Chapter Text
As he sits around the fire with the others, Uhtred feels broken. His skin is warmed by the campfire, but his heart is small and cold. It is barely beating, it seems. He is a stranger to himself. He fears he will never be the same, like part of him had been broken on that slave ship, his soul chipped away at with every pull of an oar, and its shards lost at sea, like Halig had lost his life, never to be found again. Gone are his thirst for life, his playfulness, his fierce desire to protect those he loves. England is in chaos and he cannot bring himself to care; he can barely swallow the food in front of him.
Too exhausted to string up words together, Uhtred inwardly thanks the gods for Finan, who speaks for him now. Bound, the Irishman says to Ragnar when asked if he and Uhtred are brothers. If he had the strength, Uthred would voice his approval of the word. But he does not. And he hopes no one can tell he is not the same man.
**
After cleaning Uhtred's wounds and having trimmed his hair, Hild unfolds the cloth, revealing Uhtred's sword, which she had kept safe all these months.
“You are Uhtred, son of Uhtred. Lord of Bebbanburg. It is time you remember that.” That she would see through him, like she could always do, is not surprising. Uhtred is afraid that if Hild looked too hard, she might not recognize what she saw this time around, would know the man she knew was gone forever.
Pushing the thought away, Uhtred reverently runs his hand over the sword's pommel before grasping it. “You kept the blade sharp,” Uhtred remarks, holding the blade before him.
“I knew you'd return.”
“She is heavier than I remember,” he admits, lowering it back to the ground. The heaviness of his old weapon confirms what he already knows: he's weak. Weaker than he's ever felt before, even as a lad. “How did Alfred come to know of my fate? You?”
Hild nods.
“I will not forget. You will always have my protection.” He makes the promise, because he means it from the bottom of his heart, fully aware his strength would fail Hild if she needed his protection now.
“I could not ask for more. And this...” Hild reaches for something in her pouch. “This is my gift to you. Protection.”
Uhtred takes the small crucifix from her, fondly cups her cheek. “You are too good a woman for God alone.”
“Uhtred. It is you,” Hild replies, laughing softly. It is such a sweet sound, Uhtred's answering smile is as bright as the sun descending toward the horizon behind him, although he is too tired to maintain the smile for long. They stay like this for a long while, foreheads pressed together, savoring the joy of being reunited. Until Hild pulls back, some new concern worrying her brow.
“I thought Finan might need the same care. But maybe you should be the one to help him feel like a human being again. After all, I do not know him like I know you.”
Uhtred takes the folded leather pouch containing the scissors and the balm.“I know him,” he affirms, standing up. No one could have guessed how well they had come to know one another while being held as slaves, rowing, bailing, sharing scraps of food, protecting Halig, keeping warm, escaping, keeping each other from despairing completely.
“Where is he?” she inquires.
Uhtred takes a look around the field. “Close by,” he answers with a shrug. “We never stray far from each other,” he adds, regretting his words for fear that Hild would take it as a sign of weakness. Instead, she smiles at him as she hands him a flask of fresh water.
“That is good, Uhtred. You've looked after each other for months. I could not imagine you and Finan doing otherwise now that you are both free.” She takes Uhtred's sword with her. “I will keep it safe for just a bit longer. Now, go,” she bids him before returning to camp.
Uhtred walks over the crest of the hillock, finding Finan resting just down the slope, sprawled on his back, just like Hild had found Uhtred. Finan jerks out of his slumber when he hears someone treading through the tall grasses.
“It is only me,” Uhtred soothes. Finan sighs, and sluggishly folds his legs as he sits up, watching curiously as Uhtred sits next to him.
“What...?” Finan starts asking. Then he reaches for Uhtred's hair, fingertips playing over the ends of his freshly cut locks. He then runs his hand over his own matted hair. “I must look like a bloody savage...”
“No. Never,” Uhtred counters, unrolling the pouch after placing the flask on the ground between them.
Finan lets Uhtred cut through the front of his tunic. Uhtred balls it and throws it out of view into the tall weeds, hoping to banish the suffering attached to it. It does not work, of course, but they both laugh at the good riddance, like two young boys. Uhtred is reminded of the last time he had heard the sound of Finan's laughter, after they had managed to break free from the slavers in the forest. He is quite certain it had been the only time he had heard the Irishman laugh. A pity, truly. Their smiles soon fade, as they both know what comes next.
Finan turns around. Uhtred's eyes prickle with tears when he sees Finan's back, lacerated – just like his own, no doubt. He understands now why Hild had been so quiet whilst she had treated him.
Uhtred gently tends to Finan's wounds, then patiently cuts a few inches off his hair, just as Finan requests. He even trims his beard shorter for him. When it is over, they fall into an embrace, chest to chest, arms tightly wound around each other's neck.
“Promise you will never leave me,” Uhtred whispers, his voice sounding foreign, still too thin and unsure to his own ears.
“I swear it,” comes the reply, Finan's own voice cracking, a fragile sound that should never come out of such a strong man. The muscles of their arms loosen at the promise, anxiety seeping out of both men, but they hold on still, unwilling to let go.
The sun is disappearing below the horizon when Hild returns, holding a pile of clean garments in her arms. She sees the way they are holding each other, eyes closed, at ease and blind to the world around them. She means to retrace her steps and leave them in peace, but it's too late. They'd heard her, of course.
**
The three of them walk back to camp, Finan trailing behind. “Hild,” Uhtred murmurs, “what you saw... just now...”
“I saw two brothers comforting each other after surviving hell,” she replies, with a gentle smile. She guides Uhtred to a small tent. “I've prepared a bed for you and Finan, so you don't have to sleep on the fields. Or be apart. Get some more sleep. There will be more food later.”
“Thank you,” Uhtred says, kissing her forehead.
**
High waves are tipping the vessel dangerously. The glacial wind whips Uhtred hair into his eyes, but he ignores it. The water is lapping at Uhtred's ankles with the fluctuating movements of the slave ship. Of course, this is where Uhtred belongs; not free, not in England, not with his dear friends, or his brother, but here. He just cannot remember why, though.
“Pull!” Sverri says, with a crack of his damned whip. Freezing rain starts falling.
Because this is where he belongs, and he does not have a choice, Uhtred obeys. And every time he pulls the oar, the water level goes up.
“Pull!” It is not Sverri's voice this time, and Uhtred dares to sneak a look as he pulls, just in time to see the slaver morph into that coward Guthred as the water reaches his hips.
“Pull!” It is Uhtred's treacherous uncle barking the order this time, the water rising up to Uhtred's chest.
“Pull!” Kjartan orders harshly in Danish, the water now up to Uhtred's neck.
Panic rises within Uhtred's breast as he tries to take a deep breath and fails, as the water climbs to his neck, quickly rising higher.
“Uhtred?” he hears, a faint, concerned voice from behind him, where Finan always was on the ship, day in and day out. That's when Uhtred realizes what is horribly wrong: it is not the rising water, it is the spot in front of him that is empty: the unmanned oar. Halig is missing.
“Pull!” Halig yells suddenly beside Uhtred. His face is pale, his eyes sunken, his lips blue. Blood is pouring from the wound on his shoulder. An arrow is lodged in his thigh.
“Halig!” Uhtred cries, in the throes of horror. “Help me!” But Halig only watches passively as Uhtred becomes submerged, his cries for help uselessly bubbling up to the surface of the sea.
**
“Uhtred,” Finan utters, gently shaking the Dane awake. Uhtred gulps down a large swallow of air, arms flailing for a moment before realizing it had been a nightmare.
“Halig was there, he let me drown. He was dead, he was punishing me...” Uhtred mumbles.
Finan shushes him quietly, slipping his arms around Uhtred.
“It is my fault. If only I had waited, instead of trying to escape, Halig would be alive,” Uhtred says breathlessly.
“You couldn't have known. You couldn't have predicted Sverri would return to England, or that Ragnar would be there for you. Stop blaming yourself. We all agreed to run, including Halig. We had no more hope. All of us. ”
Uhtred takes a deep breath. He brings their foreheads together, so they are breathing the same air, like they had done so many times before, when their freedom was out of reach, and their breath like small clouds in the harsh cold of Iceland. Finan holds Uhtred, gently rocking them until Uhtred calms down.
They are free now, free to leave here, if they wished. Free to roam, to eat as much as they liked, to find a woman to bed, and yet... And yet, Uhtred feels content here, with Finan, under the furs which are too warm for the season. Uhtred welcomes the heat, as if he could never have enough of it ever again. Even Finan's breath feels like fire on Uhtred's cheek. It feels like a gift from the gods.
“I'll fetch you water,” Finan finally announces. But Uhtred holds him in place, pressing their heads together a little harder.
“ No. I am not thirsty,” Uhtred mumbles.
“What can I do? I wish to help,” Finan whispers.
Noises filter from the campfire; laughter, light and carefree, not cruel or mocking, like the laughter of the slave masters. Uhtred's insides knot at the memory of it. The thought of joining his friends by the fire, even though Uhtred knows it is safe, fills him with dread, its cold hand clawing inside his ribs.
“Then, remain here with me,” Uhtred finally says, because only Finan can keep the dread at bay.
Uhtred's stomach drops when he feels Finan moving. He thinks Finan is slinking away, but instead he is only shifting, to better wrap his arm around the Dane's chest and gently drag him back down to the bed.
“I'm here,” Finan murmurs as he pulls Uhtred closer, until his body is flush with Uhthed's. He pulls the furs back over them. “Does this hurt?” Finan asks, mindful of the wounds on Uhtred's back.
“A little,” Uhtred answers truthfully. Finan tries to put some distance between them but, Uhtred reaches back, clutching at Finan's hip. “No, please...” he protests, backing up until their bodies are slotted together again, the wounds on his back pressed to Finan's chest.
Uhtred keeps his hand on Finan's hip because he wants him as close as possible. Just as they seemed to share the same mind, the same nightmares, Uhtred feels they might share the same body. Because they bore the same scars, suffered the same torture. When the Irishman had driven a sword through Sverri's treacherous throat and told him to pull, Finan's hand had been Uhtred's hand and his voice Uhtred's voice. The utter relief had been shared, the heavy burden falling of their tired shoulders at the same moment, and Uhtred's gratitude fully known to Finan by a simple tearful look.
Finan is breathing in Uhtred's ear, warm and comforting. Dread ebbs away. Unconsciously, Uhtred relaxes his hold on Finan's hip, but he does not let go of it, petting it gently, following the rhythm of Finan's respiration. After a moment, Finan's breath quickens, each puff sending a pleasant shudder down Uhtred's body and the Dane rocks his hips, pressing back into Finan before he can stop himself.
Finan groans. Uhtred holds his breath, feeling the growing hardness against his arse. Sharing the same mind and body means they share the same needs, and Uhtred is only marginally surprised to feel his own member swell in response. It had been so long since he had felt anything akin to arousal. He knows it had been the same for Finan. When one's body was assailed daily by thirst, hunger, cold and exhaustion, carnal desires became extinct.
The desire gathering in his loins feels heavenly. Like fresh water on the tongue of a man dying of thirst, it is exquisite, and he wants more, wants to drink it all, drown in it even.
“Uhtred?” Finan whispers hoarsely. Gods, it feels good to hear Finan call him that, instead of Osbert. Uhtred simply cups Finan's arse, inviting him to rut against him.
Soon, Finan's whole length is rubbing against Uhtred's arse, hard and so hot, even through the fabric of their braies. Uhtred's mind is lust addled, his cock now fully erect as he enjoys the way the muscles of Finan's arse feel under his fingers, warm and firm.
Suddenly, Uhtred realizes that he's the only one left moving. He stops too, wondering. Judging by the swell of Finan's cock and the harshness of his breaths on the back of Uhtred's neck, Finan isn't averse, not at all. Is he shy then? Ashamed? Uhtred knew some men lay with men. Some because they preferred it, some occasionally, when the desire arose. Uhtred had never felt the pull, not before today. Not until his trust in Finan, and the safety of his embrace had seamlessly blended with his arousal. He is not ashamed, and neither should Finan be.
When Uhtred cannot stand the stillness anymore, he turns around. They pause for a moment, with trembling breaths, Finan eyes searching for his in the quasi-darkness, questioning. Uhtred shoves down the furs, and then his undergarments, Finan following suit right after, hands shaking in haste and arousal.
The moment their members spring free, they are back at clutching each other. Finan buries his face into Uhtred's neck in an attempt to muffle his groans of pleasure. The slide of their cocks is aided by how wet they are, their heads leaking even more as they ride their pleasure wherever it leads them. Uhtred relishes the feel of Finan's large hand on his arse, squeezing, eagerly urging him on. His balls are aching with the need for release, and he bites on a moan when it finally comes, arching against Finan's own shaking body, the Irishman grunting against the sweat slicked skin of his shoulder. Their hot, thick seed pulses out of them, mingling, coating their throbbing cocks as they glide against one another with the last tremors of their orgasms.
The pleasure is raw, as if Thor had struck his hammer right into Uhtred's core, splitting his spine with a bolt of lightning. It hurts. Like the pins and needles one gets after using a limb that had fallen asleep, the awakening has a cost. A cost Uhtred does not mind paying for getting back a piece of himself.
**
If it seems to everyone that a night's sleep has done wonders for Uhtred's mood and appetite, well, they are not entirely wrong. What they do not know, is that last night, Uhtred had realized he could become himself again. He'd gotten the proof in that small tent, under the furs with Finan. He'd felt despair ebb away, and a fire burning inside of him. The healing warmth of it convinced him that he could piece together his soul again, that with Finan by his side he could become Uhtred again and meet destiny head on again.
So when Hild tells him Gisela is alive and in hiding, he does not hesitate. And when he tells Finan his plans to save her, the man's eyes narrow, hardening with resolve.
“Get me some armor and a sword, my Lord, and I'll follow and protect you until my dying breath...”
“I know,” Uhtred replies, smiling at the spark in Finan's brown eyes. Finan smiles back, and it is everything.