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Ben kept his hand steady and slow as he used a spade to finish clearing the hard-packed dirt from the edge of the object buried beneath. Three days ago, the team had struck wood at a depth of seven feet, just where his research and analysis of aerial scans had predicted. They’d quickly marked out the orientation and length of the site, and excavated the soil evenly, making a pit almost seven feet deep, twenty feet long, and seven feet wide. Mitaka and his assistants were carefully sifting through all of that dirt for any fragmentary artefacts that could be used to date and identify the site.
Going by what he could see of the wooden structure that he had already managed to clear the earth away from today, he was certain that what they had found was a ship burial, probably Anglo-Saxon. He was now working in an area right in the middle of the ship, each turn of his spade bringing something with a curved edge free of the ground that had covered it for centuries. He patiently followed the curve around until it was plain that he was looking at the remnant of a round shield, its metal boss and rim rusted into clumps barely distinguishable from the mud still caked on them. He gently lifted it free and passed it up to be placed in a tray and wrapped to prevent accelerated degradation now that it was exposed to the air.
A few scrapes more began to reveal the outline of what had to be a sword, and elation began to outweigh caution - this was definitely a ship burial, and all the evidence suggested that it was intact. A find of this level of rarity and possible historical significance would make his career. He finished detaching the sword from the ground and decided it was time to call his thesis supervisor at Oxford to let her know what they’d discovered thus far.
Five hours later, he was methodically working his way up the scant skeletal remains of the leader or warrior whose gravesite this was, when a flick of the brush he was using to clear debris delicately from the humerus revealed a glint of gold, startlingly bright amid the dull fastness of dirt. A few more flicks and most of it was exposed: a finely woven armband - not Anglo-Saxon as he had been expecting, but Viking. An inexplicable feeling of sadness came over him and he could not stop himself from reaching out to touch the armband, almost with reverence. Who were you? he wondered. The slamming of several car doors broke the reverie and he heard the voice of his advisor.
“Ben? Ben, come up out of there. I’ve brought someone to see your find.”
He stepped lightly up and out of the pit and as he turned to greet the visitors, his gaze locked with that of an unknown man; a chill passed through and over his entire body and he could not look away from the man’s green eyes or his halo of red-gold hair.
“Ben, I’d like you to meet Armitage Hux - he’s with the British Museum.”
—————
Armitage yanked his sword from the side of the Mercian warrior he’d just slain and quickly scanned the roiling melee of men and horses for Kylo. It was obvious to him that the tide of the battle had turned in their favor. Just as he caught sight of Kylo, one of the Mercians spotted his chance to take down the prince and struck at his unprotected back. Everything slowed down and the sounds of swords and axes and pikes striking shields and bodies died away as Armitage sprinted across the few yards that separated him from his husband. He ran practiced fingers over the bleeding wound, determined that it was not fatal, then gently turned Kylo over onto his back. He was conscious but keeping his eyes tightly closed against the pain. Saying only “I will return,” and checking that the prince’s men were prepared to remove him from the battlefield, Armitage rose to his feet with cold clarity of purpose.
The man who had struck his husband down would not live to see another hour. His husband, whom he had not wanted to wed, not wanted to know, not wanted to care for. But his wyrd, his fate, said otherwise. His hand tightened on his sword's grip and his other arm raised and tilted his shield slightly outward from his body as he surveyed the tumult in search of the one who had dared to strike Kylo…and there he was. In utter calmness and with a singularity of intent, Armitage ran, sword arm lifting in preparation to strike. Slashing, stabbing, thrusting…the enemy warriors between him and his prey were mere obstacles and scarcely registered in his awareness as he cut them down. He batted down another one who had rushed up alongside him with the edge of his shield and stalked forward into the now empty space around the guilty Mercian.
Righteous energy suffused his body and he knew his gods were with him as he ran the man through with one vicious upthrust. He put his booted foot on the body to hold it down while he drew his sword out and only then did he slowly become aware that the battle had ended. There were no more sounds of fighting, only the groans of wounded men. Uneasily, he realized that all of the men - men of Mercia and men of Wessex alike - in his vicinity were staring. The iron scent of blood was thick in his nose; looking down, he saw with shock that he was almost entirely covered with it. He ignored the awed and horrified whispers of “berserker!” and walked away from the killing grounds, thinking only of finding Kylo again and making sure that he was safe, and would remain so.
—————
“Armitage. I have something for you,” Kylo said.
The wound has healed well over the past few months, Armitage thought, and satisfaction warmed him as he surveyed the naked form of his husband. Firelight gilded the sheen of sweat that picked out the contours of Kylo's muscular back where he lay, prone and sated, on the furs of their bed.
Kylo rolled over and retrieved a woolen pouch from a low table beside the bed. The little gold rings braided into his hair clinked softly against each other as Armitage sat up, curious to see what was in the bag. Kylo opened it and pulled out a finely woven gold armband, and it was not something of Wessex, as he had been expecting, but unmistakably of Viking make and design.
“As I understand it, this is a mark among your people of a warrior’s brave deeds and battles won,” Kylo said, a little shyly. “You saved my life and routed the Mercians in a decisive victory." Here, he paused, and his voice fell into a lower and softer register. "You have given up so many of your own ways to live here with me, so I wished to honor you after the fashion of your land.”
“Oh…Kylo.” For a moment, he could not speak. He took the armband and ran his thumb over the intricate pattern of gold wires. He opened the clasp and wound it around his upper arm, leaning over for Kylo to refasten the closure.
“I shall never take it off.”