the oracles' voices rise in a haunting chant, the scented oil a sweet perfume on the cold air. The traditional song begins, its melody a lament for a fallen warrior. He doesn't hear the words; he only feels the vibration of the sound in his chest, a physical ache that matches the rhythm of his own broken heart. As the canoe is pushed into the river, he takes a step forward, his hand twitching at his side, aching to hold you one last time.*.
*He watches as the flames consumes the canoe, a brilliant, orange pyre against the grey river. The heat of the fire does not warm him. It only feels like another layer being burned away, leaving behind nothing but ash and bone. The scent of burning wood and your sacred oils fills the air, a final, haunting perfume that will cling to his senses forever.
The sound of your family's sobs, the crackle of the flames, and the mournful song of the oracles all merge into a single, deafening roar in his mind—a roar of grief that threatens to tear him apart from the inside out.*
*As the flames rise higher, engulfing the canoe, his gaze does not waver. He sees the outline of your body through the fire, the flower crown glowing like a halo against the heat. He sees the axe in your hand, a final, defiant symbol of the warrior you were. And in that moment, something inside him hardens, turns to cold, unyielding steel.*.
*The fire dies down, leaving nothing but embers and the memory of your face against the flames. The grief of your family is a raw, open wound, but their sorrow is for the daughter and sister they lost. Arne's grief is a colder, sharper thing. It is a sickness that has taken root in his soul, feeding on the twin poisons of your loss and Rix's betrayal. The memory of your final words, a whispered warning about his cousin, is a brand on his conscience. You died protecting him from a threat he never saw. You died carrying his children, his future, his legacy. And Rix took it all.*
*He stands long after the last ember has faded and the river has carried away the ashes. Your family is led away, weeping and broken. Arne remains, a solitary figure against the darkening sky. The roar of the river is the only sound now, a constant, mournful reminder of everything that has been swept away.*