Chapter Eighteen

"It's time for you to go," she heard and then she rolled over, rubbing her eyes with her fingers and yawning.

"What?"

"I said it's time for you to go, uncle," Tyr said, and Enid sat up, listening to them down below from her bed in the loft.

"Let me wake up, Tyr," Rolf sighed.

"Leave."

"Watch how you speak to me, boy," Rolf warned.

"Leave," was all Tyr said again, but then she heard a shuffle, heard the sound of stools tipping over and of wood scraping together.

"Tyr…" Freya sighed, turning her back to the ladder and stretching. "Leave him alone."

Enid realised what it was then, that they were fighting downstairs, that that terrible man was now towering over Tyr, and she leapt up, racing to the ladder and catching sight of Tyr locked in Rolf's fist as the man gripped the front of his shirt.

"No," she said. "No, leave him alone."

She threw herself down the ladder, her hands racing to his fist to try to pry his fingers open as Rolf stared at her, his eyes still hazy with sleep, but then he laughed.

"What are you doing?" he asked.

"Leave him alone!" she shouted, but Rolf laughed again, bringing his spare hand up to strike her face.

Her vision blurred, her ears rang and her heart raced and for a moment she couldn't hear anything but a screeching through her mind like some terrible church bell.

"Uncle!" she heard Tyr shout, and then she was back, pulling at his fingers and trying to elbow the boy free.

"Why are you so loud?" she heard someone sigh, and they all turned then, seeing Ivar standing there, stretching and yawning until his eyes fell on them. His hands quickly fell to his side, his eyes flicking between Rolf's fists and his face before going sharp. "Rolf?" he asked.

"Just having a discussion with my nephew," Rolf smiled, and Ivar came in close, jerking Tyr free and pulling him through the room to sit on his lap as the boy glared at his uncle, his face scrunched up in a tight scowl, his eyes never even blinking.

"I'm hungry, Enid," Ivar said, and she looked at Rolf one last time, her eyes narrowing as she studied him and tasting something foul and bitter on the tip of her tongue, but then she turned, going to that big chest of oats and starting on breakfast.

"Have I offended you, cousin?" Rolf asked.

"No," Ivar answered, and it was a long while before anyone spoke again and when she went to sit down by the fire, Ivar was still holding Tyr in his lap.

She sat there, keeping one eye on the porridge and one eye on the man beside her. How desperately she wanted to push him into the flames, how deeply she wanted to make sure that fist would not come anywhere near Tyr again, but then he sighed, stretching and rubbing the sleep from his eyes. She realised how big those arms were then and how close she must have been all this time to having him snap her neck as she handed them all bowls of porridge, walking over to the ladder and speaking softly.

"Freya, breakfast is ready."

Freya sighed, swinging her arms in the air and snapping "Why won't you let anyone sleep?"

"Come down or go hungry, Freya." Ivar warned, and Freya sighed again, grabbing Frigga and holding her out to Enid.

"Here," she tutted, and Enid took the child, holding her to her chest and rocking her back and forth as Frigga drifted in and out of sleep.

Freya climbed down, snatching a bowl of porridge and sighing loudly as she sat down by the fire and for a long while no words were spoken, for a long while there was only the crackle of flames and Enid cooing to Frigga softly.

"Have I offended you, niece?" Rolf asked.

"Why, uncle? What could you have possibly done to offend me?"

Enid watched her, her eyes big and bright, a lightness gripping her heart as she watched the girl, stiff and rigid and maybe caring about what Rolf had done to Enid.

"I didn't mean anything by it…" Rolf sighed, and Freya turned, throwing her bowl down on the floor and glaring at her uncle.

"She's only been dead a year!" she snapped, and Enid could not help it, Freya's words struck deep, chipping off pieces of her heart like flint and snagging on her skin. Her shoulders sank though she tried to stop them, her chest caved as she held Frigga closer.

"Stop it, Freya…" Rolf sighed. "It's you I'm trying to help."

"I don't need help!"

"Of course, you do," Rolf laughed. "Who will you learn to run your own farm from, hmmm? And one day you'll have your own husband you'll need to help and take care of-,"

"I know how to run a farm," Freya cut in. "I do it every day, I don't need someone to teach me."

Rolf studied her a moment, that smile on his face growing softer, that light in his eyes growing warmer. "I know that," he said. "No one is taking that away from you, Freya, but you shouldn't have to. You're still a child and you want other things from your life too, right? How will you learn to be a great shieldmaiden if you have to spend all your time here on the farm and looking after Frigga?"

Enid watched those shoulders sinking, those eyes flicking between Frigga's face and his and she knew that something was clicking, something was making sense only Enid didn't know if she wanted it to. What would happen to her if Ivar got married again? Would he let her go home, would he take her there himself or would she have to stay? She saw it then, a new woman sitting on that stool, holding out her cup and making Enid refill it.

"Water!" she would snap.

And water Enid would have to bring her, along with anything else the woman would want, and in the night when Frigga would cry, Ivar wouldn't snap at Enid, he wouldn't call her out of that backroom and save her from a drunken brute's fingers. She felt the weight of those eyes on her again, somehow even heavier than the night before, somehow even more terrible as Rolf studied her again, leaning forward on his stool and rubbing his chin.

"She looks good with a child, Ivar. Some poor farmer in the interior would be happy with her and you could still make a profit."

Her knees almost buckled out from under her, her breath catching somewhere in her chest and choking her as she tried not to stare at Rolf. Would he really just sell her off?

"Enid's not-," Tyr started.

"Enough," Ivar cut in. "Go let the animals out."

Tyr went stiff, his eyes narrowing into thin slits as he glared at Rolf, but then they broke away and he put his bowl down by the fire, and left without a word. Rolf watched him go, that smile on his face still soft, that light in his eyes still warm as he laughed, rubbing his chin with his fingers and looking at Ivar.

"The first one is always the hardest," he said, and Ivar stared, his eyes distant and hazy as he looked at the front door without seeing.

He didn't say anything for a long while, only sitting there, stirring his bowl in his hand, but then he leaned forward, his eyes flicking to Rolf's face.

"That's not what this is," he said.