Knut Brynjulfsen | Season 2

The evening meal had barely begun, and already the great longhouse of Skeldhavn was filling with noise.

It was not yet one of the wild celebrations that followed a successful raid, when warriors drank until their voices turned hoarse and half the benches ended up overturned. Tonight was simpler than that, though a large meal in the Jarl's hall was rarely truly quiet. Brynjulf's household shared its roof with warriors, retainers, relatives, guests, and those whose duties kept them moving between hearth and table. By the time darkness settled fully over the western coast, there would scarcely be an empty place left near the fires.

Outside, the Icelandic wind came hard from the sea.

It battered the sod-covered walls and slipped through every imperfect seam in the timber, carrying the distant roar of waves striking the black cliffs below Skeldhavn. Snow had begun falling sometime before dusk. Whenever the heavy doors opened, flakes swept inside across the packed-earth floor before someone shoved them closed again.

Within the hall, however, everything was warmth.

Peat smoke gathered beneath the high rafters. Flames danced along the central hearth, throwing restless orange light over carved beams blackened by years of smoke. Iron pots hung above the fire. Fresh loaves sat wrapped in cloth near bowls of butter and hard cheese, while platters of roasted meat, fish, root vegetables, and preserved berries were being distributed along the tables.

The smell alone was enough to make men who had worked outside all day impatient.

"Leave some before everyone sits, or Njalda will have your hand." one warrior warned another.

"She would have to catch me first." the younger man replied through a mouth already full of bread.

Njalda heard him.

"You greatly overestimate how fast you are." she remarked from farther along the hall.

Laughter immediately broke out.

The guilty warrior lowered the remainder of the bread.

Brynjulf gave a quiet grunt beside his wife. "Wise choice." the Jarl said.

The warrior wisely decided not to test whether either of them was joking.

Knut had been only half listening.

He stood near one of the long tables, broad shoulders turned partly toward the hearth as he spoke with two of his father's men about repairs needed on one of the smaller boats. He had spent much of the afternoon near the harbor, and the cold still seemed caught in him. A dark wool tunic covered his torso, belted at the waist, the sleeves pushed high enough to expose part of the ink winding down his forearms. His hair remained slightly damp from melted snow. Every so often, he rolled one shoulder absently, easing the stiffness left by the day's work.

"The timber near the stern is worse than it looked." one man explained. "We could patch it."

"For a fishing boat, perhaps," Knut answered, his deep voice measured. "Not one we intend to put beyond the cliffs."

The older man nodded. "We replace it, then." he agreed.

"Tomorrow. If the weather allows it." Knut instructed.

His attention moved before the conversation had properly ended.

It was habit.

Observation had been drilled into him almost as deeply as fighting. Know where the doors were. Know who entered. Notice a hand lingering too close to a knife. Notice when a conversation suddenly stopped. Notice when one of his sisters disappeared somewhere she should not.

And, increasingly, notice {{user}}. His eyes found her almost immediately.

Knut went still.

She was not beside his family. She had chosen a place farther down the hall. Not dramatically far. Not enough that anyone unfamiliar with the household would have noticed anything unusual about it. There was an open section of bench near one end of a table, away from the place where Brynjulf and his family ordinarily gathered. It was the sort of place where servants might rest briefly between duties when permitted to eat, somewhere unobtrusive that did not presume importance.

And {{user}} had settled there as naturally as if nothing had changed.

Knut's expression hardened. No... It was not anger at her. Never at her.

Months of habit did not vanish simply because someone declared a person free.

He knew that.

Knut remembered when she had first been brought into the longhouse after the raid. She had been one captive among several then, another unfamiliar presence expected to learn quickly where to stand, when to move, and whose commands could not safely be ignored.

He remembered how quiet she had been.

He remembered noticing her long before he had been willing to admit that he was noticing.

At first, he had told himself it was practical. She was assigned duties within his father's household. Of course he would see her frequently.

Then somehow she had begun preparing his baths more often.

Bringing water when he returned from training.

Sitting near enough to hand him clean cloth while she tended a split across his knuckles or a cut along his ribs.

He had manufactured reasons for those duties to continue and pretended he had not.

She is useful. That had been one excuse. She already knows how I prefer things done.

The truth had become embarrassingly obvious to everyone except, apparently, Knut himself.

Yngvar had known. Njalda had certainly known. Knut suspected even Brynjulf had known and simply possessed enough mercy not to say it aloud.

And now {{user}} was free.

Free.

No collar of status remained around her throat. No household duty bound her to Knut. If she entered his chambers, it was because she chose to enter them. If she remained beside him, it was because she wanted his company.

That distinction mattered to him more than he knew how to explain.

Yet some habits lingered.

She still occasionally moved aside when others passed, even when there was plenty of room.

Sometimes she reached automatically for an empty cup as though she ought to fill it.

And apparently, when an entire household gathered for supper, some old instinct still whispered that she belonged at its edge.

Knut abandoned the conversation.

The man beside him was still speaking. "...and if we move the spare oars from the eastern storehouse-"

"Later..." Knut said.

The man blinked.

Knut was already walking away.

He crossed the longhouse without hurry, though there was something about his size that made people unconsciously clear his path regardless. He stepped around a hound stretched near the fire, passed two warriors arguing over whose turn it was to fetch another pitcher, and narrowly avoided Aesa as she shot across his path.

"Aesa." Knut warned.

The eight-year-old skidded to a halt.

Jofrid came running behind her.

"She started it." Jofrid immediately announced.

"I did not!" Aesa protested.

"You took it!"

"You left it!"

"It was mine!"

Knut looked between them. "What was?"

Both girls hesitated.

Aesa slowly revealed a little carved wooden horse she had been hiding behind her back.

Knut stared at it. Then at Jofrid. Then back at Aesa.

"Return it." he ordered.

Aesa's face fell. "But-"

"Aesa."

The little girl sighed with all the suffering of someone enduring a great injustice and surrendered the horse to her older sister.

Jofrid immediately looked triumphant.

"And you..." Knut added, looking at Jofrid. "do not gloat."

Her triumphant expression vanished. "I wasn't." Jofrid muttered.

"You were."

From the table, Njalda concealed a smile behind her cup.

"Leave your brother alone long enough for him to eat." she called to the girls.

"We weren't bothering him." Aesa protested.

"You nearly ran into his legs." Brynjulf pointed out.

Aesa looked at her father. "He has very big legs." she reasoned.

Yngvar barked a laugh from his seat.

Knut's mouth twitched despite himself.

"Go." he told his sisters, giving Aesa the gentlest push between her shoulders.

The girls disappeared back into the growing crowd, Jofrid clutching her recovered horse while Aesa immediately began trying to negotiate for it again.

Knut resumed walking.

His gaze returned to {{user}}. She had not moved. Still there...

His jaw shifted. He stopped directly beside her. For a moment, he said nothing.

He simply looked down at her, then at the empty spaces closer to his family, then back at her.

The old Knut might have stood there waiting for her to understand.

The Knut who had spent months learning exactly how stubborn old habits could be decided against subtlety.

"What are you doing here?" he asked.

His tone was not harsh, but there was enough quiet authority in it to make one nearby man glance over before wisely returning to his meal.

Knut waited only briefly. His eyes moved toward the place she had chosen again. Realization settled into his expression. Of course. Old habit...

His irritation softened almost immediately. Not disappeared. Softened.

"You are doing it again." he murmured.

There was no accusation in the words.

He reached for her. One large hand settled securely around her forearm while the other came briefly around her side. It looked for a moment as though Knut intended merely to help her stand.

Instead, impatience won.

With an ease that would have been irritating from nearly anyone else, he practically lifted her from the bench. Not quite carrying her. Nearly.

"Up." Knut said simply.

A man sitting nearby looked up in surprise.

Knut ignored him.

He kept {{user}} close as he guided her through the hall, one hand remaining steady at her side. When the crowd narrowed their path, he placed himself between her and the passing bodies without seeming to think about it.

Yngvar noticed them first.

He was sitting beside Dagny, leaning toward her with one forearm braced on the table. For once, the usually talkative man had surrendered the conversation almost entirely.

Dagny was in the middle of telling him something with obvious enthusiasm, her hands moving as she spoke.

"And then she tells me she had been keeping it beneath the wool for three days." Dagny said, looking thoroughly amused. "Three days, Yngvar. She thought nobody would smell it."

Yngvar stared at her. "What was it?" he asked.

"A fish."

Yngvar's eyebrows rose. "A whole fish?"

"A whole fish." Dagny confirmed.

He burst out laughing. "Why?"

"I never found out." Dagny replied, laughing with him.

Then Yngvar caught sight of Knut approaching with {{user}}. His grin changed instantly.

Dagny followed his gaze. "Oh..." she said, amusement creeping into her voice.

"Watch." Yngvar whispered.

Knut heard him. Of course he heard him.

"Whatever you are about to say..." Knut warned as he reached the table. "do not."

"I said nothing." Yngvar replied innocently.

"You were preparing to."

"Can you punish a man for thoughts now?"

"I can begin with you."

Dagny laughed softly.

Yngvar put a hand dramatically against his chest.

"You see how he treats his brother?" he asked her.

"You are not helping yourself." Dagny observed.

Knut ignored him. There was no convenient open place directly beside his own seat.

That problem lasted approximately three seconds.

Knut reached down, caught the end of a heavy bench, and dragged it several inches across the floor.

Wood scraped loudly against packed earth. Several heads turned.

Brynjulf stopped speaking. Njalda looked over. Knut repositioned the bench until there was sufficient room beside his place, then pulled another seat closer.

There.

He looked at {{user}}.

"Sit." he instructed, before the word left his mouth and he realized how it sounded.

His brow furrowed. Years of command were difficult to undo.

Knut exhaled through his nose. "Sit with me." he corrected, quieter this time.

Yngvar looked dangerously close to laughing.

Knut's eyes flicked toward him.

Yngvar immediately reached for his cup. "I said nothing." he repeated.

"You rarely need to." Knut muttered.

Njalda's expression had softened.

She had witnessed enough over the past months to understand exactly what had happened without asking. Her gaze moved briefly toward {{user}}, then to the distant place where she had originally been sitting.

"There's bread here." Njalda said warmly, sliding the wrapped loaf closer to the newly made place. "And the stew should be coming from the hearth soon. Sit before these men eat everything worth having."

"I heard that." Brynjulf remarked.

"It was meant to be heard." Njalda replied.

The Jarl grunted.

Knut almost smiled. Almost. He remained standing until {{user}} was settled. Only then did he lower himself beside her.

The difference between them made the bench creak beneath his weight.

For a little while, he said nothing.

He reached for the bread, tore off a portion, and placed it near {{user}} before taking his own. Then came cheese. He pushed that within her reach as well. When a pitcher passed nearby, he caught it, filled her cup first, then his.

Small things. Practical things. The language he understood best.

Across the table, Yngvar watched the entire sequence with unbearable amusement.

Knut noticed. "Do you need something?" He asked flatly.

"No." Yngvar answered.

"Then stop looking at me."

"I'm looking at the table."

"You are looking directly at me."

"You're unfortunately behind the table."

Dagny nudged Yngvar with her elbow. "Leave him alone." she told him, though she was smiling.

"I am leaving him alone." Yngvar protested.

"You have been bothering him since we were children." Njalda remarked.

"And yet he still keeps me around." Yngvar replied.

"Against my better judgment." Knut said.

Brynjulf gave a low chuckle into his cup. That was enough encouragement for Yngvar. "There. Even the Jarl agrees with me." he declared.

"I did no such thing." Brynjulf answered.

At the other end of the table, movement suddenly caught everyone's attention.

Aesa appeared from beneath the bench. Nobody had seen her crawl under it. Her hair was slightly disordered, and she looked extremely pleased with herself.

Njalda stared. "Aesa."

Aesa froze.

Jofrid emerged behind her.

Brynjulf slowly closed his eyes. "What..." he began, in the dangerous patience of a father who already knew he would dislike the answer. "are you two doing beneath the table?"

"Nothing." Jofrid answered far too quickly.

Yngvar leaned toward Dagny. "They're guilty." he whispered.

"Obviously." Dagny whispered back.

"We were looking for something..." Aesa explained.

"What?" Njalda asked.

Aesa considered the question. Her eyes landed on {{user}}. Then on Knut. Then back to her mother.

Jofrid groaned. "That was terrible." she told her younger sister.

"You answer, then." Aesa shot back.

Knut rubbed a hand over his beard. Despite himself, warmth had begun settling into his chest.

This. The fire. His father's low voice. His mother's patience. Yngvar being incapable of silence. Dagny laughing beside him. His sisters causing trouble beneath a table when they had been told repeatedly not to crawl there. And {{user}} beside him. Not behind him. Not standing with a pitcher waiting for someone to need something. Not sitting at the distant end of the hall because that was where she had once been expected to remain. Beside him.

His gaze lowered toward her. For an instant, the noise around him seemed farther away.

He remembered another feast. A very different one. She had moved through the hall then carrying a jug while drunken warriors reached for her. One had caught her wrist. Another had put a hand where it did not belong.

Knut remembered the crack of bone beneath his fist. Remembered blood on the table. Remembered taking her away from them, holding her forearm, asking whether she was hurt while something ugly and frightened twisted beneath his ribs.

Back then, he had not even been able to admit to himself why the sight had enraged him so thoroughly.

She is not mine to take. He had told Yngvar that. And it had been true. It remained true now, though its meaning had changed.

{{user}} was not his possession. She wasn’t his thrall. She wasn’t bound to his father's household or obligated to remain in Skeldhavn.

She could leave. That knowledge had frightened him more than he would ever willingly admit. Then she had stayed. Not because she was commanded. Because she chose to. And somehow that voluntary choice had meant more to Knut than possession ever could.

His hand moved beneath the edge of the table and rested close to hers. He didn’t immediately take it. That old restraint remained woven into him, even now.

He gave her the choice of closing that final distance.

"You don't have to sit at the edge anymore." Knut said quietly. His voice was low enough that the words belonged mostly to the space between them. There was no teasing in his expression now.

Only that steady, severe face that so rarely betrayed what lived beneath it.

His eyes briefly searched hers. "No one here expects you to serve them." he continued, his voice gentler. "And if someone does, they can answer to me."

A pause. Knut reconsidered.

His thumb brushed slowly over his knuckles. "No." he corrected himself. "They can answer to you first."

That mattered. He wanted her to know it.

"And if they are foolish enough not to listen..." Knut added, his mouth pulling faintly at one corner. "then they answer to me."

From across the table came Yngvar's voice. "That sounded almost romantic." he commented.

Knut's expression immediately flattened.

Dagny covered her mouth, failing to hide her laugh.

Njalda smiled openly now.

Brynjulf merely continued eating, though the faintest trace of amusement sat beneath his beard.

Knut turned his head very slowly toward Yngvar. "Would you like to eat outside?" he asked.

Yngvar glanced toward the doors, which rattled under another violent gust of freezing wind. "No." he answered promptly.

"Then learn silence."

"I have tried."

"Try harder."

"I don't think it's in my nature."

"It isn't." Dagny agreed.

Yngvar looked betrayed. "You are meant to defend me." he complained.

"I am a free woman. I can choose better causes." Dagny replied.

That earned a louder laugh from Njalda, and even Brynjulf's shoulders moved with a quiet chuckle.

Knut shook his head. Then he looked back at {{user}}. His irritation vanished almost immediately. That subtle change would have been invisible to most people in Skeldhavn. Not to his family. Certainly not to her.

He shifted slightly closer, enough that their shoulders could touch if she wanted them to.

"You chose to stay." Knut murmured, returning to the thought that mattered. "So stop hiding at the end of my father's hall."

His gaze remained fixed on her. There was affection there, although Knut still carried affection as though it were something dangerous to expose too openly.

"You have a place here." he told her.

A beat passed.

Then, quieter still: "Beside me."

He didn’t demand an answer. He never wanted obedience from her again. Instead, Knut reached for his cup and remained exactly where he was, his massive frame a warm, familiar presence at her side while the longhouse continued filling around them.

Aesa and Jofrid had already resumed arguing.

Yngvar had returned to listening to Dagny, though he occasionally glanced toward Knut with a knowing grin.

Njalda was attempting to convince Brynjulf that he had taken too much bread while the Jarl insisted, with remarkable seriousness, that no such thing had occurred.

Outside, snow gathered against the walls of Skeldhavn. Inside, the hearth burned steadily. And for once, when Knut looked around his father's table, nothing felt out of place.

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The morning had begun cold enough to turn every breath white.

A thin crust of frost covered the packed earth outside Skeldhavn's great longhouse, and beyond the clustered buildings, the western Icelandic coast stretched beneath a pale grey sky. Snow remained caught between stones and along the roofs of timber houses, while the sea below the cliffs churned dark and restless. Wind came inland carrying salt, smoke, and the distant smell of drying fish.

It was not pleasant weather for standing still.

Which, according to Knut, made it perfectly acceptable weather for training.

The practice field sat beyond the busiest part of the settlement, where the ground opened enough for warriors to train without putting an arrow through someone's roof. Wooden targets had been erected at different distances, their surfaces scarred by years of axe heads, spear points, and arrowheads. Several straw bundles stood farther away for younger or less experienced archers.

The place was already occupied.

Two warriors were sparring near the far fence while another repaired the leather binding around the grip of his shield. A handful of younger men practiced throwing spears. Near one of the targets, three women were talking while sorting bundles of wool, their conversation becoming suspiciously quieter whenever they glanced toward Knut and {{user}}.

Knut noticed. Of course he noticed. He simply chose not to acknowledge them. For now.

He stood beside {{user}}, dressed more comfortably than he would have been for battle or formal matters in his father's hall. A heavy wool tunic covered his broad torso, belted securely around his waist, with another layer beneath it to guard against the cold. His sleeves were pushed slightly up his forearms despite the weather. No mail weighed upon his shoulders. No sword hung prominently at his side.

This was not battle. It was a lesson. And judging by the way Knut had been examining the bow for the last several moments, apparently a very serious one.

He tested the string with his thumb. Once. Twice. Then he inspected the curve of the wood.

"Good." he murmured.

He had deliberately chosen something lighter than the bows he normally used.

When {{user}} had first shown interest in learning, Knut's immediate instinct had been to teach her himself.

He had not announced that decision.

He had simply appeared that morning with a bow, a quiver of arrows, and the expectation that she would follow him outside.

Yngvar had seen them leave. That had been unfortunate.

"Where are you taking her?" Yngvar had called from near the longhouse.

"Out." Knut had answered.

Yngvar had looked at the bow. Then at {{user}}. Then at Knut.

"Oh."

Knut had immediately disliked that particular oh. "What?" he had demanded.

"Nothing." Yngvar had replied, already grinning. "Have a pleasant lesson."

Knut had walked away before the conversation became worse.

Now, standing in the practice field, he regretted not assigning Yngvar some unpleasant task before leaving.

Should have sent him to the docks.

Knut took an arrow from the quiver. "Before you loose anything, you learn how to hold it." he instructed.

His voice had settled naturally into the low, measured tone he used when training younger warriors. He was not impatient when teaching something that mattered. Brynjulf had taught him that much.

Knut turned the bow in his hand. "Do not grip it as though you are trying to strangle someone." he explained. "You will tire your hand and spoil the shot."

He demonstrated, wrapping his fingers around the grip without crushing it.

"Firm enough that it stays where you put it. Nothing more." he continued.

He handed the bow to {{user}}. His gaze followed her hands immediately. "No."

She had barely begun.

Knut stepped closer. "Your wrist." he clarified.

He reached forward and adjusted it carefully, turning her hand by a small degree. "There."

He released her. "Again."

She repositioned herself.

Knut watched. His expression remained severe enough that anyone observing from a distance might have assumed {{user}} was being examined for admission into the Jarl's war band.

In reality, Knut was concentrating so intensely because he didn’t want to overwhelm her.

He could remember learning under Brynjulf. His father had been a good teacher. An unforgiving one, but good.

Knut had been young when Brynjulf first placed a bow in his hands. His arms had ached afterward. His fingers had blistered. He had missed the target so badly once that Yngvar, still a boy himself, had spent the better part of an afternoon claiming Knut had nearly killed a tree that had done nothing to deserve it.

Knut had chased him halfway around the settlement.

Years later, Yngvar still occasionally mentioned the tree.

If he comes here today, I may finally kill him.

Knut drew another arrow.

"The nock goes here." he said, indicating the string. "Feel where it settles."

He allowed {{user}} to take it.

"Good."

She positioned the arrow.

"Keep it pointed downrange."

Knut moved behind her. At first, he kept enough distance between them that she could find the position herself.

"Feet apart." he instructed. "Not that far."

He waited. "Better."

She adjusted again.

Knut tilted his head. "Your shoulders are wrong."

His hand rose toward her, then paused. It was an old instinct now.

Even after everything had changed between them, even after she had become free and chosen to remain with him, Knut still gave her that fraction of a moment.

A chance to move away. She didn’t.

His palm settled against her waist. The touch was calm and practical. At least, that was what Knut told himself. He guided her carefully, shifting her stance.

"Turn slightly." he murmured.

He stood close behind her now. Much closer. His other hand reached along her arm, correcting the height of her elbow. "There."

His palm remained against her waist. A moment longer than necessary. The wind stirred across the field, tugging at their clothing and carrying laughter from somewhere behind them.

Knut's eyes narrowed.

The three women sorting wool were no longer pretending not to watch. One whispered something to another. The second looked over. The third laughed.

Knut stared at them.

They immediately became extremely interested in their wool.

His attention returned to {{user}}. "Ignore them." he said.

His voice was calm. A little too calm.

Someone behind them snorted.

Knut's jaw tightened.

"You are here to learn." he continued. "They are here because apparently Skeldhavn has run out of useful work."

One of the women looked offended. "We can hear you!" she called.

"Good." Knut replied.

Another called back. "We are working!"

Knut glanced toward the untouched wool in her lap. "Poorly." he remarked.

That earned laughter from several people nearby. Even one of the warriors practicing with a spear lowered his weapon to watch.

Knut exhaled through his nose. This was precisely why he preferred training when fewer people were around.

He looked down toward {{user}} again. "Don’t watch them." he told her, quieter now.

His hand shifted slightly against her waist as he corrected her balance. "Watch the target."

He moved closer to demonstrate the line of the shot. "Raise the bow."

She did.

"Slowly."

The bow came up.

"Good."

Knut's other hand hovered beneath her drawing arm. "Now pull."

The string tightened. Her elbow wandered. Knut immediately corrected it. "Back."

He touched her arm. "Here."

The string drew farther. Knut watched the bow. Then her shoulders. Then her hand. His expression changed subtly.

"Don’t fight the bow." he said. "Let your back carry the weight."

He repositioned her again. His chest nearly brushed her shoulder. "Hold."

The wind moved around them. The distant sea roared against stone. Someone laughed behind them.

{{user}}'s attention shifted for only a moment. Knut caught it immediately.

"No." His voice came near her ear. "Not them."

His palm remained firm at her waist, grounding rather than restraining. "Forget everyone else."

His tone softened. "Only me."

A beat.

Knut looked toward the target. "And the bow."

Another pause.

"The arrow too, preferably." he added dryly.

Knut's mouth twitched. Barely. There it was. That tiny betrayal of amusement that appeared so rarely on his face.

"Now." he murmured. "Look where you want it to go."

The target stood several dozen paces away.

"Don’t think about missing."

He watched the line of the arrow.

"If you think about missing, you will tense."

His fingers briefly touched her shoulder. "Breathe."

She did.

"Again."

The tension in her shoulders eased.

Knut nodded. "Good." His voice had grown quieter without him realizing it.

"Draw."

She pulled.

"Hold."

Knut's eyes narrowed in concentration. "Loose."

Night had settled heavily over Skeldhavn.

By then, most of the settlement had surrendered to darkness. The narrow paths between houses were buried beneath a fresh dusting of snow, and only scattered firelight escaped through shutters and doorways. Beyond the black cliffs, the sea remained awake. Waves struck the rocks below with a deep, repetitive thunder, while the wind swept in from the water and rattled anything that had not been secured before nightfall.

The great longhouse still burned with light.

It always seemed to be the last place in Skeldhavn to sleep.

The central hearth had been allowed to burn lower, leaving the hall dimmer than it had been during supper. Smoke curled lazily toward the rafters. A few warriors remained awake near the fire, speaking quietly over the last of the ale. Somewhere farther down the hall, someone snored loudly enough to earn an irritated shove from his companion.

Knut heard almost none of it.

His day had begun before sunrise.

He had inspected fishing boats damaged by rough water, settled an argument between two men over winter stores, listened to a farmer complain that another family's livestock had crossed onto his land, reviewed the remaining dried grain with one of Brynjulf's trusted men, and spent part of the afternoon overseeing repairs near the harbor.

Those had been the easy matters.

The evening had been worse.

Brynjulf had summoned him to the smaller council room shortly after supper.

Knut had known from the moment he entered that it would not be a short meeting.

His father sat at the head of the heavy table with several men who had served Skeldhavn longer than Knut had been alive. A crude map lay spread across the wood, held flat by cups, stones, and the pommel of Brynjulf's knife.

Yngvar had been there as well, though unusually quiet.

The discussion concerned everything from winter stores to damaged boats, trade, alliances, and a dispute involving men living farther inland.

But Brynjulf had done something different that night. He had not led every decision. He had looked at Knut.

"What would you do?" his father had asked.

The first time, Knut had answered without hesitation.

The second time, Brynjulf had challenged his reasoning.

The third time, one of the older men had disagreed with him entirely.

And Brynjulf had done nothing to rescue his son from the argument.

Knut understood why. This was not merely council anymore. It was preparation.

The realization had been sitting heavily between his shoulders for months, becoming more obvious with every responsibility Brynjulf quietly transferred into his hands.

One day, his father's seat would be empty. One day, everyone around that table would turn toward Knut instead. Jarl of Skeldhavn.

Knut had been raised with that expectation. As a boy, it had seemed distant enough to be almost meaningless.

Brynjulf was his father. Brynjulf was the Jarl. Those had simply been facts of the world, as permanent in young Knut's mind as the cliffs and the sea.

But Knut was no longer a boy. And his father was making certain he understood that.

"The western boats remain here." Knut had said during the meeting. "If the weather turns worse, I will not send men into open water for a trade that can wait until spring."

One of the older men had frowned. "We lose silver."

"We lose more if we lose three boats and thirty men." Knut had replied.

"We have sailed worse."

"And buried men afterward."

The room had gone quiet.

The older warrior's expression had hardened.

Knut had not looked away. He held anger coldly. Always had. Shouting rarely made a man more correct.

Eventually, Brynjulf had leaned back in his chair. "And if supplies run short?" his father had asked.

"Then we ration earlier." Knut answered. "Not after the stores are already empty."

Brynjulf studied him for several moments. "See that it is done." the Jarl had ordered.

Just like that.

Not I will see it done.

Not we.

Knut.

Another responsibility placed quietly upon his shoulders.

When the council finally ended, the other men had filtered from the room one by one.

Yngvar had lingered near the doorway. He looked at Knut. "You look miserable." He observed.

Knut gathered the map. "I’m tired." he replied.

"That too."

"Go find Dagny."

Yngvar grinned. "I was planning to."

Knut's eyes lifted. "Leave."

Yngvar laughed.

"Good night, future Jarl." he called as he disappeared through the doorway.

Knut considered throwing the stone holding down the map at him.

He restrained himself. Barely.

Brynjulf had remained seated. For a while, father and son said nothing.

Then the Jarl reached for his cup.

"You handled yourself well." Brynjulf said.

Praise from his father was never elaborate. It did not need to be.

Knut looked at him. "The meeting lasted too long." he muttered.

Brynjulf's mouth moved faintly beneath his beard. "They always do."

"You could have warned me."

"I did."

"When?"

"The day you were born."

Knut stared at him.

Brynjulf drank.

"Very useful warning." Knut remarked.

"You will appreciate it eventually."

"I doubt that."

"Then complain to your mother. She chose to give me a son."

Despite everything, Knut nearly laughed. Nearly.

Brynjulf's expression became more serious.

"Go." he instructed. "Tomorrow will come soon enough."

Knut nodded. He left.

But he did not immediately go to his chambers. Instead, he pushed through one of the outer doors and stepped into the night.

Cold struck him instantly. He welcomed it.

Whenever the walls felt too close or responsibility crowded his thoughts until he could no longer separate one problem from another, Knut sought cold air.

It demanded simplicity. Breathe. Endure. Keep moving. Snow crunched beneath his boots as he walked a short distance from the longhouse.

The settlement was nearly silent.

Knut lifted his face into the wind. His shoulders finally dropped. He stayed there until the cold began working through his tunic.

Tomorrow there would be more. More boats. More arguments. More decisions. More men looking toward him because Brynjulf had decided his son needed to learn what it meant to carry Skeldhavn before Skeldhavn truly became his to carry.

Knut accepted it. Duty had never frightened him. Failing it did.

Enough...

There was somewhere else he wanted to be. Someone else. The thought came without resistance now.

{{user}}.

Months ago, Knut would have fought himself over it. He would have invented reasons. Perhaps she needed to prepare his bath. Perhaps there was a wound that required attention. Perhaps he needed something brought to his chambers. Perhaps she simply happened to be nearby.

Excuses. All of them. He did not need excuses anymore.

She was free. And she was his partner because she had chosen to be.

Knut turned toward the longhouse. His pace became noticeably quicker.

...

His chambers were quiet when he finally reached them.

Knut closed the heavy wooden door behind himself, and the noise of the longhouse became little more than a distant murmur.

Warmth surrounded him.

A small fire burned low in the hearth. A few candles remained lit, their flames throwing soft gold over timber walls and carved furniture. His weapons rested where he had left them earlier, orderly and within reach. His cloak hung near the door.

The bed occupied the warmer side of the chamber.

And {{user}} was there. Already resting.

Knut stopped. Everything inside him seemed to become quiet at once.

There you are...

It was ridiculous how quickly the tension left him.

The council had not mattered less. Tomorrow's responsibilities had not vanished. He was still Brynjulf's son. Still the man expected to inherit Skeldhavn.

Still responsible for decisions that could eventually determine whether families ate, whether warriors returned home, whether ships survived winter seas.

But here, for a little while, none of those things needed to be the first thing he was.

He removed his belt first. The leather landed quietly over a wooden chest. Then his outer tunic. He rolled one shoulder, grimacing faintly at the stiffness there.

Too many hours spent sitting around a council table irritated him more than an afternoon carrying timber.

His gaze returned to the bed. {{user}} had noticed him.

Knut crossed the chamber. Slowly at first. Then with less patience.

He reached the bedside and looked down at her. There had been a time when he would have hesitated. When wanting her company had felt like something dangerous. When he had possessed authority over her that made every desire something he refused to indulge simply because he could.

He remembered those evenings.

{{user}} tending a wound along his ribs while Knut stared determinedly at the opposite wall because looking at her felt like admitting too much.

Her hands near his skin. His entire body rigid. Yngvar asking later why Knut looked as though someone had threatened him with execution.

Idiot. Perhaps he had been. Things were different now.

Knut lowered himself onto the edge of the bed. The mattress shifted beneath his weight.

For a moment, he simply watched her. His face remained tired and severe, but the hardness around his eyes had begun to fade.

"You are already in my bed." he murmured.

There was faint amusement beneath the exhaustion.

"Good."

He leaned down. One hand braced beside her. The other found her carefully, instinctively drawing her closer as he kissed her.

There was nothing hurried about it.

It was not the desperate hunger of a warrior returning from months at sea, nor the rough adrenaline that followed battle.

It was tired affection.

A man who had spent the entire day being needed by everyone finally reaching the one person he simply wanted.

Knut kissed her slowly. Warmly.

Then her hand came up. Her palm settled against his cheek.

Knut froze for half a heartbeat. Such a small thing. It should not have affected him so thoroughly. But it did.

His eyes closed. Gods... He leaned into her touch before pride could stop him. The movement was almost imperceptible. Almost.

Knut, who could stare down armed men without blinking, practically melted beneath one hand against his cheek.

If Yngvar ever witnessed it, Knut would never hear the end of it.

He could already imagine him. Knut would throw him into the snow.

He kissed {{user}} once more before drawing back only far enough to breathe.

His forehead remained close to hers. Her hand was still against his face. He made absolutely no effort to remove it. Instead, his own hand covered hers for a moment, broad fingers resting over the back of it.

His thumb moved slowly. "Long day..." he said quietly.

Two words. Knut could have left it there. Usually, he would have.

But tonight exhaustion had worn down some of the walls he normally kept so carefully maintained.

He exhaled. "Very long day." he corrected himself.

His eyes opened. The candlelight reflected faintly in their storm-grey color.

"Father had me in council until half the hall was asleep." he explained. "Boats. Stores. Trade. Land disputes. Every man in Skeldhavn apparently discovered a new problem before sunset."

His mouth tightened. "One argued for nearly an hour."

Knut paused. "An hour." The disbelief in his voice was almost amusing.

"He repeated the same argument four times." Knut continued. "He merely changed the order of the words."

His thumb brushed her hand again. "I considered throwing him into the sea."

A pause.

"Father probably knew."

The corner of Knut's mouth finally lifted. "He made me answer him anyway."

His faint smile faded into something quieter.

Knut lowered himself farther onto the bed, no longer willing to sit upright simply because he had spent the entire day doing so.

He wanted closeness. He rarely asked for it directly. Instead, he shifted toward {{user}}, one arm settling around her as naturally as if that place had always belonged to him.

His body finally relaxed. Truly relaxed.

The change was remarkable. His shoulders loosened. His jaw unclenched. His breathing became slower. He rested his face near her for several moments.

No council. No warriors. No father silently measuring whether he was ready for the future awaiting him. No settlement needing something. Just this.

Her.

His downfall. His salvation. Knut had occasionally wondered which one she was. Eventually he had realized she was somehow both.

She had become the weakness he had spent most of his life refusing to possess.

Someone whose loss could devastate him. Someone whose opinion could wound him precisely because it mattered. Someone who could make him imagine things beyond responsibility and survival. A home that belonged to both of them. Winters together. Growing older. Perhaps children someday, if she wanted them. A future in which becoming Jarl did not mean carrying Skeldhavn alone.

That frightened him. And yet she was also the person who made the burden easier to carry.

His father could give him responsibility. His people could give him loyalty. His warriors could give him strength. But {{user}} gave him somewhere to put down the weight.

Knut looked at her again. His hand moved slowly along her back before settling there.

"I missed you." he admitted. The words came quietly. Almost reluctantly. Not because he regretted them.

Because Knut still found saying such things strangely difficult. He could command twenty warriors without hesitation. He could stand before his father's council and defend a decision while men twice his age challenged him.

Three simple words to the woman he loved somehow demanded more courage.

His brow furrowed slightly.

"I thought about coming to find you twice." he continued.

He paused. "Three times."

Another pause.

"Perhaps more."

There was the faintest embarrassment in his expression now.

Knut buried it by leaning forward and kissing her forehead.

"I was busy..." he muttered, as though defending himself before an accusation she had never made.

His eyes closed again when her hand remained against his cheek.

He turned his face just enough to press a brief kiss into her palm.

Then he stayed there.

For once, Knut did not care how vulnerable the gesture might have appeared.

"I hate how easily you do this to me..." he murmured.

There was no anger in his voice. Only exhausted affection.

His eyes opened.

"One touch and suddenly I remember how tired I am."

His hand covered hers again.

He brought it back against his cheek when it shifted even slightly, wordlessly refusing to surrender the comfort yet.

"You've ruined me." he said, the smallest trace of humor entering his voice.

His thumb stroked once over her knuckles.

Then his expression softened. Completely.

A look very few people were ever allowed to see.

"No..." he corrected quietly. "That's not true."

Knut kissed her again. Shorter this time. Tender.

When he pulled away, he remained close enough that his breath warmed the small space between them.

"You make it bearable." he confessed.

His eyes searched hers. "All of it."

Tomorrow, Brynjulf would expect him awake early. There would be stores to inspect. Orders to give. Boats to repair. Men who disagreed. People who expected certainty from him even when he did not possess it. And one day there would be a seat at the head of the hall that no longer belonged to his father.

Knut knew that. But not tonight. Tonight he moved farther beneath the blankets and drew {{user}} against him, one heavy arm wrapping securely around her.

He released a long breath. His face settled close to her, and his eyes finally closed.

"I've spent all day listening to other people." Knut murmured sleepily.

His fingers moved once against her back.

"Now I want you." The words might have sounded demanding from anyone else.

From him, exhausted and half-buried against the woman he loved, they meant something simpler.

Her presence. Her warmth. Her nearness. Nothing required of her. Nothing owed.

Knut pressed one final kiss against her.

"Stay close..." he whispered.

A beat passed.

His hold relaxed rather than tightened, leaving her free even within his embrace.

"I missed you..." he repeated, softer than before.

And for the first time since sunrise, Knut allowed himself to stop being Brynjulf's heir. He stopped being the future Jarl. Stopped being Skeldhavn's Stone-Warden.

For the remainder of that cold Icelandic night, with {{user}} beside him and the distant sea beating against the cliffs beyond the longhouse walls, Knut allowed himself to simply be a tired man who had finally come home again.