The bed was warm with the blankets wrapped around me. I slept soundly until the sound of hammering pierced through my dreams and jolted me into consciousness. Sitting up, my hands move up to rub my eyes to clear out the sting of wakefulness burning them. Peering around, the walls of Gerta’s bed closet come into focus and the scent of musky wood fill my nose. I swung my legs over the edge of the bed and strained my weary muscles to stand up. Running my hands through my hair, I felt the curls protest with the tugs and tangled around my fingers as I carefully separated chunks apart from one another. The braid I formed by twisting my large portions of hair bushed up unlike the braids many Eorling women stylise their hair with, but I felt satisfied with it for it brought some of my bushy hair down and made it less obviously noticeable when I walked down the streets among the very pale, blonde women and men. I stood and looked over my shoulder to see Seaxa’s cloak still sprawled out across the blankets. Its bright white colour sat in stark contrast to the bundles of darker coloured fur. I reached out to lift the bright white cloak up and carefully fold it into a neat bundle before turning to make my way to the door.
Outside of Gerta’s room, the rest of the house stood shadowy with only a dim source of light from the dying flames in the fireplace. I blinked my eyes several time to force them to focus when Garsig came into view. The massive man stood tall near the table with his seax drawn and sat before him. His eyes lifted up to me and revealed their pale colour, which heavily contrasted with the dark mess of hair that always seems to cover his face. "Unig,” He said in a low growl. “Get this fire going, you let it burn too low."
Confusion filled my tired mind as I looked to the fireplace, “Fire? Oh Gerta was minding fire.” I moved closer to the table to set Seaxa’s cloak down gently. Looking about, I realised Gerta absence and frowned, “I guess... Gerta leave."
."Fine, just...build it up, very hot," he snapped out in command.
My eyes snapped to him as I felt a retort build up inside me, but then I noticed his expression. A flushed hue covered his face and a fine sheen of sweat soaked the hanging, loose hair. He grabbed a chair and dragged it closer to the hearth with a screeching noise of wood scraping against wood. Furrowing my brows in concern, I swallowed the protest that lingered in my throat and simply nodded. Moving across the room, I lifted a small metal pole to poke at the logs already sizzling and begin to stack them to form a hollow centre. Sparks began to shoot through the wood and crack into a fire once more.
Garsig walked back to the table and took another sip of the mead before picking up the broad seax knife which its blade caught the firelight and gleamed softly. He held it at his side, the smooth carved bone handle familiar in his grip. Sitting down beside me, he watched me work, his eyes nearly colorless in the orange glow. "Your friend's got a mouth like an Adder," he said finally, "But I've been bit by Dragons before, this is nothing."
I remained silent for several moments as I watched the hot glow grow brighter and brighter, causing my face to feel the sting of the heat. Shifting back a bit, my eyes move upwards to look to him, “What is wrong?” I asked, still feeling confused before my eyes scanned over him and then to the exposed wound on his arm.
“Mansbane they call her, she left her mark,” he growled. On his arm, a harsh bite wound shone in red and angry as puss oozed where the skin broke away. "Mead could not cure it, so it's the fire this time. I'm sure it pleases you."
"It would be a lie to say I take no pleasure in seeing you in pain," I averted my eyes to look to the fire instead. "I do not lie." I then moved to the side a bit and extended my arm out to him, "Come. You have to get blade hot."
Garsig grinned at me, a flash of white teeth behind his dark beard. He took his knife and put it into the heart of the fire. "I've done this enough times on others; I know what I'm doing." He watched the blade grow red then paler as the heat increased. "Just keep that fire going."
Nodding faintly, I lifted the metal pole once more to utilise it in keeping the fire glowing, "I am sure you have." I murmured out in a softer, not overly hostile tone.
"You think I tortured men this way, don't you,” he asks, his own tone low.
I shook my head, "I think you have better way to torture men. You are warrior. Warrior get injured. It is part of job. I am sure you have had to treat warriors this way before."
"I had it done once, for an arrow wound in my shoulder." I felt his eyes move from the fire to me. I don’t know what made my face feel hotter, the flames or his gaze. "Better get me something to bite on, I remember how this feels."
Standing up, my eyes drifted across the room before I found a wooden spoon hanging near the fireplace. I gather it up and hold it out for Garsig as I say softly, "Arrow wound is not a good wound to have."
"No it's not, damned archers. It is times like that a man is grateful for a shield," He tried to smirk but it faded to a grimace. "All right, give me that spoon,” he finally says, opening his mouth so I could place it between his teeth of which I did.
Then he took a few deep breaths inward, brought the seax out of the fire, and pressed it to his infected skin. I could see his expression twist in pain. The blade sizzled as it burnt into the flesh and the smell of rotten, burning meat filled my nose sending a wave of nausea through me from the disgusting odour. A muffled scream escaped him from behind the wooden spoon. His flesh cooked, his pain grew, and he suddenly dropped the seax onto the ground with a clanging noise. The once oozing, bright red coloured bite wound now glowed pink and raw with darkened burnt skin, but I could see it still had not fully shut. His agony slurred his words as he hissed out, "Finish it."
Quickly I swept up the seax from the ground and pressed it harshly back into his wound. It steamed and the scent of burning flesh became apparent once more. I could see the tears form in his eyes as he squeezed them shut, and then suddenly he called out with a hoarse voice, even with the muffling of the spoon, “Enough!"
I hesitated for a moment and I am not entirely sure why. His pain sent a surge of power through me. This is not something I would admit openly for I am ashamed to say it, but for a brief moment, I enjoyed his struggle. I enjoyed pressing the seax into his wound and the twisting expression on his face. I felt as if I was forcing him in that brief moment to face the justice for his crimes and feel the pain he caused me every time he wrapped his fingers around my throat and left me with the horrors of his threats. Then I relented and released my pressure on his wound, pulling the seax back. Looking to his face once more, I saw the perspiration across his forehead and the pain his pale eyes. I saw the humanity in him. His weakness, his humanness. A pang of guilt shot through me for his suffering as I reached out and gently pressed the sleeves of my dress to his forehead to wash away some of the sweat.
"It seem Hilda has a good bite,” I whisper, offering him a vague smile.
He looked at me now when I spoke, his gaze intense and his words laced in agony, "This won't kill me.”
"No, it will not kill you,” I say softly. “You are too strong.”
He looked confuse as his eyes met my own, “I have to be, this world is not made for the weak."
"This world is not made for weak," I agreed with him. I looked back to the burnt wound on his arm and stood, "Let me get water. You need water... and... food. Do you want food? Food will help with strength."
"Water, to wash and to drink. Some soup and bread if there is any," He says as he began to tug his shirt off.
I nodded and moved across the room to lift a vase full of water, pouring it into a cup for him. A large metal bowl glimmered and caught my eye so I lifted to pick it up. Sitting the vase into the bowl, I lifted both up to carry towards him. The sight of him stuck with half the tunic hanging off him and his other arm tangled up caused a soft laugh to emerge inside me as I bit my lip. “Here, let me help.”
I sat the items in front of him on the ground and reached out. Untangling him, I slid the shirt off. Once the shirt slid off him, I saw the scars covering his broad shoulders. The one in particular I noticed on his shoulder had a burnt triangle in it, a deep wound that someone clearly burnt shut in the past. Soft beads of sweat coated the scars and his swirl of dark coloured hair came into view as my eyes wandered over his frame.
"It's...good of you, to do this,” his voice drew my attention away from his scars.
Nodding somewhat curtly, I said, "Gerta would not be pleased if I did not help,” although even I could hear the disingenuous tone to the comment. I do not know why I helped him. Something in his face made me want to help him. For the first time since I met the man, I almost felt some sort of connection to him. I then stood up once more to search for food, only finding a bowl of berries and a slice of bread. I return this to him, "Eat. You need food. Food give strength."
"Gerta is a good woman," Garsig mumbled, reaching for his tunic and dipping one of the sleeves into it to wash the drying sweat away from his face. "She needs the help around here." He then took the bread and nudged the bowl of berries towards me, "Keep those for yourself.”
I sat back on my knees and took the berries happily. I love berries. "I help Gerta," I assured him as I shoved a handful of berries into my mouth, "I help Gerta clean and cook."
"That is well,” he said as his eyes wander around the room about us. I think for the first time he realised how clean the house was as he nodded slowly, “She is getting on in years and her son is dead and Adda has not brought a wife home."
Eating a few more berries, I dropped my eyes down to the bowl. They left my fingers a bright red colour with soft juices coating my nails. I slid my fingers into my mouth to lick them clean, "I no want Gerta hurt herself trying to clean. Or do anything too hard. Not that I think Gerta is not capable. I just... I care about her."
"She...welcomed me when I came to live among my father's kin. As did Osgar,” he grunted and stood from his chair. The muscles of his back bunched and his expression tensed from what I presume is shots of fiery pain, "I should wrap this."
Many questions came to my mind immediately as the desire to pry into the man while in his weakened state pushed through me. However, I repressed this temptation and stood myself, leaving the bowl on the ground, "Let me help.”
“I can do it,” he grumbled as he moved into his own small room. I followed to see the sparsely filled space with only a bed, a small dresser, and a battered shield coated in a red painted horse stood. He rummaged one handed through the drawer where he kept the bandages and pulled out a rolled strip of linen.
"Don't healers put things onto wound first?... er... I mean some healers do. I thought so at least." I said as I watched him struggle to use one hand to wrap his other arm. I then shook my head and quickly pulled my eyed away from him. Returning to the fireplace, I sat in front of my bowl once more, my back to the room, "I do not know what Eorling do."
He did not respond. The sound of his footsteps instead and the creaking noise of him sitting down answered my question. Then I heard his voice say, “Gerta won’t mind,” which caused me to look over my shoulder once more. I saw him lift a small cask I recognised as one of Osgar’s, Gerta’s deceased husband. He hefted up as he declared, "I'm going to get good and drunk."
I shrugged, “I will not tell Gerta.”
"I don't care if you do," he responded and pried open the cask. He turned to grab a large stein before hesitating and taking another smaller mug as well. Pouring the cider from the cask, it sloshed onto the table a bit and filled both mugs. Then he slides the smaller of the two across the table swiftly, "Here. Take it."
Hesitating, I stood up with the bowl in hand and moved over to the table. Setting the bowl of berries down, I take the smaller mug and look towards Gerta in faint confusion. However, I did not speak; I instead sipped from the mug.
Silence surrounded us for several moments as we both drank until Garsig sat his drink down and spoke up, "I saw the garden was weeded."
A grunt escaped me, "So?"
"I was surprised I didn't have to beat you,” he said as the sound of groaning escaped his chair from his leaning back, “but as you said, you help Gerta."
"I am not your slave, Garsig." I retort curtly, glaring at him again. I started to like him, but his ability to be an annoyance seemed to rise as his pain began to calm down, "I do not do what you tell me to. I am free woman. But Gerta, I do favour for Gerta. She show me kindness. She is good woman. If she want help, I give her help."
Garsig smirked at that, "Free woman? Tell yourself that enough times, maybe you will believe that." He took another drink, "You sentenced yourself when you freed Hroda. Maybe you aren't chained but you are not free. You're our guest, remember?" He stood up, knocking the chair back, but he kept his balance. "I would thank you for your help, but I'm sure you enjoyed it." He chugged the rest of his cider and sat his stein down with a thunk.
"I made mistake helping Hroda," I mumbled under my breath. "He was a waste of human," I then stood and reached out to scoop up the bright white, carefully folded cloak into my hands. "You assume I am some sort of animal. I might like seeing you in pain, but I do not enjoy suffering. I am human unlike you."
His jaw clenched, "You deserved bet-" he then cut himself off and almost seemed to wince. Lifting the cask once more, he simply grunted, "Go then, run off to your little scop, I'm sure he enjoys hiding in your skirts."
"Good day, Garsig,” I said to him, feeling the heat of a flush grow in my cheeks. “I hope your arm is not infected again." I then turn for the door, hugging the cloak to myself.
"He'll use you, too," Garsig stopped me as he spoke. "I've known him longer than you. He's Hroda all over again. Just a warning for your help with my arm. But do as you like, let him fill your head and spread your legs. Just like so many others."
I froze in place and hissed out at him, "You do not know anything about either of us." I wanted to slap him although not because of his words, but because a part of me knew his correctness. I wanted Seaxa to love me, but I fear that all the words Seaxa says to me were lies, not that I could let Garsig of all people know this.
"At least when I fuck a woman,” Garsig continued, “it's just her body.”
I gave him no response besides the sound of the door slamming shut behind me. Just when I thought I could like him, he infuriates me once more.
