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The Unspoken Journey of The Northman and The Mad Woman: Chapter 3

The shame Thórgestr had felt earlier in the morning had not completely gone away, but it had morphed into something much more complicated. Anger at Fargrimr for putting him into the position were that could happen in the first place and confusion an Senua’s lack of anger. At her lack of reaction at all.

He expected her to be angry. To be disgusted. To yell at him for the way his body had reacted. She did no such thing. She stayed there, sitting next to him for several minutes before they had redressed and made their way to the town hall. Or, attempted to, at least.

His leg once again gave out, and when it did, that is when he finally saw the anger cross Senua’s face. She rushed to him once again and helped him to his feet. He could barely speak when she grasped both sides of his face. Her face was so close to his, close enough that if he had tipped his head just slightly forward, their noses could have been touching. He blinked slowly, distracted by the way her thumbs felt tracing over his cheeks. His eyes drifted to her lips. Pale pink and slightly chapped. He would make sure to remind her to drink mead or tea at breakfast.

“You are going to see the healer.” She said through gritted teeth. “I will not allow you to refuse.” Senua was angry. Angry at herself for being the cause of his pain. Angry at him for forcing her hand in battle. Angry at The Furies for stoking the flames of guilt within her.

Look at him Senua.

He can’t even talk.

You cannot lead him into battles like this.

He will die.

He will die because of you.

Hot tears welled up in her eyes and spilled down over her face. It was then that Thórgestr seemed to break whatever trance he had been stuck in. Hesitantly, his hand reached up and cupped her cheek in much the same way she was holding him. With as much tenderness as he was capable of, he wiped the tears away. “Senua,” he breathed, unsure of what else to say. He wasn’t even sure why she was crying. He felt powerless. He did not enjoy the suffering that so often masked her features.

The moment was broken much too quickly for Thórgestr when Fargrimr’s and Ástríor’s voices were heard fast approaching. Senua had jumped back like she had been scalded by boiling water. He could not suppress the hurt that caused him, Senua could see it in the way his typically proud posture deflated. That too, worsened her guilt.

“Ástríor,” Senua, called, making sure her words would be heard first, before whatever she or Fargrimr had to tell them. “Thórgestr requires the assistance of your people’s healer.”

“The Björg deserves nothing from us. We have already done him a great kindness by leaving his throat uncut.” Ástríor's eyes darted to Thórgestr. They held so much rage that he was tempted to reach for his ax, just in case he might need it. He fought the urge, just barely successfully.

“Senua, I already told you. I am alright.” He did not wish to fight with Ástríor and hoped that his refusal would pacify her enough so they may get on with it. The more time that passed between their initial plan to go after the tyrant and actually getting there the more he grew anxious of what would be waiting for him when he returned to his home.

“Nonsense. I know that he is not viewed favorably by you or your people, Ástríor, but we need him. He risked his life to kill your giant. To bring me here. He wishes to stop everything you hate him for, but he cannot do that if he is unable to guide us to this Tyrant or to his father. Do you understand? “ Ástríor let out a deep, unhappy sigh.

“Senua is right.” Fargrimr added, glancing at the frowning face of his male companion. He found it curious that Senua was making this request, and even more curious that Thórgestr was trying to convince everyone he was fine. What had happened to get the fire in her eyes to burn so strong?

“Fine,” Ástríor spat. She was unhappy at having to help Thórgestr, but she was indebted to Senua, and if it was something the seer requested, it was something she would get. “go eat. I shall bring the healer after she is done with the others she must see first.” She stomped away, not unlike a defiant adolescent, intentionally catching Thórgestr’s side with her shoulder. His eye twitched at that.

“Come. I am quite famished. I am sure you two are as well.” Fargrimr smiled at Thórgestr as he walked past, only getting a scowl in return. Fargrimr noticed Senua’s watchful eye on the Northman, flinching every time he took a step that was less steady than ideal. Curious.

When the trio was finally sat at a table, provided with cooked fish and bread, Thórgestr’s sour expression started to relax. The food was cooked well and the bread was still warm. A hot kettle of tea was placed for them in the center of the table. Thórgestr grabbed it, pouring Senua her cup first, followed by his own, and then reluctantly poured Fargrimr one as well. He was angry at the skinny man’s trickery the night before, but he was happy to have spent the night in a woman’s embrace.

“You need to drink.” He grumbled to Senua. The corner of her lips turned up just slightly at the way his r’s rolled gruffly off his tongue.

It is poisoned.

Don’t trust him.

Do not drink.

She hesitated at The Furies words, but took a small sip after he took one of his own.

“Well then, have you thought of a plan.” Fargrimr queried.

“We did not discuss one.” Thórgestr interjected quickly. He was not keen to discuss what had transpired the night before. Granted, it was nothing scandalous or improper, but it felt too intimate of an experience to discuss so openly. It did not feel like an interaction with an adversary, nor did it feel like an interaction with an ally. It felt most like a night shared among lovers, though he was not sure if he was seeing more than what was there. Feeling more than what was there.

Thórgestr noticed the amused smile Fargrimr was fighting to keep off his lips and shot him a murderous look.

“I see. Did you rest comfortably?”

He knows.

He saw her on top of The Northman.

What must he think happened?

You know what he think, Senua.

Senua choked on her tea. Her companions did not have much time to fret over her as Ástríor marched into view, an old woman hobbling behind her. She must be the healer, Senua presumed. While the venom with which Ástríor approached with was obvious, the healer greeted Thórgestr with much greater kindness. She smiled at him, her grin absent of many teeth. Her hair was grey and braided. She reached out and grabbed one of his hands, pulling it up to her lips. She kissed his markings like a peasant would kiss the ring of a king. Clearly, she had met a Björg much more demanding of her subservience before. Thórgestr felt his guilt might eat him alive.

“That is not necessary…” He trailed off, but, she merely smiled at him again.

“My son was around your age when Sjavarrisi took him from me. You remind me of him. You have the same eyes. You avenged my son, and for that I owe you my deepest gratitude.” Thórgestr tried to smile at her in response. His words were failing him and he was uncomfortable. He was not used to being spoken to by the people of these lands with anything but fear and anger in their voices.

“What is it that ails you, my son?”

“My leg.” He shifted in his seat, pulling the fabric up for her to see the wound. “It was struck by the blade of a formidable opponent.” He flashed Senua a smirk quickly before looking back to the healer.

He hates you.

No, he respects you.

Look at him.

He will live.

The old woman hummed as she removed the makeshift bandage. “I can help you, but first, you must wash the wound with this.” She removed a bottle from the pouch that was slung around her neck. “I will prepare the ointment you need while you are at the bath house. You will need to rest here another day. I will meet you back at your quarters when I am ready.”

Another night…

Alone with him.

Will you hold him again, Senua?

Like you held Dillion?

“Get up, Björg. I will show you to the bathhouse.” He nodded and stood to follow, wincing slightly as he did so. Senua got up as well, feeling compelled to follow Ástríor wherever she was going to lead The Northman.

She wants to kill him.

She will kill him.

Will you let her harm him?

What will you do if she tries?

“Do you wish to bathe as well, Senua?” Ástríor questioned, her tone warm and concerned. Senua thought for a moment. The rain had washed some of the blood and grime away, but there was that which still remained. “Yes.” She answered, no more, no less.

Inside the bathhouse, there seemed to be two rooms that split off from the main entrance. They were separated by a thin wall, but there was no door that closed. “You may take one room, he may take the other.” Ástríor lingered after Thórgestr chose his path, grabbing Senua by the arm. “Will you be safe with him like this.” Senua swallowed and then smiled. “I will be alright.” Ástríor nodded and then she was on her way once again.

Senua took a deep breath and ventured into the room opposite of Thórgestr. It was small, but warm. There was no basin or bucket. Instead, a pit paved with stone was dug into the floor. Senua jumped when she heard the clang of his clothing and his sword hit the stone. Her face flushed when her mind wandered to what he must look like right now. She tried to ignore her thoughts as she too shed her clothing and stepped into the water. It was both deeper and warmer than she had expected it to be.

“Thórgestr,” she called out, her voice thick with what sounded suspiciously like desire to him. There was a pause before he responded.

“Yes, Senua.” He tried to keep his tone even.

“I…”

Want him.

You want him.

“Your markings. Did they hurt?” She changed the subject. She stopped herself from asking something she felt she shouldn’t.

“Only briefly.” He answered truthfully, confused by her sudden interest. “Do they bother you?”

“No.” She let the water flow through her hair before asking her next question. “How far do they go?”

“The only ones I have are the ones you can see. That might change at some point, but I do not yet know if it will.” Thórgestr’s sighed, swirling the bottle in his hand. He had a feeling it would not be a pleasant sensation, but maybe imagining what she looked like beyond the wall that separated them would help distract him from the pain. He uncapped the bottle, and did what he must. It was worse than he imagined. It felt like there were flames consuming his leg and he let out a pained noise.

“Are you alright?” Senua called, pulling herself out of the water, ready to run to his aid if it was needed.

“Yes,” he croaked. He too took himself out of his bath.

You would run to him?

In this state?

Do you want him to see you bare?

Do you want to see him bare?

She dried and dressed quickly. Upset and embarrassed at what she had almost done. She felt an attachment to the man. One she was struggling to admit to herself. She simply just wanted to make sure he was safe, but how she could have helped, she did not know.

“I am nearly ready,” He called to her. Taking that as his word that he was decent, she entered into his room. She was only half right. His bottom half was clothed, but his top was not. He looked from where he was on the floor, tying his boots. He was wide eyed and frozen. He looked so different from the menacing man she fought in the rain. Her eyes dragged slowly over his body, taking note of the smooth muscle and rough scars that adorned his frame. She was surprised by his chest. She had expected it to be similar to Dillion’s, full of course hair. She was wrong. It was much more fine, much more sparse. She struggled to notice any at all.

Her eyes then flickered to the caps of his shoulders before they rested on his stomach. This gaze of hers, unlike everything else up until this point, he knew he was not imagining. He watched her cheeks turn pink and then red, but she did not avert her eyes. He stood slowly and stepped towards her until the tips of their boots were just barely touching. His breathing had gotten heavier, as did hers. He felt a pang of desire, like lightening coursing through the blood right below his waistband. It was an intoxicating thing to Thórgestr, to have a woman stare at you like she wanted to see every inch of you. To drag her eyes over your body, like you had done to hers.

The air felt thicker. It felt warmer. Her fingers reached up to the side of his neck, following the thin lines of ink downwards. He swallowed and his eyelids began to feel heavy. Senua’s hands were shaking slightly as her palm flattened over his chest. She felt his heart beating wildly under her touch. Slowly, she began to drag her hand lower, feeling the peaks and valleys of his muscle.

The darkness is nearly all gone, Senua.

It is only in his hands now.

The tips of his fingers.

It’s gone because of you. You saved him.

When her fingers hit his waistband, they dipped just barely inside, pulling him ever so slightly forward into her. A low grown escaped Thórgestr’s lips, and his head rolled back. A gasp left her mouth when she felt him against her like she had felt him this morning. She felt the knots and the heat begin to form in her own belly.

You can’t have him.

You’ll hurt him.

He’s a Northman, you can’t trust him.

He’ll hurt you.

Her eyes fell closed as he cupped her head with one hand, tilting it back slightly, while the other rested on her lower back. He pulled her strongly by her waist into his body, so she could feel what she was doing to him. To feel how badly he desired her. The sound she made nearly drove him insane. He leaned closer, desperate to feel her lips on his. Senua could feel the warmth of his lips just above hers. He was about to close the gap when an unexpected voice called out from the main hall, asking if they were ready to meet the healer.

“Fucking Fargrimr,” Thórgestr spat, knowing the moment was ruined.

Hellblade 2 Studies

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The Unspoken Journey of The Northman and The Mad Woman: Chapter 3