Rannveig led the way as the trio approached Fjell?rn in the waning afternoon light, their journey's toll evident in their haggard appearances. Erik and Sigrida trailed behind, hollow-eyed with dark circles under their eyes, their feet dragging. Despite her usual impeccable appearance, Rannveig looked uncharacteristically disheveled, a leaf tangled in her dark hair.

  At the gates, she turned to her companions, her voice low. "Remember, our mission was secret. Act natural."

  The guards hailed them, concern etched on their faces. "All is well, Rannveig?" the guard asked, eyeing their worn state.

  "Just introduced my friends to Skipavik's finest ale-houses," she called out, her tone light despite the fatigue in her eyes. "The day got away from us, I'm afraid."

  Erik and Sigrida managed wan smiles, nodding in agreement.

  The guard captain chuckled, waving them through. "Ah, I see. Welcome back, then. I trust you showed them a proper welcome?"

  "Oh, indeed," Rannveig replied, leading Erik and Sigrida past the gates. Once inside, her smile faded, replaced by a look of grim determination.

  She caught a passing thrall by the arm. "Have dinner ready in the small hall within the hour and find Brandr and Astrid to join us." The thrall nodded and hurried off.

  Rannveig turned to Erik and Sigrida, her usual commanding presence returning despite her weary state. "You both look as if you've been dragged behind a horse. Go make yourselves presentable - we'll need clear heads for what's to come."

  An hour after their return, washed and changed from their grueling journey, Rannveig and Sigrida entered the small hall outside Rannveig's chambers. Erik already sat at the table with Astrid and Brandr, while thralls moved quietly around them, laying out bowls of stew and fresh bread. Bloodpaws slipped in behind the women, tail held high, but soon disappeared into the shadows in search of mice.

  Brandr rose to embrace his sister warmly. "Thank the gods you're safe." He turned to Sigrida, his gaze softening, and drew her into an embrace that lingered until she stepped back, cheeks flushed. "Here," he said, gesturing to the empty seat beside him.

  Despite their growing friendship on the journey, Rannveig felt her shoulders tighten as she watched. Back in Fjell?rn's halls, the weight of duty settled over her once more as she observed her brother's obvious infatuation.

  Brandr clasped Erik's arm in greeting, then cleared his throat, looking between them. "What news from Skogstrand?"

  Rannveig glanced at the thralls before answering carefully. "Torbjorn has accepted father's terms for the alliance."

  Erik and Sigrida tensed visibly, their gazes fixed on the table. Astrid, sensing their unease, asked softly, "What aren't you telling us?"

  Rannveig shifted uneasily in her chair, exchanging a look with Erik. With a grim nod, he turned to Astrid, his voice heavy. "Your father has passed judgment on us all."

  Erik's words fell like stones. "Torbjorn has disowned you, Astrid, for fleeing the marriage with Einar."

  Astrid lowered her head, accepting this expected consequence with quiet resignation.

  "As for me," Erik continued, his voice taut with emotion, "I am exiled from our lands, under threat of death should I return."

  Astrid's hand reached across the table to cover his. "I'm sorry," she whispered. "This is because of me."

  Erik pressed on, his voice dropped as a thrall passed behind them. "And Sigrida... if captured, Torbjorn will have her hands cut off for aiding your escape and betraying her duty."

  Astrid's face contorted in horror. "Sigrida, no..." She looked at her friend with anguished eyes.

  Brandr's reaction was swift and fierce. His arm curved protectively around Sigrida's shoulders, his face dark with rage. "That will never happen," he said, his voice low and dangerous. "I swear by the gods, Sigrida will be safe as long as I draw breath."

  Sigrida stiffened at his touch, acutely aware of Rannveig's sharp gaze. She kept her eyes fixed on the table, her hands clasped tightly in her lap.

  Rannveig's voice cut through the tension, gentle but firm. "No harm will come to Sigrida while she's within Fjell?rn's walls. You have no need to worry."

  Brandr turned to Astrid and Erik, his expression softening though his arm remained around Sigrida. "You're both welcome to stay in Fjell?rn as long as you need. My protection extends to you here and when we face Gunnar in Skogstrand."

  Erik managed a wan smile. "Thank you, both of you," he said quietly, his voice heavy with the weight of his exile. Astrid echoed his thanks, her hand still clasped in his, while Sigrida offered only a careful nod, her posture rigid under Brandr's arm as she glanced at Rannveig.

  The thralls' movements grew increasingly purposeful, their practiced efficiency giving way to thinly veiled curiosity. One refilled cups that were nearly full, while another adjusted plates that needed no attention, their eyes darting to catch glimpses of Sigrida beneath Brandr's protective embrace. The weight of their stares spoke volumes – here sat one of their own, yet so clearly set apart.

  Rannveig's jaw tightened as she watched another thrall circle the table unnecessarily. The disruption to proper order pricked at her composure, made worse by Brandr's continued familiarity with Sigrida. Her fingers drummed once against the table's edge, a rare show of irritation.

  Astrid and Erik had drawn into their own quiet world of shared grief. She leaned closer to him, murmuring soft words of comfort, while his eyes remained fixed on his untouched meal. Though her father's judgment stung, seeing Erik bear such consequences for helping her weighed heavier on her heart.

  Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

  Rannveig cleared her throat softly. "While Fjell?rn fortress might not be as adventurous as you'd hoped," she began, her voice deliberately gentle, "it does have its own charms. There's a lovely patch of wildflowers by the eastern palisade, and our stables house some beautiful horses."

  She paused, carefully choosing her next words. "Since you'll likely be with us for some time, I could help arrange some suitable activities. Perhaps weaving or herb gardening..."

  At these words, Brandr's demeanor shifted noticeably, his earlier rage giving way to something lighter as the full meaning of 'some time' sank in. He turned to Sigrida with newfound intensity. "Yes," he said, his voice brightening. "You will be here a while, won't you? In that case, I must show you our military port. The fleet we're gathering is magnificent. My own drakkar, earned from last summer's trading – you should see how her serpent-head prow catches the sunlight. Our shipwrights carve the most intricate wing patterns..." He leaned closer to Sigrida, who had barely touched her stew. "Tomorrow, perhaps? You'll see how different they are from Skogstrand's fishing boats."

  Rannveig's spoon clattered against her bowl. The sound drew sharp glances from the hovering thralls, who quickly found other tasks when they met her stern gaze.

  "Perhaps Sigrida might prefer something less taxing than a noisy shipyard," she cut in, her voice tight with warning, but Brandr was already continuing, lost in his own excitement.

  "The shipwrights are working dawn to dusk. I could introduce you to the master shipwright – he's quite a character. And wait until you see our sails – we dye the wool deep blue with woad, making them gleam like the summer sky—"

  For a moment, Sigrida's eyes brightened at the mention of ships, but catching Rannveig's stern gaze, she quickly smoothed her expression to careful neutrality, shoulders dropping under the weight of her situation.

  "Brandr." Rannveig's voice cracked across the table like ice breaking, startling even Erik and Astrid from their private conference.

  "Perhaps," she continued, each word precise and pointed, "you might consider asking Sigrida what she would prefer, rather than planning her days for her." She broke off as a thrall leaned between them, tipping the pitcher toward her cup. "For Asgard's sake, my cup is quite full enough! Do you mean to drown me?"

  The thrall jerked back, wine sloshing, but lingered just within earshot. Around the table, other servants slowed their movements, straining to catch every word.

  "I believe I know what Sigrida would enjoy," Brandr snapped, his arm finally dropping from her shoulders as he turned to face his sister.

  "Do you?" Rannveig's eyebrows arched. "As if you would understand what a woman needs after such an ordeal. I, at least, know what would bring her peace. She needs quiet rest, not to be dragged about by your enthusiasms."

  The thralls had given up any pretense of serving now, watching the exchange with undisguised interest. One stood frozen, pitcher suspended mid-air, while another clutched an empty platter to her chest.

  Under their avid stares, Sigrida sat perfectly still, caught between the siblings' clash, her untouched stew growing cold before her.

  "Perhaps it's you who needs rest, sister," Brandr said, rolling his eyes. "You seem a bit touchy after your journey."

  Rannveig's face darkened dangerously, her hands clenching around her cup. Before she could respond, Brandr turned back to Sigrida, leaning close enough that his breath stirred her hair.

  "Just wait until you see them all lined up in the harbor," he whispered eagerly. "You can choose which one you'd like when we go exploring. I know just the perfect—"

  His words were interrupted as the door to the small hall swung open, drawing everyone's attention. Two women entered, their beauty accentuated by finely crafted dresses and intricately arranged hair. Sigrida, already tense beneath Brandr's enthusiastic attention, felt the atmosphere shift. Rannveig's posture stiffened, while Brandr's animated planning abruptly ceased, his entire demeanor cooling.

  The women approached with fluid grace, their eyes sweeping over the group before settling on Sigrida with unsettling intensity. "Brandr," one of them said, her voice as smooth as honey, "won't you introduce us to your new friends?"

  "This is Astrid, daughter of Chief Torbjorn, and her hirdman Erik." Brandr's words were clipped, his previous warmth vanishing entirely. "And this is Sigrida."

  Sigrida felt exposed under their scrutiny. The women's gazes lingered on her, their smiles not quite reaching their eyes. "How lovely to meet you all," the second woman said, her tone warm yet somehow empty.

  A chill ran down Sigrida's spine despite the hall's warmth. She was painfully aware of her position – moments ago under Brandr's protective arm, now under these women's calculating stares. Their eyes seemed to appraise her, measuring her worth in ways she couldn't quite understand.

  Sigrida nodded politely, her face a mixture of confusion and curiosity. She glanced between Brandr, now rigid beside her, and Rannveig, whose tightened expression offered no explanation for the sudden shift in atmosphere.

  "If you seek our father," Rannveig said coldly, "he remains in his chambers until morning."

  "Of course, Rannveig," the first woman replied smoothly. "We were just on our way. It was a pleasure to meet you all." With a final, lingering look at Sigrida, they turned and left the hall.

  As the door closed behind them, the tension in the room eased slightly. Brandr ran a hand through his hair, all his earlier enthusiasm evaporated. The thralls, who had been so fascinated by the siblings' quarrel moments before, now watched Sigrida with the same calculating interest as the two women, their eyes following her every movement.

  The weight of their stares made Sigrida acutely aware of her precarious position. She couldn't shake the feeling that she was being assessed, her presence a curiosity to be examined and discussed in hushed tones later. The air in the hall suddenly felt thick, oppressive, as if the very walls were watching.

  She glanced towards Erik and Astrid, seeking comfort in their familiar presence. But they had retreated into their own world, heads bent close, voices low. Their shared grief seemed to exclude everything else, even the tension that hung heavy in the air around them.

  As the women's footsteps faded, Brandr turned back to Sigrida, his enthusiasm returning. "There's also the training yards," he began, leaning close again. "Tomorrow, we could—"

  "Please," Sigrida said quietly, drawing back slightly. "I'm desperately tired. The journey..."

  "Of course you are," Rannveig said, shooting a pointed look at her brother. "Precisely as I said."

  "Of course, Sigrida can share my chambers with Astrid," she continued smoothly. "You both need proper rest after such an ordeal."

  Brandr shot his sister a dark look, but Sigrida was already rising, relief evident in every movement. "Thank you, Rannveig. I would appreciate that."

  Astrid remained silent, her eyes fixed on Erik, her hands still resting on the back of his arm.

  Erik cleared his throat. "Brandr, we should meet with your father and Kjell. They'll want to hear the details of Torbjorn's response."

  Brandr's scowl softened – he could hardly object to such a reasonable suggestion. "You're right," he said, rising reluctantly. "Father should know everything tonight."

  The thralls lingered with their pitchers and platters, storing away every detail of the evening's drama for later discussion. As Astrid and Sigrida stood, their meals barely touched, the men departed for Magnus's chambers.

  Rannveig watched them go, satisfied. Within these fortress walls, her duty was clear. She would protect them both – Brandr from distraction, Sigrida from false hopes. It was better this way, safer for everyone