we're probably going to need more ale for this [Bjorn]

Thora's entire plan for coming to the feast had been destroyed, meaning she hadn't even intended to come to the feast in the first place. Truth be told, she wasn't even certain she would be welcome here, not after her encounter with Bjorn Ironside. Curse her unruly tongue! But what kind of shieldmaiden would she be if she didn't stand up for herself? One less hated by the prince of Kattegat, maybe. She knew his dislike wasn't her fault, not initially anyway. Ubbe had told her she reminded Bjorn of someone, and left it at that. Thora hadn't asked more questions, it was not her place. She'd thought she could handle that, she would simply stay out of the prince's way. Then he'd showed up at her house when she'd been outside polishing her weapons. It was poor timing for both of them, really, but sometimes the gods made things happen for reasons known only to them. Her plan to avoid him had shattered when he told her she didn't belong in the shield wall. She'd stepped out of line, she knew she had, but she would do it again if she could go back in time. Still, his last words to her rang in her head: I am iron, and I forge myself. And so Thora went back to her original plan, to simply avoid Bjorn as best as she could. It would simply make things easier for both of them.

But then her brother Audun showed up, all the way from Uddevalla, leading a pregnant mare for the sacrifice. So then she had recalculated, and just decided she would lay low. Sit with the warriors, eat, drink, tell some stories, make some jokes, get to know the warriors of Kattegat better. And that had been going very well, until the line of dancers twirled past. Audun, knowing how much she loved to dance, had pushed her into the line. She'd drunk just enough ale that she didn't even think twice about joining them. That had gone about as well as could be expected, half-drunk and dancing with others--men, women, children, it didn't matter--who were almost all at least as drunk as she was.  

This partner though, he was terrible. The drunkest by far of any person she'd danced with, tripping over not only his own feet but hers as well. She wrenched herself free of his clammy hands, claiming she was thirsty, but he only shook his head and advanced on her again. That was the trouble with drunk men, sometimes they just didn't take the hint. Thora sighed, resigned. For once in her life, she wasn't itching for a fight. For once, she just wanted to have fun, to dance, and not get into trouble. It would seem the gods had other plans.  He grabbed her wrists hard and started pulling her toward him. Thora went along with it, waiting until she was close enough before sinking a knee into his groin. He shoved her away, shouting curses at her. His push caused her to stumble backward, crashing into the back of someone sitting at a table. She nearly fell to the floor, but managed to catch herself on the edge of the bench behind her, and scrambled quickly to her feet. She turned, green eyes wide, face crimson with embarrassment. Her scuffle with the man and his curses had been loud enough that hopefully whoever she crashed into would have heard and would know what happened. Hopefully they wouldn't be too angry. Hopefully, for once, this wouldn't be a fight.

The apology was out of her mouth as she was turning. I am so sorry, let me pour you some ale. Her green eyes were wide and apologetic, sincere. She really hadn't meant to cause a scene. Then her eyes fell on the man she'd been pushed into--the very same man she'd been hoping to avoid for as long as possible. Damn. So much for laying low.

@Björn Ragnarsson

Halfway through her apology when Thora realizes who she's apologizing to, the panic starts to rise in her like a tide but she does her best to ignore it. As is often the case with someone who's just escaped a threat, the danger of the situation doesn't sink in until it's passed. Maybe the rising panic is just her natural reaction the to drunk Viking grabbing her. After all, Thora's no stranger to rough hands bruising her arms, to a man forcing herself on her. But after she'd left her husband, fled back to her father's house in shame, she'd promised herself it would never happen again. Worked even harder with her weapons, made herself stronger and faster than she'd ever been. Kept promising herself she would never feel weak and afraid at the hands of a man again. When the man had grabbed her she'd reacted calmly, out of instinct, and defended herself. But now she's free of his grasp and she's bumped into Bjorn.

She expects hatred in his eyes, half-expects him to grab her with a roar and shake her so hard her teeth chatter--not because she necessarily thinks he hates her that much or that he's the type to do such things, but because she's struggling now to rein in her panic. She fists her hands in her skirt to hide their shaking, tries her best to turn the fear singing through her into defiance. But none of that happens. His first words--I thought you'd rather fight in a shield wall than pouring ale?-- are sarcastic, a little biting, but far from the hatred he'd shown her before. His face is confusing to her, unreadable, but there is no fury in his blue eyes this time. The relief is so strong, overpowering the panic, that she could almost laugh. Just like that, she's back in the present. She is not a victim of bruising hands anymore, and she never will be.

She's about to respond to his half-sarcastic question when he asks her another one, his eyes traveling from her to the man who'd caused this whole mess. He's still clutching himself, spitting curses at her and glaring. His question this time takes her by surprise. She doesn't expect him to care about anything that happened. The shock of it wars with the shame she feels, that she couldn't defend herself well enough. That the drunk Viking made her feel weak and afraid. In all of her terrible interactions with men Thora herself is the only constant and she thinks by this point that maybe their treatment of her is no less than she deserves. Certainly she doesn't deserve this unexpected kindness from Bjorn, not after the way she acted before. She's so shocked by the question the only thing she can do is answer honestly. There is nothing defiant about her now, only a sense of shame that barely allows her to meet Bjorn's eyes. She shrugs. "He did, but I hope I was able to teach him a lesson." Finally she's able to meet his eyes. "I am sorry. I did not mean to disturb you." There's still a touch of shame about her, she can't quite escape the shame of feeling scared, of being handled roughly by a man yet again.

Thora knows she isn't good at hiding her emotions and therefore the panic must be plain in her eyes. Her suspicion is confirmed when Bjorn's eyes soften even further, when he relaxes his broad shoulders. She can see that he's trying to be kind to her, and it's so unexpected that she wants to apologize to him right then and there for the way she acted a few days ago. She gives him a small, shy smile when he reassures her, telling her not to be sorry for disturbing him. She knows he's trying to be kind, and that's enough. It melts all possible defiance out of her.

He speaks again I'll make sure he won't forget your lesson, a sort of promise--safety for her, more pain for the man who crossed the line. Thora is surprised by Bjorn's gentle hand on her shoulder, guiding her behind him. She isn't used to being shielded by others. She's tough, an unflinching warrior, but the harsh treatment in her past makes her weak in the face of drunken, bruising hands. She's grateful that this time, she has an unexpected protector. The relief makes her knees feel weak, and she hates herself for feeling so powerless.

And then Bjorn is stepping forward, and the man who assaulted her is muttering, looking away from the wrath of the prince. Thora cannot see his face, but his voice is cold and dark as a winter storm. She didn't allow herself to shiver when that tone was directed at her a few days ago, but this time she can't help it. He's a great big bear of a man, this prince, and he certainly lives up to his namesake. His fist connects with a sickening crunch and the splatter of blood, then he drops the man and returns to her like nothing happened.

He's wiping blood off his forehead, and her bright green eyes follow his hand for moment. She's learned to love the sight of fresh blood on pale, clean skin. She is a shieldmaiden, blood is part of the job. He's asking for the ale she promised when she bumped into him, a small smile on his face. She grins like the sun breaking through the clouds, and even she's a little surprised at the laugh that escapes her lips. Thora is seldom serious, and even now, her panic gone and the small smile Bjorn had given her encouraging her, she can't quite help herself. They may not be friends yet, but she hopes they're moving in that direction. "How can I deny you ale after that?" She quickly finds two cups and a jug of ale. She looks up at him as she pours the ale, suddenly serious and a little shy. ["Thank you."/i] She finishes pouring and hands him a cup, then holds hers forward so he can clink his cup against hers. "Skoll."

She brought the cup to her lips and took a slow sip after they clinked their cups together. Her bright green eyes were on Bjorn, watching him as he looked at her. His face was unreadable, as it always seemed to be. Or maybe she just didn't know him well enough to read him. The lack of hatred in his eyes still surprised her a little, but she was glad for it. She didn't want Bjorn to hate her, especially since it wasn't her fault. She didn't know the details, but Ubbe had told her in the woods that she simply reminded Bjorn of somebody. Thora hadn't asked for two reasons. One was that it simply wasn't her business. The second was that she was afraid the knowing would make Bjorn more human to her. She didn't want him to be relatable, to have pain in his past. How could she meet his hatred with her own stubborn defiance if she knew the reason for his anger? It's true that it wasn't her fault, but for the sort of visceral reaction she drew from Bjorn, she guessed the pain of it must run terribly deep, and so she simply didn't want to know.

He tells her it's his duty to protect his people, and Thora raises her eyebrows slightly. Did he just call her one of his people? Surely he hadn't meant it? Although the way he was acting tonight was very different from the way he'd acted toward her previously. Thora was softening toward him. She told herself it was the ale, was the way he'd unexpectedly stepped up to defend her. Things would probably go back to normal between them in the morning, once there was no ale and no drunk man trying to grab at her with his clammy hands. His face was serious as he spoke again. Although his tone was calm, simply curious, and there was no disgust or anger on his face, Thora couldn't help the offended snort that escaped her lips. "Maybe you're recalling things differently than I am, but I did get his hands off me." Her honor sufficiently defended, she followed Bjorn as he led them off to the side, ducking partway behind a large, ornate pillar.

It was a fair question after all, she supposed. It was true that she had gotten his hands off her, and had reacted just fine during the crisis itself. But afterward, the panic that rose in her when the danger was passed, that was a different story. He had a right to know why, if she wanted to fight in his shield wall. Fear could mean the difference between life and death. She had no fear of death, never flinched in a shield wall, but he had never seen her fight in one, but he'd seen fear in her tonight. For that, and for defending her--although she'd had it mostly under control--he deserved to know the truth. Or maybe he didn't, but he had asked and Thora would tell him. Fear wasn't a good trait in a warrior, but she needed him to know that her fear was over something very, very specific and completely unrelated to the shield wall.

She inspects the pillar, raising her cup to her lips one final time. She feels the ale settling warm in her belly, bracing her, before turning her bright green eyes back to Bjorn. Thora works hard to keep her tone light and conversational, to keep the shame from coloring her face in an embarrassed flush. "I was married, before I came to Kattegat. Great big man, only a little smaller than you." She pauses, looks down into her cup for a second before bringing it to her lips and draining it. "Had hands like iron and a temper to match. Hid all my weapons--still don't know where, I think he buried them." She shrugs, acting like it's no big deal. "I left him with a bit more than a knee to the balls, but it took me longer than it should have to find the strength for it." She raises her empty cup toward him, a bitter little smile on her face, and her voice is quiet when she continues. "You are the only person in Kattegat who knows." She's looking at him unflinchingly, a defiant set to her jaw. She seems to be daring him to say something--to tell her she's weak, tell her again there's no place in the shield wall for a girl like her. He's said it before. Her bright green eyes are searching his, waiting for the pity and the disgust she's sure he'll feel toward her now, and she doesn't care. She'll prove him wrong a thousand times if she has to, prove to him the shield wall is where she belongs.

Everything is making Thora feel a little off-balance right now; the ale and the drunk Viking, Bjorn defending her, and his unexpected kindness. If she'd had to guess, Bjorn would never have been the first person in Kattegat to know the past she tried hard not to let overpower her. She was much calmer in Kattegat than she'd been in Uddevalla, without the constant fear that her ex-husband was going to burst into her brother's house and drag her out by her hair, take his vengeance on her for the ugly, twisted scar on his face and his ruined reputation. Bjorn himself unsettled her, too. The only real contact she'd had with him was outside her house, when he'd told her there was no place for a girl like her in the shield wall. When she'd stepped way over the line and tried to lecture him about control, and his final words from that encounter rang in her ears again: I am iron, and I forge myself. Well, if he could forge himself, couldn't she forge herself, too?

She'd counted on his hatred of her being one of the forces driving her to prove herself, but maybe that was different now. Maybe his approval could drive her even stronger than his dislike. Maybe a simple nod or a small smile could push her to strive for excellence, even more than her will to defy his hateful glower. Only time would tell. She feels strangely light after she tells him about her husband, like she'd suddenly been relieved of a great burden she'd carried alone for so long. Maybe telling it took some of the power away from it, lessened the grip of fear on her even more. She knew she was strong. She could forge herself. She watched Bjorn's hand clench into a white-knuckled fist, and for the first time in a long time, she knows the man in front of her isn't about to hurt her. Most times before now, there was always some part of Thora that feared being hit again. There is no fear in her now, not even in the face of his stormy frown and enormous fist.

His words rang in her ears--he hurt you--and she merely nods. There isn't much else to say, not to that. Thora is surprised at how angry he seems by this, the way he took a deep breath to calm himself. He'd asked, but that didn't mean she'd expected him to really care. It was in the past now, nothing to be done for it anymore. It was true she'd emerged on the other side of the experience a little broken, but broken things can be mended stronger than they were before. She tells him he's the only person in Kattegat who knows and watches the instant softening of his eyes. She searches their depths, and although they're gentler now she still sees no disgust or pity, only an unexpected kindness that makes her feel a little stronger for having opened up to him. Never let a man hurt you again. You are in control of your body. I know it is hard to forget about the past. But you have to, or it will become your death. There's a touch of something she can't quite place in his voice--maybe compassion, a hint of pain that Bjorn has been suppressing. She was about to answer him when he unclenched his fist and pressed his fingers firmly into her hair.

Her green eyes widen in surprise but she doesn't flinch. Make your weaknesses your strengths. Swing your blade with the energy from your fears and sorrows, but don't let them take over your head. Even though she'd never wanted to know why Bjorn hated her so, now she's burning with the curiosity of it. He's obviously speaking from experience. Clearly he's a man who's worked hard to do the very things he's telling her to do, and yet Thora knows he still suffers from that weakness sometimes, that her presence seems to bring it out--like outside her house when he lost control of his temper. She'd told him essentially the same thing he was telling her now, that letting emotion take over is dangerous. She wants to remind him of that time, but she doesn't. She's afraid of breaking whatever spell the ale has woven around them, afraid to shatter this newfound peace between them. His hand moves from her hair to her cheek. She can feel the warmth of it, feel the callouses along the base of his fingers. They're hands that tell a story of hard work and hard fighting, of turning strengths into weaknesses. Your body can only be touched if you want it to be touched.

She knows he's telling her it's alright to slap his hand away if she wants to, and he won't retaliate. His hand strokes gently down her cheek, and she allows his touch to linger. After a few moments, she raises her hand and takes his in her own, turning it over and gently tracing his callouses with her finger, gathering her thoughts. Thora finds that she likes his hands. Not only can she see the hard work and strength in them, she's felt the gentleness in them now. She's still gently tracing his callouses when she raises her gaze to meet his again, a small, half-sad smile on her lips. She's half-expecting him to pull his hand away at any moment, and her grip is loose enough so he can do so whenever he chooses. She's been silent for a while, letting him fight to keep control of himself and letting him speak, but now it's her turn. "I said something similar to you, about controlling your emotions. The smile melts from her face as she continues, and her voice is gentle. She's worried that what she's about to say will make him rip his hand from her and storm away, ruining all progress they seem to have made tonight. Whatever else may happen between them, she's certain his hands will never commit violence against her. She continues anyway, she never was one to back down. "What pain in your past makes it so hard to follow your own advice sometimes?"

Of all the things Thora had experienced since coming to Kattegat, whatever was between her and Bjorn was the one that shocked her most of all. She was unsure what lay between them, to be quite honest, although she was quite sure it sprung from some twisted understanding of pain: of hurt and loss that could easily break them, if only they gave it power. Being near Bjorn was hard, harder than being near anyone else in this town. Not like his brother Ubbe, all teasing and laughter, and not like with Sassa, understanding and kind. But in a way she can feel the hardness of being near Bjorn making her stronger, and for that she's glad. She only hopes that being near her can help him the same way he's helping her. Maybe it's just the ale making her think that, though, and maybe being near Bjorn isn't making her stronger at all. She may never know--she may look back on this moment years from now and find it made her weaker, or didn't change her at all. Only the gods know.

All she's really thinking about in this moment are his hands--warm and steady as she traces the thickened skin. The calluses on his hands are a little different from hers because her sword belonged to her father, was a little too long for her, so her grip was higher on the handle than most people held their swords. She gives him a half-smile as their eyes meet, completely unaware of the effect she has on Bjorn, of the pain that lies in his past. All she knows is the unexpected understanding between them. It isn't a gentle understanding, not really. There's something ragged and powerful in it, something raw, and she knows that it can rip them to shreds if they let it--but she knows it won't. That's what they're learning from each other: how to take the power away from the pain. The process of learning that hurts too, but it's a pain Thora is glad to feel. When he answers her it's a whispered question, is he not standing here more human than before? He frowns and pulls his hand from her grasp, placing it against her face again.

Thora reaches up her own hand to smooth the frown from his eyebrows, her fingers insistent, and she nods. She can feel the warmth of his hand on her cheek again, the roughness of his calluses against her smooth face. "You are, but sometimes I can see pain behind your eyes. You work hard to overcome it." It's a simple statement of fact, but she can't keep the note of approval, of admiration, from her quiet voice. "I hope to have strength like yours someday." His hand against her face is harder than it was the first time, almost like a warning or a promise, she isn't sure but she leans a little into it anyway. It's a small thing, almost impossible to notice but she's sure he will, but it's her way of trying to tell him she doesn't want to hurt him, struggles with seeing the pain he hides but she isn't afraid of it. She's trying to tell him she understands, and that what she doesn't understand, she'll try. He looked away--trying to hide his pain, his darkness?--before he answered her, but his words are honest and simple when he speaks. There's something so vulnerable about his admission that she closes her bright green eyes for just a moment before meeting his gaze again.

She's about to answer when he laughs, almost bitterly, and moves his hand to the back of her head, his fingers tangling lightly in her long blond hair. His lips are warm and firm against her forehead, and the shock of it is enough to keep her completely still until he releases her. He's staring straight into her eyes when he releases her, and that gaze is almost too intense for her. One of her hands goes to cup his jaw, holding him gently in place as she rises onto her toes to press an answering kiss onto his cheek, just above his beard. Her lips are just as firm as his had been on her forehead, because whatever is between them, there is very little that is soft or gentle about it. She tugs on his beard, almost playfully, as she pulls away from him. Her green eyes are firm on his blue ones, and she can tell he's thinking about leaving, but she has one thing more to say. "Thank you." There are any number of things she can be thinking him for, and even she isn't sure which of them she means, but her thanks is genuine nonetheless.