Thor - Wergeld 2
Part 1 here
When Loki regained consciousness lying on his side, he found his shoulder ached, and something warm and coarse weighed it and his chest down. His head fared little better. His arms were bound behind his back.
"Sir," a woman said quietly, "you wake?"
Loki slitted his eyes open enough to see the thigh currently serving as his pillow, and rough animal-skin boots a distance beyond it. A glance up confirmed one of the invaders was standing sentry; Loki kept his gaze narrowed and half-hidden by his lashes, and answered just as quietly, "Yes. Where are we?"
"A camp," she answered. "Near the riverbank."
"The temple?"
The hand she had clutching her robe tensed and twisted the fabric; that was answer enough. But he could make out the sounds of other living beings behind him, silent in the way fear and loss inspired. "To what purpose us survivors?"
"...I do not know," she answered.
He restrained a frown, though his gaze flickered up--uselessly, her face was obscured to him, but a reflex all the same--toward her voice. "Explain."
". . . You are the only man here, sir," she murmured. "The rest of us are women. Some boys."
It took Loki a few moments to comprehend; and then he said "Ah."
The sentry's boots had turned in their direction. He did not speak, and soon resumed his former position; but since he had heard their talking, there was no point in the ruse any more. Loki sat up carefully, aided by the woman since her hands were bound before her. There was a bloodstain on her robe where his head had lain; no wonder the ache in his temple.
A fur wrap fell to his side once he was upright. Loki stared at it blankly, then recognized it as the one the man who'd fought him had worn.
...He supposed he should be flattered. He knew he was appealing, as some of the bolder women of the temple and a few of the too-bold visitors had made clear. Even a barbarian had eyes.
Loki turned and looked over his shoulder, cataloging what of his home remained. He knew two of the seven women from separately shared evenings and sheets; the rest he recognized by face if not name. The same went for the three boys, though the name of one was caught on the tip of his tongue. He'd been pestered into taking his older brother, Njal, on as an apprentice, but had refused the other boy due to his clumsy hands. He had seen him sometimes, helping his brother clean the scriptorium or ferry the scrolls and messages and objects for engraving to and fro.
He did not see Njal.
Loki turned away from the huddled group and looked out at the half-built camp, the tents being raised and the deep hole the raiders were digging in the middle.
He wondered briefly what that was--curiosity ever at the ready, even in the most absurd of situations--and then the woman beside him muttered, "They won't shame us further."
Loki glanced over, took in her expression and the way her robe was knotted up in her clenched hands, and looked away again.
"Live," he replied. "It's always better to live."
"Ha," another said, and he looked over to see Eydis, ever sharp and disdainful. "In degradation? As slaves among them? That's a pitiful life."
Loki curled the side of his lip up, even though the gesture took effort in the circumstances. "Who can know? Perhaps you'll be sated then."
She tossed her hair over her shoulder at him, a gesture he remembered. He had enjoyed her; she'd been a clear stream he'd caught his reflection in, and could dip his hands in to drink without concern of being pulled down into the depths. Her ultimate rejection still irked.
This was worse than the petty revenges he'd considered.
"The only pitiful thing is to force your fate," he added, dropping the false smile. "It will come when it's due. Until then, live."
Eydis snorted again, low, but did not contradict him this time.
Two tents were completed when the tension among them grew too much. One of the women--a girl, more--began crying, choking sobs that wouldn't be stopped; at last Njal's brother began talking loudly over her, chanting one of the eddas as another woman muffled the girl's tears in her lap.
He stumbled even before he finished the prologue. Loki took up the tale with what might have been exasperation in better times, continuing even after the girl was taken away, claimed by her captor.
More tents rose, more of their group were removed; Loki continued to chant, and studied each as they went, judging from the tilt of their chin and the steadiness of their walk whether his words had slipped through.
He had not reached all. But most--most he had.
Loki supposed that would count as his last victory. After all, what use would his clever tongue be on those who could not understand him?
When the last boy was taken away, leaving only him, he ceased chanting. No point remained.
But he continued to recite the poem in his mind, even as he watched the fire in the central pit be lit, until someone came for him.
When Loki regained consciousness lying on his side, he found his shoulder ached, and something warm and coarse weighed it and his chest down. His head fared little better. His arms were bound behind his back.
"Sir," a woman said quietly, "you wake?"
Loki slitted his eyes open enough to see the thigh currently serving as his pillow, and rough animal-skin boots a distance beyond it. A glance up confirmed one of the invaders was standing sentry; Loki kept his gaze narrowed and half-hidden by his lashes, and answered just as quietly, "Yes. Where are we?"
"A camp," she answered. "Near the riverbank."
"The temple?"
The hand she had clutching her robe tensed and twisted the fabric; that was answer enough. But he could make out the sounds of other living beings behind him, silent in the way fear and loss inspired. "To what purpose us survivors?"
"...I do not know," she answered.
He restrained a frown, though his gaze flickered up--uselessly, her face was obscured to him, but a reflex all the same--toward her voice. "Explain."
". . . You are the only man here, sir," she murmured. "The rest of us are women. Some boys."
It took Loki a few moments to comprehend; and then he said "Ah."
The sentry's boots had turned in their direction. He did not speak, and soon resumed his former position; but since he had heard their talking, there was no point in the ruse any more. Loki sat up carefully, aided by the woman since her hands were bound before her. There was a bloodstain on her robe where his head had lain; no wonder the ache in his temple.
A fur wrap fell to his side once he was upright. Loki stared at it blankly, then recognized it as the one the man who'd fought him had worn.
...He supposed he should be flattered. He knew he was appealing, as some of the bolder women of the temple and a few of the too-bold visitors had made clear. Even a barbarian had eyes.
Loki turned and looked over his shoulder, cataloging what of his home remained. He knew two of the seven women from separately shared evenings and sheets; the rest he recognized by face if not name. The same went for the three boys, though the name of one was caught on the tip of his tongue. He'd been pestered into taking his older brother, Njal, on as an apprentice, but had refused the other boy due to his clumsy hands. He had seen him sometimes, helping his brother clean the scriptorium or ferry the scrolls and messages and objects for engraving to and fro.
He did not see Njal.
Loki turned away from the huddled group and looked out at the half-built camp, the tents being raised and the deep hole the raiders were digging in the middle.
He wondered briefly what that was--curiosity ever at the ready, even in the most absurd of situations--and then the woman beside him muttered, "They won't shame us further."
Loki glanced over, took in her expression and the way her robe was knotted up in her clenched hands, and looked away again.
"Live," he replied. "It's always better to live."
"Ha," another said, and he looked over to see Eydis, ever sharp and disdainful. "In degradation? As slaves among them? That's a pitiful life."
Loki curled the side of his lip up, even though the gesture took effort in the circumstances. "Who can know? Perhaps you'll be sated then."
She tossed her hair over her shoulder at him, a gesture he remembered. He had enjoyed her; she'd been a clear stream he'd caught his reflection in, and could dip his hands in to drink without concern of being pulled down into the depths. Her ultimate rejection still irked.
This was worse than the petty revenges he'd considered.
"The only pitiful thing is to force your fate," he added, dropping the false smile. "It will come when it's due. Until then, live."
Eydis snorted again, low, but did not contradict him this time.
Two tents were completed when the tension among them grew too much. One of the women--a girl, more--began crying, choking sobs that wouldn't be stopped; at last Njal's brother began talking loudly over her, chanting one of the eddas as another woman muffled the girl's tears in her lap.
He stumbled even before he finished the prologue. Loki took up the tale with what might have been exasperation in better times, continuing even after the girl was taken away, claimed by her captor.
More tents rose, more of their group were removed; Loki continued to chant, and studied each as they went, judging from the tilt of their chin and the steadiness of their walk whether his words had slipped through.
He had not reached all. But most--most he had.
Loki supposed that would count as his last victory. After all, what use would his clever tongue be on those who could not understand him?
When the last boy was taken away, leaving only him, he ceased chanting. No point remained.
But he continued to recite the poem in his mind, even as he watched the fire in the central pit be lit, until someone came for him.