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Ragnar was feeling almost as weary as his charge looked, and he was run clean out of ideas. He needed help, and that’s what drew him to the small ragged tent. He knew he should be letting its occupant sleep, unburdened by the dilemmas of strangers, but it was almost noon and if he did not ask eventually, he would continue to suffer sleepless nights until he had his answer.
He announced his presence, but perhaps should have given further warning before pulling back the canvas and flooding the darkened tent with light, as the haggard man in front of him gave a bitten back yelp and scrambled for a weapon. Finding nothing, he sat up straight and pulled his blistered hands into fists, ready to punch his way out instead.
“I’m sorry to disturb you,” Ragnar looked down at the ground guiltily, keeping his distance at the door out the tiny tent, until the skittish Irishman within it could get back to his senses.
“Lord Ragnar,” Finan greeted. He lowered his fists but did not entirely relax. The Dane couldn’t blame him. He looked up at the man then, who had spent the night huddled under a fur, but was now bare chested, the bearskin in a puddle in his lap. Scars and bruises littered a sinewy body. He was broad shouldered and had clearly been made of muscle once, but had been fed too little for too long. A bare foot stuck out from under the fur. Two of his toes were blackened from the cold and his sole was blistered and raw, the ankle had been cut into deeply by iron chains and though it had been cleaned, it was now crusted with thick black scabs.
“May I come in?” Ragnar asked. It was like speaking with a cornered wolf, and he could see him wrestling the decision to fight or flee. He wouldn’t get far on foot, Ragnar surmised, but then he’d surprised everyone three days before when he’d run across the beach to plunge a sword through his master’s throat.
Finan nodded carefully, but Ragnar hadn’t missed the nervous hitch in his breath. It was unexpected, truthfully, the man had been light-hearted, almost frivolous round the campfire, but perhaps it was a careful facade that took time to construct. Maybe whatever had been in his dreams still lingered behind his eyes.
Ragnar crawled in a little further, and sat on his haunches, his head brushing the canvas and leaving droplets of dew in his hair. “I’ve brought you a present.”
When that got no reaction, he turned and dragged the heavy package in after him, hefting it over his folded legs to sit it in front of Finan, careful not to drop it on him, knowing how fragile the man in front of him would be.
“I need your help,” he said, as Finan stared at the cloth wrapping of his gift. “Uhtred is my brother, and I know him better than I know any other man, but I don’t know how to help him.”
Finan lifted his gaze to look at him then, concern apparent on his face. With his beard now neatly trimmed, and his hair clean and swept back off his face he looked younger than he had a few days ago. Ragnar tried to work out just how young.
“He is one of the bravest men I know, but now, he shakes, he can’t stop crying, he won’t speak to me about what happened. I don’t know what to do.”
Finan worried at his lip, unsure whether to say anything. “He is still brave, Lord,” he said without room for debate. “He is just grieving. He blames himself for Halig’s death, which he should not. But then I also blame myself, it is easier to say you are not to blame than believe it.” He sighed. “If we had been a little more patient then all three of us could perhaps be sat here now. But how were we to know that you would come for us? It was a chance at escape and we would have been cowards not to take it.”
Ragnar nodded thoughtfully. Uhtred had not said a word about the circumstances of Halig’s death, but he was starting to piece it together now.
“He will recover, in time,” Finan continued. “But the exhaustion, it brings all the emotion to the surface. Heal his body and his mind will follow.”
“That is good advice,” Ragnar said. “Now, aren’t you going to open your present?” He gave him a slight smile, as Finan looked back down at the gift as though he had forgotten all about it.
He reached out for the knot in the cloth but his fingers were blackened with blood-blisters and still numbed from the prolonged cold of the sea, so Ragnar helped rather than watch him struggle.
The cloth fell away to reveal a bundle of clothing, linen breeches and shirts, one sleeveless, one with sleeves long enough to cover the wounds at his wrists. Woollen socks and soft leather boots, and behind it all a brown leather cuirass with matching bracers. Finan stroked a hand over the supple leather.
“I had it made a little big, I assume that once you get your appetite back you’ll fill it out a little more.”
“Thank you,” he replied almost reverentially.
“It is the least I can do after you have kept my brother safe all this time. I wanted to get you a weapon too, I seem to remember you prefer to fight with two blades, but Hild felt you would rather pick your own.”
Finan’s gaze shot up at that and glared at him accusingly. “Two blades… How…?” he could barely get the words out.
“I knew it was you,” Ragnar said, grinning as though he had won a bet. “When I went to Irland with Ubba to avenge the death of his brother, we met across the battlefield. The young prince who had taken the head of Ivar the Boneless. I had intended to take your head right back but you knocked me on my arse and probably would have finished me had Ubba not called a retreat. I was lucky, you were merciful, had we switched places I probably would have killed you anyway. I heard of what happened to you, when I started asking for news of Uhtred, the rumours reached my ears, but I never did quite believe them until I saw you kill that bastard on the beach.”
“You’re mistaken Lord, I am no prince,” Finan said, his voice a threatening growl.
“You have no need to fear, you are a brother of my brother, and Ivar got only what was coming to him. You’ll have no quarrel from me, and I doubt there are many who would recognise you now.”
It had been a boy he’d met on the battlefield, fresh-faced and not long married, but he’d aged a lot in the last four years, making him appear older than Ragnar knew him to be.
“I am not who you think I am Lord,” he said again firmly. “I am a sell-sword of an Irishman who found his way into your brother’s favour, nothing more.”
Ragnar nodded, “I understand, completely.”
“Good,” Finan smiled then, running his hand back over the leather fondly. “Your brother kept me safe too,” he said, a slight hint of emotion cracking that otherwise gruff voice.
Ragnar smiled then, “He’s good at that. I shall let you get back to your rest, but there’s stew in the pot when you’re ready.”
He started to leave, but one last thing nagged at him, “When it wasn’t you that killed Ivar, did you really take his head off with a broken shield?”
A smirk crossed the exhausted man’s face then, “After I broke the shield on his thick bastard skull.”
Ragnar nodded, “something else I didn’t quite believe until I met you. Uhtred chooses his friends well.”
“You’re not going to tell him are ye?”
“You are a free man now Finan, free to carve your own destiny. Of that, I would not get in the way.”
The Irishman looked down at the leather in front of him, as he fought to maintain his composure. There was an almost imperceptible shaking in his shoulders and Ragnar realised he was crying, completely silently, dry-eyed even but with his eyes screwed shut and his mouth contorted into a grimace. He wondered how long it had taken to learn to break without a sound.
He struggled to know what to say, so he rested a steadying hand on the man’s shoulder instead and gave it a gentle squeeze. “Close to the surface,” he repeated the man’s earlier words, hoping to show he understood. “You should get more rest.”
Finan took a shuddering breath, also silent and only noticeable through the hand on his shoulder, and looked up with an embarrassed half-laugh. “Aye, you’re right. I’ll be grand with just a bit more rest. Thank you Lord. For the gift.”
Ragnar left the man to his sleep and staggered out of the tent in the bright sunshine. He spied his brother, sat in the long grass on the bluff, knees pulled up towards his chest as he stared out at the sea. The water was calm today, but Ragnar had sailed enough to know that the gentle waves that broke along the sandy coast were just a small taste of what it was capable of.
Sand scattered as he climbed up the steep dune to join his brother at the top. As he got closer, he could see the younger man’s face was streaked with tears. As Uhtred spotted his approach he threw his face into the crook of his elbow and hastily wiped the evidence away with his sleeve. He didn’t do a very good job, and there was nothing he could do to remedy his red rimmed eyes but Ragnar thought the fact he was aware of his presence was something. Twice now, he had caught him in such a trance that it was as though his soul had left his body and was once again trapped across the sea.
“How is Finan?” Uhtred asked as he sat down, shoulder to shoulder.
“He is tired, but looking better than a few days ago. He is doing what you should be doing, sleeping, letting his body have chance to heal.”
“I cannot sleep,” Uhtred spoke through gritted teeth.
“Why haven’t you spoken to him? He says you are bound but then you ignore him.”
“I…” Uhtred started but couldn’t find the words to finish. Maybe he realised his excuses weren’t good enough, or that voicing his fears would make them come true. He chose to change the subject, but Ragnar wasn’t quite ready to let this go.
“Did he like his present?” Uhtred asked.
Ragnar nodded, “He did. He means to follow you, if you’ll have him.”
“I am no longer worthy of being followed.” And there it was, his voice started to crack again.
“Ugh,” he growled and swiped at his eyes. “See, I cannot even have a simple conversation without…” He sighed, unwilling to even finish the sentence and put word to his weakness.
“It is the exhaustion, Finan says. He assures me it will pass, but you have to rest. And maybe talk, to me, or Hild…”
“You wouldn’t understand…”
“To Finan then.”
“Finan? The man has never shown weakness in his life. What would he think of me, to see me this way? When he has endured twice as much?”
“Well then might I suggest he has some ideas about how to cope with things?”
When Uhtred couldn’t dispute that, Ragnar gave him a nudge with his shoulder. Uhtred turned to face him, but he crumbled under his older brother’s stern gaze. The younger man struggled to his feet and did as he was told, sand slipping under his steps as he struggled down the bluff. Ragnar watched him hesitate at the small tent before a noise (a voice?) from inside startled him and he crawled in.
Neither emerged for hours. When it got so late that the sun was starting to sink, Ragnar realised neither man had eaten all day. He grabbed two bowls of stew and went to the tent. He knelt at the doorway and stuck his head in, careful not to disturb them.
Finan was flat on his back, his wounded feet sticking out from the fur blanket, snoring ever so softly. Uhtred had tucked in beside him, head resting on Finan’s bicep, who had secured his arm across the pagan’s back and pulled him in close. The gentle rise and fall of his chest told Ragnar that Uhtred was sleeping at last.
He decided not to disturb them, food could wait. He was about to turn and head back to the fire when he realised Finan had opened his eyes and was staring at him.
Ragnar held up the bowl of stew in explanation and Finan nodded. He held a finger to his lips for the Dane to be quiet, and Ragnar carefully placing the bowls further inside the tent so that they were within reach of Finan’s free arm and then retreated. He mimed the locking of his lips with a key, to which Finan smiled gratefully.
As he left he could hear the murmured lilt of the Irishman, gentle and coaxing, “Come on now Lord, ‘fore my arm falls t’ sleep. Your body will thank you fer eating something.”
Ragnar smiled as he got back to the fire.
Hild was sat, in that wide-legged way she had that reminded everyone she was more used to horseback and the training square than needlework and whatever else nuns did when they weren’t on their knees. She leaned over and stoked the flames as he sat beside her.
“How are they?” she asked.
“Sleeping.”
“At last. I thought your stubborn brother was going to hold out for weeks before he went to him.”
Ragnar laughed, he’d been thinking the same thing.
“Do you think he can mend him?” Hild asked, suddenly serious.
Ragnar looked out to the tent, as they watched, the tent flap was whipped back and Uhtred came out, standing tall and then reaching in and helping Finan to his feet. They started towards them, Uhtred’s arm slung around Finan’s waist to take some of his weight off his injured feet. He looked up, saw them watching and gave them a grim smile.
Ragnar smiled back, “Mend him? I think it’s entirely possible, he already has.”