Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

~The Present~

“Think of the bridge like a boat,” Tedros says, pointing at the map, “It’s main arch is its keel, built to withstand a lot of weight,” Tedros looks up at Agatha from under lowered brows, eyes gleaming, “But the English have weakened it.”

“Why would they do that,” Hester scoffs, exasperation leaking into her tone.

“It wasn’t intentional,” Tedros replies, undeterred by Hester’s hostility, “They put a drawbridge in the middle, and in doing so, they’ve made it vulnerable.”

Filip looks from Tedros to Agatha, waiting for her verdict.

She doesn’t say anything, but her approval is obvious with the way she’s looking at Tedros, like he’s not just a battle-hungry warrior but a strategic tool that she can use in the future. Filip laughs to himself. That was one step closer to her and Tedros becoming more than just two people on the same side of a war. They've been unfriendly (to say the least) ever since the incident with Sophie.

Tedros continues after Anadil nods from her place beside Agatha, “If we are to succeed, our timing is crucial,” he shakes his head, “If you are not in the right position when the tides turn, nothing will work.”

“Do you even understand what you’re asking?” Hester growls, “Even if I put my strongest women on my best ship,” Hester slams her hand on the table and Beatrix startles from her spot beside Tedros, “It would be impossible to hold it against that current and out of range of their archers.”

“I am not asking for your best boat,” Tedros says slowly. He moves the miniature versions of the boats forward on the map, “I’m asking for your best three boats.”

Hester lets out a derisive laugh and then sneers, “You’re crazy.”

Filip steps in front of Tedros, crossing his arms as he does, “And you’re afraid of failure,” he says calmly.

“I’m afraid of stupidity,” Hester snarls, “His plan is ridiculous, it can’t be done.”

Agatha sighs, making the first sound since the meeting started.

Filip's mouth quirks up at the edges in victory, his sister didn’t say anything that she didn’t need to, so when she spoke, it turned every space she was in into a room of rapt attention. Just like it did now, Tedros and Hester turning to her and waiting for her second verdict.

“We find another plan,” she says and Filip sees the visible slump of Tedros’ shoulders at her words. Filip can’t say he’s not disappointed. But he can understand Agatha’s hesitance to trust Tedros over her most trusted advisor. She's only ever known him in a court setting. And Tedros on the battlefield versus off it, were two entirely different people.

Filip wraps an arm around his best friend and leads him out of the tent.

—

—

Rhian feels like he could defeat a whole army himself as he rides into their military encampment on the edges of the river. Thousands of soldiers gaze at him in wonder and Rhian feels like a god. With Sophie next to him, (however unwillingly), he knows no one can touch him.

Japeth stalks out to meet him, copper hair shining under the sun, pale skin a stark contrast to his black armor, one of a kind.

“King Rhian,” Japeth sneers, “Congratulations on your coronation.”

Rhian smiles nonetheless, “Thank you, Japeth of Foxwood. May I present my soon-to-be wife, Princess Sophie.”

Japeth bows as Sophie comes to a stop in front of him, but Rhian catches his brief glare towards the blonde princess anyway. When he looks back up at her, his face is strategically blank, “I’m sorry for your loss, your husband was a great warrior, he will be missed.”

“Tedros wasn’t my husband,” Sophie clips, “And he isn’t dead.”

Japeth’s expression twitches from it’s carefully constructed facade.

All the soldiers are gazing at her in awe and Rhian doesn’t blame them. Sophie was one of the strongest girls he’d meet, if not the strongest after the Viking queen he’d clashed with many years back, and her beauty only added to how intimidating she could be, green eyes flashing from soft to sharp depending on her mood.

Now she only looks cold as she judges his brother, and Rhian couldn’t be more pleased.

They make their way into the main tent and he and his brother survey the map table for a moment before Rhian begins.

“Her spies have undoubtedly told her you’re here,” Rhian states as he points at the map, “To protect London from an attack from the North. But now that that is established,” Rhian smirks, “I want you to move, cross the Thames below her fleet, and bring your army to her rear–”

“Trapping her between the river and the swamp,” Japeth finishes.

“Exactly,” Rhian lets himself feel viciously satisfied, victorious.

“You came up with this plan?” Japeth asks, and the judgemental skepticism causes the half smile on Rhian’s face to fade into one of annoyance.

“Yes, why?”

Japeth smiles, but his eyes shift to Sophie for a short moment, “Because it is excellent, Your Highness,” Japeth’s obvious condescension dripping from every word. But Rhian would be stupid not to know that Japeth won’t stop there, “And where will you be when we attack the Northmen? Inside the walls of London?”

“Where he is most valuable,” Kei cuts in, glaring at Japeth, “And where he will stay till Agatha’s defeat has been secured–”

Sophie’s fingers twitch at her sides at the mention of her sister. Rhian knows she would rather be with her sister and twin brother, safe with Tedros and the rest of the Northerners, but she had a debt to be paid, and escape was impossible. Not to say she hadn’t tried. Rhian almost grins at the memory of it.

He didn’t like to hurt Sophie, but that…that had been fun.

“–at which time he will ride out and accept Agatha’s surrender.”

“So me and my men take all the risks–”

“And receive the glory,” Kei says, eyes narrowed, like he’s daring Japeth to retort.

Rhian is tired of Kei talking for him so he shushes the coal-haired boy with a wave of his hand, “Your sacrifice will not go unrewarded, but now is not the time to negotiate,” he says, tone unyielding.

“On the contrary, Your Highness. With the viking army at your doorstep,” Japeth shrugs his shoulders, “I can’t imagine a better time.”

“What do you want, brother?” Rhian sighs.

“You know what I want.”

Rhian freezes.

Sophie seems to sense his change in mood because she steps forward with a swoosh of black velvet skirts and silk ruffles, “Then I suggest you gather your armies and leave,” Sophie says coldly, green eyes like sharp jade, “For if you believe that Agatha will not come for you after taking London, and she will,” Sophie’s eyes are glimmering with barely-concealed satisfaction, “Then you are far more naive than I thought.”

It takes two guards to hold Japeth back, but after he’s calmed down he’s combing back his hair with pale fingers like nothing happened.

“Very well,” he says, “For my brother, I shall.”

Rhian smiles and Japeth does to, but it reaches neither of their eyes.

—

—

Tedros is sitting by the fire when Agatha comes to him.

“I thought your plan was good,” she says, like that will make him feel better.

“Just not good enough,” Tedros murmurs, still looking into the fire.

Agatha sighs, “You're asking me to risk a thousand lives, on the actions of seven.” Her dark eyes are uncompromising, looking towards Tedros’ crew.

Tedros looks at them as well. Beatrix, Reena and Chaddick, the best archers he’s ever known, Nicholas, arguably the strongest oarsman in the North, Kiko, with her reading of the waters bordering on supernatural and Filip, Agatha's brother, a strategist thanks to whom she'd won countless battles. Filip and Agatha had never had much of a relationship, but Tedros knows how Agatha feels about family.

“To do that,” she continues, “I must be convinced that it will succeed,” Agatha sighs again, “Hester is a great warrior, she knows the English defenses better than anyone.”

“And yet, here you are.”

“Convince me your plan will work. Why should I trust you?”

The double meaning behind her words cuts deep but he brushes it aside for the time being.

“Because I don’t care about the Vikings’ success. I care about them,” Tedros confesses, blue eyes turning soft as he watches Chaddick and the others sleep. Those blue eyes turn dark, “And I care about getting Sophie back.”

Agatha’s expression falls and Tedros thinks this is the first time he has seen her genuinely look sad.

“I need her back too,” she says, “Filip and I need her back, it doesn’t matter what pointless debt she’s paying off,” Agatha stands up, posture rigid, “After we take London, and Rhian’s head, she will be by my side again.”

Tedros nods. Agatha moves to leave and he can’t stop himself from asking.

“How is Filip?”

Agatha doesn’t turn around as she’s walking away when she answers, "You should know.”

Chapter Text

The next morning the camp is filled with bustling vikings, Tedros and Filip work to cut down trees and Chaddick and Nicholas are splitting the felled timber beside them. Tedros catches Filip glancing at him every now and then from the corner of his eye and tries to ignore the heat of his gaze.

Tedros is sanding down a beam when he senses someone approach him from behind.

“What the hell are these?” comes Anadil’s cold voice.

“This is a new viking ship,” he replies, deadpan, without turning around. He continues to examine the now ready plank in his hands.

Anadil and the few female warriors behind her laugh in derision but after turning towards them Tedros just stares impassively back. Eventually they leave, but not without a few provocative insults thrown his way.

Tedros knows what it must look like, the few planks they have brought together are leagues away from a true viking ship. But they didn’t need a true viking ship. This was an undercover mission after all. A full-sized vessel would never pass through the marshes, and it’d be far too noticeable.

This was a quiet operation, and the key to their successful victory over the English.

Just before sunset, those who are taking part in the mission gather at the mouth of the marsh. The wind is rustling the reeds and the last trills of smaller birds ring through the air.

“I can’t thank you enough for being here,” Tedros says to the group standing before him.

“May the gods bless us for they are the only ones who know our destiny,” replies Chaddick.

“Mmm,” Beatrix nods, smiling softly.

“If this is where we say goodbye on earth,” Chaddick continues, “Then it is a quick farewell, for we will soon see each other in Valhalla.”

“Valhalla,” Reena repeats. Beatrix nods, solemn. Reena pulls Beatrix closer, touching her forehead to the other girls’. The two of them close their eyes and Reena’s hands come up to hold Beatrix’s neck in an earnest embrace.

Filip meets Tedros’ eyes and there’s a heavy look in them that he can’t place, like the other wants to say something but he’s already resolved that he won’t. Tedros’ blue eyes are startlingly vibrant amidst the mud he has smeared over his face for camouflage. Filip feels his heart stutter in his chest despite the fact that everything that had transpired between them had happened so long ago.

The sun that’s setting behind them signals it’s time to go. There are pats on the back all around as the seven of them step into the marsh.

Reena picks up a bow and bundle of arrows and Chaddick raises his eyebrows. “Since when have you been able to shoot a bow?”

“Since Beatrix taught me,” Reena replies, one corner of her mouth turning up into an amused smile.

Chaddick chuckles softly before picking up his own bow and arrow, “Of course, how could I forget.”

Tedros silently straps his sword to his back and Kiko tucks her throwing-daggers into the sheathes attached to her pants, her silky black hair tucked into a brown cap.

The sun is almost done setting when they lower the planks into the shallow water of the swamp. Chaddick laughs when Beatrix falters getting into the water and gets a swift hit on the arm in retaliation.

—

The sound of chirping crickets and the splashes of water are the only noises to be heard as they paddle through the marsh on their stomachs, the blackness of the night almost as black as the water.

They reach the first English outpost in less than half an hour. The soldiers chattering in the distance cause all of them to become quieter in their movements. Kiko’s eyes are wide from next to Nicholas, but not from fear, but focus.

Tedros’ brows are narrowed in concentration as they near the wooden shack at the edge of the water. He lets his plank drift forward the last few feet and nimbly steps onto the shore, drawing his sword.

Chaddick, Filip and Beatrix allow their planks to drift below the wooden deck raised above the water, and when the soldiers look down, they are shot from the gaps in between the boards. Their bodies drop with nothing more than a muffled thud and Tedros makes quick work with whatever life there may be left in their breast, stabbing each through the heart for security.

He throws whatever supplies are in the corner of the outpost over his shoulder and goes to meet the others on the other side where the real boats are waiting. Everything has gone smoothly thus far and it makes Tedros nervous. He only hopes that all seven of them return to camp alive.

~The Past~

“I’ve been watching you all week and I have been telling myself to support your choice but I cannot find it in myself to stay silent any longer,” Beatrix confesses.

“You have been anything but silent,” Tedros retorts, looking up at her with a glare. The steel of the blade glints in the flames as Tedros sits before the fireplace, sharpening tools in one hand.

“Teddy, this is your marriage,” Beatrix insists, “Your life.”

“You question Sophie’s suitability.”

“I question the example you are setting for the rest of us. Marrying a girl for whom you clearly hold no great passion or love.”

Tedros huffs and puts his sword to the side, leaning back in his chair, “Why will you not accept that what you have with Reena is the exception, not the rule?”

Beatrix throws her hands up in the air in clear frustration, “Because I want you two to know the passion of a loving marriage!” Beatrix then shrugs, pulling a face, “Despite the fact that I hold no great affection for Sophie.”

Tedros doesn’t meet her eyes, sullen stare fixed on the wall beside him.

“You should be excited to marry Sophie,” Beatrix continues, “But for all I have seen, you act like you’re approaching the gallows. If this is not what you want–”

“What I want is irrelevant,” Tedros rakes a hand through his hair, “I could never dishonor Sophie by breaking it off now.”

Beatrix’s expression slips back dejection, “You’re right. A viking cannot take back his word,” but then her eyes glint with intention, “But a woman may.”

Tedros pauses from cleaning his blade and looks up at her again, suspicious.

“It happens all the time with young girls, swept up by the dizziness of a proposal before the reality of marriage becomes clear,” Beatrix kneels between Tedros’ legs, taking his hand in hers, “If Sophie were to break off the engagement now, no one would find fault with her,” her grip becomes tighter, “And you would not be dishonoring her in the slightest, releasing her from the obligation before any binding vows were made.”

“But she does not wish to end the engagement,” Tedros whispers, looking down at Beatrix, the bleakness never leaving his eyes, weapons beside him long forgotten.

“But does she know your feelings on the matter?”

“My feelings are not important, what matters is my responsibility to marry, and have children–”

“Teddy,” Beatrix murmurs, “If you have doubts, do not set them aside. This is one of the most important choices you will ever make. And it would break my heart, to see you spend the rest of your life in regret.”

Tedros draws in a deep breath through his nose.

“And I dare say it would break Filip’s heart too.”

Tedros stiffens, “Don’t bring Filip into this.”

“I fear I must.”

“You know nothing about what is between him and I.”

“Just like I know nothing is going on between you and Agatha?” Beatrix says, eyebrows raised. “Honestly Teddy, falling in love with every warrior who casts you a second glance, who dominates you, is quite, well, whorish.”

Tedros shakes his head in disbelief, mouth dropping open in outrage, “Beatrix, you–”

The topaz-eyed beauty rolls her eyes, “Don’t you dare bring up my brief infatuation with you when we met. I was young and impressionable.”

“Young and impressionable??” Tedros sputters.

“You were also quite the pretty boy,” Beatrix adds, “Not even slightly my fault.”

“You’re unbelievable.”

Beatrix snickers, “That’s what they all say.”

Tedros looks unamused but Beatrix quickly turns serious again, “This marriage isn’t a good idea and you know it.”

Tedros doesn’t reply, gaze fixed down on their still intertwined hands, jaw clenched.

—

Agatha stares out the glass windows of the castle and feels unsettled by all the stone around her. It’s unfamiliar and English and she hates it. They’d been forced to reside in the guest chambers of Rhian’s castle as the negotiations unfolded.

There’s two sharp knocks on the door.

“You may enter,” she says, without turning around.

Agatha hears the creak of the door opening and the sounds of boots on tile.

“Agatha,” comes Nicola’s voice.

The raven-haired girl finally turns around, “What do you want?”

Nicola lips thin, “I’m one of the people you would be wise not to talk to like that.”

Agatha rolls her eyes, “Very well. Esteemed Lady Nicola, what news do you bring me?”

Nicola looks unimpressed. “I come to you as a friend, to offer sorely needed advice.”

“Sorely needed advice?” Agatha scoffs.

“The fact that you’re miserable is obvious.”

“Don’t make me laugh.”

“I’ve known you for too long to be able to ignore it,” Nicola continues, “Your sister’s engagement–”

Agatha takes a deep breath, swiftly raising a halting hand, “I highly suggest you don’t finish that sentence.”

Nicola shakes her head. “I know of the hopes you harbored regarding Tedros–”

“I had no such hopes.”

“But control over the entirety of the Viking armies would certainly be a finer reward than him, would it not?”

“Nicola, please stop,” Agatha breathes, the first cracks in her carefully blank expression appearing.

“A life of independence,” Nicola says, eyes imploring, “Is no mere consolation. In fact, many would see it as the better prize.”

Agatha stares back at her, eyes glassy.

“After the fires of passion cool and duty intervenes, who else is a woman left with, but herself?”

“I know that,” Agatha says, voice breaking, “And it should be fine, because I do–, I do hate him.”

Nicola walks the last few steps towards Agatha and pulls the other girl into her arms, “Agatha–”

“I hate him,” Agatha says again, fists clenched at her sides as Nicola embraces her.

“Shhh, sweetheart,” Nicola murmurs. She feels wet droplets hit her neck and holds Agatha tighter. The taller girl whimpers, hand now clenching into the fabric of Nicola's dress.

It’s quite strange to be comforting the all-powerful future leader of the Vikings. But it’s also heartbreaking, because she’s never known anyone stronger than Agatha, and to see her come apart is devastating.

Chapter Text

~The Past~

“But Sophie, this should not be your burden,” Agatha implores.

“What burden would it be to marry the boy I love?”

Agatha’s breath catches, shocked by the sudden confession, “You love him?”

“How could I not,” Sophie exclaims, “After watching how nobly he defended us tonight, how could I not? I want nothing more than to be his wife.”

A tense pause. Agatha tries to push down the nasty part of her that doesn’t want Sophie to marry Tedros. The part whose heart would break if they did.

“Do you think he will forgive me?” Sophie asks, tremulously.

“That I do not know,” Agatha murmurs. And she doesn’t know if Sophie is talking about Rhian or Tedros either.

“My betrothal to Rhian was so long ago,” Sophie reveals, tearful, “I had all but forgotten about it!”

Agatha shakes her head, contemplating, “That doesn’t mean it can be ignored.”

“I cannot believe it just came out like that during dinner.” Sophie holds herself as she sits down onto the plush pink sofa next to the window.

“The way Rhian went about it was too harsh.”

“But the way Tedros defended me,” Sophie says dreamily, leaning back against the panes of the window, the cold glass cools her heated skin, latent shame still warm in her veins.

Agatha sighs, “It doesn’t seem like Rhian is going to let you go, I fear you will have to marry him instead.”

“But I cannot bear to be taken away from my family,” Sophie cries, “And I know that is what he wants.”

Agatha hates that a tiny part of her is relieved that Sophie won’t be marrying Tedros.

—

Later that day, all the nobles and important dignitaries find themselves invited to a ball, one hosted by the new King Rhian.

It had been completely unexpected for Agatha, but Sophie had jumped at the opportunity to explain herself, and to somehow save the situation in front of the royal court. For Sophie felt that there was no problem she couldn’t talk her way out of.

Tedros is there as well, he's standing between Beatrix and Chaddick, regal in the way most vikings were not, golden hair curling around the headband Filip must have tied around his head to keep his curls from falling into his face.

It makes Agatha’s heart skip two treacherous beats, but soon enough somebody else invades her sight, a devious smirk filling her vision.

“Agatha…”

“Hester,” she says, crossing her arms over her chest, “I thought you hated these sorts of events.”

The tattooed valkyrie only hums in response, “I figured you’d need some backup dealing with all these stuck-up englishmen. Besides,” Hester looks her up and down, “I needed to see you.”

Agatha flushes red, her crush on Hester that had never quite gone away rising to the forefront of her mind.

She looks around the room to distract herself. It was rare to see so many Vikings and English in the same room together. A couple hundred years ago it would have been unspeakable.

She sees Sophie talking to Rhian, but the King doesn’t seem to be open to any sort of negotiation, because Sophie is putting on all her charms, and yet Rhian just looks like a lion indulging a kitten. Because he knew he’d get what he wanted in the end.

The ball is relatively calm for the first two hours. Agatha prefers not to dance, instead sitting at one of the tables placed around the room with Hester as her company. The tattooed viking knows exactly which buttons to press when she’s talking to Agatha. She’s left in a constant state of nerves and desire.

Agatha finally decides to refill her glass, which had been empty of wine for the last hour, she had been simply too comfortable to move. She also likes that reason more than wanting to be alone with Hester.

Agatha prides herself on having fast reflexes in battle. She prides herself in knowing how to handle a sword. But nothing prepares her for tripping over a shitty fucking loose brick in the floor, on her way to the wine table.

She was the viking queen for christ’s sake.

A strong arm suddenly catches her around the waist before she can hit the ground, lifting her back up with casual strength that has even bigger butterflies swirling around in Agatha’s stomach.

Tedros pulls her close with a grin, “I didn’t know a warrior queen could be this clumsy.”

Agatha’s mouth opens but she can say nothing in the face of him. He gazes down at her, easily eyeing her up and down, all too satisfied. Her face feels hot and she knows a cherry red flush is visible on her pale skin all the way to her collar.

The presence of their audience is suddenly made known to her by the way Tedros’ eyes flick up from her face to someone behind her.

“Sophie–” he starts, eyes widening slightly.

But a tearful gasp is all Agatha hears in response before she’s twisting out of his arms to see Sophie running out of the room. Agatha scrambles out of Tedros’ arms and immediately dashes after Sophie, panic rising in her chest. To hell with the unspoken rules of court.

She chases her sister all the way to their private guest wing of the castle.

Sophie is breathing heavily as she pushes open the doors to her chambers.

“Breathe, Sophie,” Agatha begs, “It’s just nerves about Rhian. We’ll call for tea and once you have something in your stomach–”

“It is not tea I want,” Sophie fumes, “What I want is the truth!”

Agatha freezes in the middle of the room. Please let this be something else.

“Oh, suddenly your words fail you, sister?” Sophie seethes.

The doors slam open once again and Nicola and Beatrix rush into the room, looking very much as if they had also run there.

“What is going on?” Nicola pants.

“Oh I’ll tell you what’s going on,” Sophie spits, “After filling my head with all this nonsense about great love and desperate looks between lovers–”

“Sophie–”

“You have feelings for him! I saw you!!” Sophie screams, livid, “All this time you wanted him for yourself!”

Agatha shakes her head desperately, “No, that is not true.”

“Oh, you can deny it no longer, Agatha,” Sophie accuses, cheeks pink, “How could I have been such a fool? You lied to me again and again!” Sophie is panting now, “You told me–” The blonde gasps. “You told me,” she repeats tearfully, “You told me that I had to marry RHIAN!” Sophie screams the last part, “I fooled myself into believing that you only had the purest intentions, perfect Agatha, soul of good, heart of a viking queen and loyalty of a true sister!” Sophie’s crying now, anger breaking into sorrow, “That your only desire was for me to be happy–”

“And you are no one's fool, that is the truth,” Agatha pleads.

“Do you love him?” Sophie asks, suddenly calm. She stands scarily still in front of the window, her features dark as the light shines in from behind her.

“What?”

“You told me you hated him,” Sophie says, “But that only meant that your feelings…” she shudders, “Your feelings were strong.”

Agatha’s chin is trembling.

“Do you love him?” Sophie asks again.

“Sophie, I–”

“That is enough,” Beatrix cuts in, “Agatha, please leave.”

Agatha refuses to cry as she hurriedly leaves the room, hand pressed over her mouth.

She almost runs into Rhian and his advisors on the way. She attempts to wipe away any tears that may have escaped her eyes.

“King Rhian,” she says.

“Agatha,” he responds. And she flips from sadness to anger so fast it’s dizzying. Her blood boils. He still doesn’t address her properly. “Where is Sophie? I must speak with her.”

“She is indisposed at the moment.”

“I’m afraid it’s quite urgent.”

“She is indisposed,” Agatha repeats, glaring.

Rhian offers her a slimy smile, “Tell her maids to bring her to me as soon as possible. I doubt she wishes to face further consequences.”

Agatha barely holds herself back from ripping his head off. She doesn’t bow before she walks back the way she came.

When she arrives at Sophie’s door once more, she only knocks.

Nicola is the one who opens the door and the curly-haired girl frowns, “What are you doing back–”

“Rhian has asked to see Sophie, he wants her brought to him as soon as possible.”

Nicola reads the expression on Agatha’s face and her face turns grave. “I understand.” She moves to close the door but Agatha stops her.

“Wait,” Agatha’s lips thin, “Please tell Sophie I’m sorry.”

Nicola pauses, gaze soft before reaching out and tucking a dark strand of hair behind Agatha’s ear, “I will.”

—

“You dishonor me,” Rhian states, “And that will not be tolerated.”

The vastness of the room that Rhian had chosen for his final verdict, despite its size, feels suffocating to Agatha. She can tell the rest of the vikings hate it too. Hester and Anadil keep eyeing the only exit in front of them. Which was right behind Rhian’s throne.

“But Your Majesty–” Sophie begins.

“There must be some form of penance.”

Sophie’s mouth snaps shut and this is the first time Agatha truly fears for her sister. She wants to run to her from her place at the wall but she knows that would just worsen the situation. Rhian’s gaze is dangerous, yet heated as he observes Sophie.

Agatha can only hope that it’s a good sign. But it makes her feel sick.

“You shall become my queen,” he says, with an air of finality that has Agatha’s heart practically stopping inside her chest.

Her mind races to come up with a solution, or how she can handle this.

“Nicola shall stay behind to guarantee Sophie’s safety,” Tedros says suddenly, hand on the hilt of his sword. Agatha has never been more thankful for him.

Rhian stares at him, contemplating. He then narrows his eyes, “That sounds like something I could give you, but on one condition.”

“Anything,” Agatha says immediately. Tedros’ eyes flick to her in question.

“You are not permitted to visit unless I allow it.”

The collective inhale of surprise breaks the otherwise silence of the space.

It was purely petty what Rhian was doing now.

Agatha’s blood boils and the most vivid image of Rhian’s death blooms in her mind like a gift. But she wrestles her rage back down and nods, “Yes, King Rhian.”

Rhian leans back into his throne, widening his stance and squaring his shoulders like he’s done something to be proud of. Tedros almost snarls out loud at the sheer brazenness of his movements.

“You know, true Power,” Rhian reveals, a self-satisfied expression spreading across his face, “-is hidden. Subtle beneath the surface like a mammoth sea creature, just waiting to break the waves,” he smiles wider, spreading his arms like a circus master, “Breathing just the faintest of ripples.”

Tedros snarls for real this time, “Just another way of saying you work in the shadows like a coward.”

“But it worked, didn’t it?” Rhian’s eyes gleam in satisfaction, “Sophie is mine.”

“Don’t talk about me like I’m not here,” Sophie attempts to interrupt.

“She’ll never be yours,” Agatha hisses, for the first time losing her composure, taking a step forward.

“Funny,” Rhian chuckles, “Because it seems you are the one who just lost her.”

This time it’s Tedros jumping to hold Agatha back after she lunges at Rhian, pulling her dagger from her belt faster than both boys can blink. Tedros has Agatha in his arms and her blade misses Rhian’s face by mere inches.

For once Tedros feels like the more rational one out of the two of them. He only knows Agatha as she is in the royal court. This had given him a glimpse of her abilities as a warrior. And he can safely say that her becoming the queen of the vikings is probably one of the best decisions their recently deceased monarch had made before his death.

Chapter Text

~The Present~

Their group of seven had so far made it through the marshes without meeting anymore outposts or traps, but that didn’t calm Tedros in the slightest.

For now, it was possible for all seven of them to row, and push the boat forward through the murky waters, but when they would be in sight of the bridge, and the guards on it, only two would be able to row, the others had to be hidden.

Tedros can feel the tension thrumming under everyone’s skin. They were almost there.

Their boats glide through the water with the smoothness of a knife through butter, and the blackness of the night surrounds them, offering them needed cover. Who knew where a last group of scouts could be waiting to warn the English of an attack.

Their goal was the bridge, and when it finally comes into sight, Chaddick and Nikolas urge them under the rough blankets and fishing nets.

The reeds rustle as wind blows through, and lanterns begin dotting the shoreline in higher frequency, lighting the path to the bridge like a guide.

Chaddick and Nikolas were the two strongest rowers out of the seven of them, but even Tedros can hear the two struggling to keep their breathing even. For it had to look like the two were on boats that were light, only filled with a couple of piles of fishing gear. And not five vikings.

There is a shout to attention from one of the guards as he spots Chaddick and Nikolas with their two boats.

But the guards, of course, do nothing. They have their bows at their sides, unstrung.

For what harm did two poor fishermen pose to the great English Dynasty?

The minute the two boats disappear under the bridge, for the great wooden structure crossed above the first widening of the river, enabling it to be high enough so that small fishing boats can pass under easily; Tedros, Filip, Beatrix, Kiko and Reena jump out onto the beams supporting the bridge from underneath, and quickly rearrange the blankets and nets to roughly how they were before. Waiting with bated breath as Chaddick and Nikolas cross to the other side, continuing on towards London.

Tedros is unable to breath easier until Chaddick and Nikolas disappear around the bend in the river.

The guards had bought their ruse.

And now it was time to get to work.

———

Their return had been welcomed with raucous cheers and countless claps on the back, shouts of praise had been shouted at them as they made their way through the camp back to their tents.

Beatrix, Reena and Kiko had retired to their own beddings, just like Chaddick and Nikolas had. Filip and Tedros sit alone in their own, pale morning light filtered through the thin linen of their tent.

Filip trails a finger down the biggest scar on Tedros’ back. Other smaller scars criss-cross along his tan skin like echoes of the one in the middle. Filip shudders at the memory that rises as he stares at the other boy’s back, once smooth, golden skin, now marred by the shiny, pale, jagged marks of torment past.

Torment that had almost broken the strongest person Filip has ever known.

Tedros just sits there, eyes empty, letting Filip work over his own thoughts as the elvish boy traces the jagged scars.

“The battle is not in our favor,” Filip murmurs.

“When has it been?”

“Sometimes—“

“Sometimes, bullshit. We are always the weaker number, Filip. But we prevail because we are Vikings.”

“We have never had such a large disadvantage. You must know that.”

“Quit with your pessimism,” Tedros snaps, turning his head half back towards Filip, anger tinting his voice, “We will be victorious, and if not, the halls of Valhalla welcome us.”

Filip is silent for a moment.

“I want to walk the green fields on Earth with you yet still,” he sighs, head falling forward, “Maybe that is selfish.”

Tedros’ expression softens and he tilts his head back so he’s looking at Filip upside-down.

“It is not,” he says simply, blue eyes like crystal oceans as Filip looks down into them.

Tedros is looking up and sees the green pastures that Filip speaks of in the other boy’s eyes.

“Let us switch,” Filip says suddenly, eyes pleading. “Rescue Sophie and I will be on the frontlines.”

Tedros takes Filip’s hand in his own, “Your sister needs you. She wants to see you a thousand times more than she wants to see me. Besides, you know the castle better than I do, and last minute changes never work in our favor.”

Filip sighs in defeat.

“I know you worry, but I will fight to live, I promise.”

“You better,” Filip replies, “I’ll kill you if you die.”

Tedros lets out a soft breath of amusement.

“I fear what would happen to me if you were not here. There’s a darkness in my sister that she can’t control,” Filip murmurs, “And I share it.”

The forlorn look in the green-eyed boy’s eyes makes Tedros’ heart break.

He twists around to sit facing him and grabs Filip by the arm to pull him close, “If it’s true, why have I never seen it?”

Filip chuckles softly, “Because when I’m with you it goes away,” he sniffles, “And I’m calm,” Filip still can’t meet Tedros’ gaze, “When I’m with you I can do great things. The darkness doesn’t overcome me,” he laughs weakly again, “I can’t explain it.”

Tedros pulls Filip even closer and when Filip turns his head towards him for the first time, Tedros presses their foreheads together, closing his eyes. And he says nothing.

Thunder rumbles in the distance.

A signal for the battle that would be talked about for centuries to come.

———

Inside London

The windows of the library have been opened, so a citrus and lavender scented breeze blows gently through, bringing the curtains to a gentle wave. The remaining shadows of the afternoon conceal two girls pressed up against a mahogany bookshelf.

The library is quiet save for the wet sound of lips on lips.

“Won’t you get in trouble?” asks Nicola between kisses.

Sophie just shakes her head and pulls Nicola closer, hand sliding up the silky yellow fabric of Nicola’s dress.

“Rhian’s not here. I can do what I want.”

Nicola lets out a contented hum. “You are the Queen.”

“That I am.”

They kiss some more before Nicola speaks again.

“I have heard the battle is today.”

Sophie pulls away, surprised. “What?”

“The vikings attack… today.”

“I wasn’t aware.”

“Rhian did not tell you?”

“And he told you?” Sophie exclaims.

“I suppose there is a reason for that.”

“Where did you get this information?”

Nicola laughs, somewhat connivingly, “I might have eavesdropped a little bit.”

Sophie takes Nicola’s face in her hands and kisses the curly-haired girl again, “That is why I adore you.”

Nicola flushes. “They will likely try to rescue you, should the battle per chance not fall in their favor.”

“So that’s why Rhian has retreated to the throne room. He fears my Vikings,” Sophie muses.

“Your Vikings?”

“They are still my people.”

“But Agatha is their Queen.”

“It was only a slip of the tongue, darling.”

Nicola chooses to believe her.

Sophie might harbor some thoughts when it came to the leadership of the Northmen but Nicola also knew that Sophie didn’t love anyone more than she loved Agatha, despite their occasional disputes and quarrels in the past.

“I have to make it easy for them to find me.”

“Sophie, there are double the guards posted outside the library doors. They know it is possible that you would find out.”

Sophie waves a perfectly manicured hand dismissively. “Guards can be manipulated, especially by two attractive young vixens such as ourselves.”

Nicola rolls her eyes and lowers a disbelieving stare at the flaxen haired blonde who is currently arranging her corset to sit even lower. “Seduction, that’s your plan?”

“When has it ever failed me?” Sophie replies with a wink, before flouncing towards the doors that led from the library to the hallway. “Come, darling.”

Nicola sighs, but follows anyway. God knows she hasn’t said no to Sophie in the past two years.

———

Outside London

“The space between life and death is where I feel most alive,” Tedros says, eyes gleaming as he takes in the armies that have come to meet them on the battlefield.

Beatrix, Reena and Kiko grin from beside him.

Filip, Chaddick and Nikolas had been tasked with rescuing Sophie from the castle in an undercover mission that would hopefully, if all went according to plan, be overshadowed by the main battle on the bridge and in the streets of London.

Tedros feels Filip’s absence but knows that the other boy’s role is vital, and he couldn’t be so selfish as to wish that he was by his side.

“My sword sings for the red paint of blood,” Reena howls. The shield-maidens behind her echo her words with screams and stomps that shake the ground beneath their feet.

But as soon as Agatha appears atop her mare, stepping to the frontlines, the whole hoard goes quiet.

“I do not need to say how you must fight, because you know that already. I do not need to predict your futures, because each of you know where you will be. The only thing I must say to you, my people, is that this is the first step into a new age, and you are the warriors that usher it in. Keep that glory in the place next to your hearts, for only death can tear it away from you.”

The answering roar of all the vikings brings the heavens and earth to shudder. Tedros swears stars will fall in response to Agatha’s words.

———

Tedros can tell that they are surprised when their bridge falls. They had not expected that the great wooden and stone structure could be weakened so easily. Of course they didn’t know that seven Vikings had come like thieves in the night and sawed through the wooden beams that found themselves at the most critical points of stability.

The wooden planks creak, and ultimately crack between the weight of the combined forces of the English, and thousands of soldiers go tumbling into the water.

Nonetheless, there are still many of them that remain. The battle is fierce, and there is more blood than water in the river below the bridge, but they make it inside London, victorious. They tear through the streets like wolves, and it is almost unfair how easily the English soldiers are cut down.

Tedros makes it inside the palace, covered in blood, with only one thing on his mind. He storms through the halls, paying no mind to the shrieking maids or quivering servants.

He opens the doors to the throne room with a slam and Tedros sees him. Like his own war prize. Like a gift.

For once in his life, Rhian looks scared.

There are no guards with him, for they had been sent to the gates of the castle, so that no viking could even breach the threshold. Unfortunately for Rhian, Tedros grins, those soldiers had been the first to die.

And now Rhian is defenseless, standing there in his velvets and silks, with nothing but a flimsy, decorative sword to protect him. Tedros could snap it in half with his bare hands.

He stalks forward.

But just as Tedros is about to sever Rhian’s head from his body, just as he is about to claim rightful justice—

“Tedros, stop.”

His sword stops a mere hair away from the skin of Rhian’s neck. Only one voice could make him pause like that.

“Agatha–” he says, eyes still laser-focused on Rhian.

“Take the sword away from His Majesty’s neck.”

Agatha sees Tedros begin to shake like a slowly diffusing bomb… He turns to her.

“You don’t mean that.”

“Take. The sword. Away.”

Tedros is like lightning pulled taut between the sky and the earth.

“You remember what he did to us?” Tedros asks, voice deceptively calm. But it doesn’t take long for him to explode. “MY SWORD DESERVES HIS HEAD!” he roars, panting.

Agatha knows this moment is crucial, and it makes her cautious, but she doesn’t let it show as she approaches Tedros like one would a wild animal, hand outstretched.

Rhian backs up to the other side of the room, well away from the sharpness of the sword that had almost taken his life, very real fear in his eyes as he watches the other man pacing in the middle of the space, the golden-haired warrior more lion than man in his rage.

Blue eyes never leave sea-green ones.

Brown eyes stay focused, strategic.

“Tedros, look at me.”

With obvious difficulty, Tedros tears his eyes away from Rhian and looks at his Queen, his gaze softens, but only barely. The fury never leaves his stance.

“You wanted complete victory,” she says, “Did you not?”

Tedros doesn’t respond, but he can’t deny the truth of her words.

“This is how we ensure it.”

“What he did—“

“Is unforgivable,” Agatha says, “And he will face the punishment that the Gods see to be fitting.”

Tedros is breathing harshly and his head snaps towards Rhian.

There’s a pause, a moment where Agatha thinks Tedros might not listen to her, cut down Rhian anyway.

“Lucky bastard,” Tedros hisses.

Tedros stalks out of the room but not before Agatha grabs him by the shoulders, and forces him to look at her once more.

“You did well, brave lion.”

She presses their foreheads together and the tension slowly melts from Tedros’ body as they stand there for another moment, eyes closed. He pulls away, taking his Queen in once more, before leaving.

Agatha turns to Rhian after they are the only ones left in the room.

“There are a few things we need to discuss.”

Chapter Text

~The Past~

“Why did we even agree to his terms?” Hester hisses into Agatha’s ear over the roar of the crowd. “What could he possibly hold over us?”

Agatha crosses her arms over her chest, “His army is far more powerful than ours, and he is ideally positioned if we were to go to war.”

“No english army could hold us back.”

“But our people who live on their shores are in an extremely vulnerable position, should Rhian choose to attack.” Agatha sighs, and the anger inside her swells, helplessness one of the feelings that she hated the most, “We have to stay on his good side.”

The crowd suddenly quiets and Agatha and Hester’s attention flips to Beatrix, who seems to be preparing for an announcement.

“To show that there is no ill will between our two nations, we have sent forward our best warriors in a friendly match of skill and speed,” Beatrix declares, her voice loud and clear so that everyone hears her. Agatha notices slight worry in Chaddick’s eyes from his place beside Beatrix.

“No ill will my ass,” Hester whispers into Agatha’s ear.

“Tedros Pendragon from the Vikings—“

“And our very own King Rhian!” Kei interrupts, coal colored eyes haughty.

Agatha sees Beatrix roll her eyes from beside Kei and she can’t hold back a snicker.

Aric and Japeth are at the other side of the pit, violet and turquoise eyes gleaming side by side as they watch the impending match.

Rhian and Tedros circle each other like starving lions for first blood.

It starts off easy, but the ferocity picks up in seconds, Rhian and Tedros trading punches like money, and it’s not Agatha’s fault if a small curl of delight flickers hotter in her stomach every time Tedros lands a particularly savage hit.

The crowd is cheering so loud Agatha can barely hear her own thoughts.

From down in the pit Tedros doesn’t wipe the sweat away. It pours down his face until all he can taste is the salt of it. It stings his eyes and the pain is good. It keeps him focused.

Tedros tells himself that he could have said no to this match. He could stop picking fights with Rhian. He could stop when it no longer felt good. When he no longer felt rage.

But Tedros isn’t there. Not just yet. He hasn’t gotten what he wanted.

His opponent swings a fist at him, grunting with the effort. The movement, combined with Rhian’s flagging strength, leaves his torso wide open. Tedros has a perfect target when he slams his fist hard into the other boy’s sternum.

Rhian’s eyes bulge, his breath wheezing out of him. His knees hit the dirty ground.

“Get up,” Tedros laughs, “You’re embarrassing your brother and his friend.”

“You—you bastard—“ Rhian hisses, “Show some respect–”

“You definitely shouldn’t be calling me that, when you’re the illegitimate son of the King of England.”

Rhian springs to his feet, fuming. Turquoise eyes have lost the (barely) friendly fire of competition and Tedros thinks he might have gone too far. It seems so hard to believe that they had once been friends. Rhian is glowering at him now like the bitter enemies that they are.

“I am the King of England.” Rhian spits.

“You done?” Tedros asks, nonchalant, acting bored when all he wants to do is bash Rhian’s face in.

Apparently all his training and calculative manner decides to hit him all at once because Rhian punches forward in a series of ruthless attacks, sea-green eyes flashing in the half-light of the fight ring.

As he turns to avoid the last blow, Tedros sees the fist coming out at the edge of his vision, and turns just in time to take the hit to the side of his head, not his face. The world turns white and the screams of the crowd fade to a dull roar.

He manages to stay on his feet but Rhian is still after him. The copper-haired boy moves forward, but makes one fatal misstep and through the pain Tedros instantly drives his knee up hard between the other boy’s legs, not quite where it will hurt the most, but definitely too close for comfort.

Rhian drops like Tedros has stabbed him, eyes wide in pained shock.

Tedros drops down on top of him and only after the match referee finishes the ten count does he get off, viciously satisfied.

There’s a cold prickle at the back of his neck and when he turns around, Aric and Japeth’s eyes are staring him down, like two hyenas with a vendetta.

———

Filip freezes.

“—what did you just say?”

“Tedros was last seen with Aric and Japeth.” The servant laughs nervously. “Is there a problem?”

Filip is already gone, footsteps pounding on the stone bricks of the floor as he runs towards the dungeons.

His hard breathing echoes back at him against the damp walls of the stairwell leading down. Some of the steps are already crumbling and damaged, likely never having been cleaned or repaired.

He knows where they are. Of course he does.

Tedros’ eyes are empty when Filip unshackles him and despite the urge to finish off the unconscious forms of Aric and Japeth on the floor, Filip yanks Tedros close and helps him up the stairs.

Filip thinks he might be going through shock right now, finding it unbelievable that the English could be this bold, this barbaric. For gods sake, they were the Vikings. And Filip has never seen this expression on Tedros’ face before, one of lost fire, of giving-up.

How long had they had him down there?

But once they enter the sunny confines of Filip’s room Tedros is pushing himself away from the space beneath Filip’s arm where he’d been held and shakes his head, eyes squeezed closed.

“I’m—I’m fine,” he grunts. “Just need a moment.”

“Tedros—“

“Just—,” Tedros holds up a hand, eyes still squeezed shut, “A moment.”

Filip bites his tongue and the urge to pull those torn rags off his best friend and shove him into the baths to wash all that grime and blood off.

“We should take you to a doctor,” Filip can’t help but say, antsy looking at Tedros in the state he is now.

“Don’t need one,” Tedros mutters. “Just need to think.”

“Okay,” Filip whispers, but when Tedros meets his gaze he can’t help the burn behind his eyes and the resulting tears.

“Filip.”

“It’s nothing.”

“Come on, I’m sorry,” Tedros finally says, striding towards him and pulling Filip into an embrace.

“You shouldn’t be apologizing for anything,” Filip sniffles, “God, I’m sorry.”

“You don’t have anything to apologize for either,” Tedros murmurs soothingly.

But Filip’s fingers on Tedros’ back run through sticky crimson and he shoves himself away.

“Tedros, so help me god, you are getting cleaned up. I won’t take no as an answer.”

Tedros lets out a breathless laugh. “Alright.”

Filip nods. “Alright.”

Chapter Text

~ The Present ~

Sophie’s rescue had gone so well, Filip can scarcely believe it. Nicola and Sophie had been sitting patiently outside the library with four unconscious guards lying in a heap beside them.

Rhian has been taken to the middle of their camp to their makeshift cells for particularly important prisoners. Tedros still hadn’t returned to camp, so Filip set off to find him.

He finds Tedros practicing ax-throwing in a deserted part of the forest next to their camp. He’s been watching him throw the same three axes in quick succession at three different demolished trees in the distance before stalking over to yank them out, and begin the whole process all over again.

Agatha had told Filip what happened with Rhian. And Filip can understand why Tedros is upset. What had comforted him was his reunion with his sister. Sophie had pulled both Filip and Agatha into a tight hug that had seemingly lasted forever, and at the same time, not lasted long enough.

“Don’t you think that’s enough?” Filip calls.

Tedros whirls in his direction, then scowls. “It’s enough when I say it’s enough.”

”Your aim isn’t that bad. There’s no need for more practice.”

Tedros’ lips curls and he turns away. “This isn’t practice. I know Agatha told you.”

Filip sighs. “She did.”

“You think it’s a good idea?”

“I don’t know yet.”

”Bullshit is what it is. Rhian needs to die.”

“We can get things for our people if he lives,” Filip counters.

“We can get justice for our people if he dies,” Tedros shoots back.

Filip sighs again, and approaches Tedros slowly. His best friend throws his last ax and is about to go get his axes, when Filip stops him with a hand on his upper arm. “Tedros.”

Tedros meets his gaze, and glares, saying nothing.

”Don’t you want our people to live in peace with them?”

”He fucked that peace when he slaughtered thousands of our innocent.”

”But if we forgive, no more people have to die.”

”How do we know?” Tedros says tightly, cocking his head. “Peace is what he promised last time. And what did we get? A kidnapped princess and chaos.”

Filip shrugs helplessly. “It’s different this time. The only thing we can afford is to risk it.”

Tedros shakes his head. “I know you don’t like this plan anymore than I do.”

”You’re right. But I trust Agatha,” Filip says softly. “Do you?”

Tedros cuts him a morose look. “Of course I fucking do.”

Filip’s hands slides from Tedros’ bicep to his shoulder, and then he grazes his knuckles along his neck, before resting his palm along his jugular and his thumb at the edge of his jaw. Filip faces Tedros, and worried green meets tired blue.

”I’ll always be by your side. Whatever happens. If Rhian goes back on his word, we’ll kill him together.”

Tedros laughs quietly. “Don’t worry. You don’t have to reassure me.”

“I feel I do,” Filip replies, his tone soft. “I fear you think people don’t take you seriously…ever since—“

Tedros tenses under Filip’s hands, and Filip senses that he’s about to bolt, like a bird in flight, so he holds him fast, and all Tedros can do is jerk his head to the side, their eye contact broken.

”But I need you to know that I take you seriously. You’re the same warrior you were before. That didn’t change you. Nothing like that could ever change you in any way that matters.”

”I don’t need this speech,” Tedros replies, voice tight.

”I love you. I need you to know that.”

Tedros looks back up at him, and swallows. He doesn’t say anything for several moments. Eventually, he replies, weak, and barely audible, like he already wants to take it back.

“Still?”

Filip lets his impulses guide him, and he’s pulling Tedros into a kiss that he’s been waiting his whole life for.

Tedros gasps into his mouth, and his hands freeze between them, before clenching into Filip’s shirt as Filip kisses him harder, holds him tighter.

When Tedros melts into it, whimpering, Filip feels he could sing. It was still taboo, it was still met with looks of scorn and disgust, but Filip isn’t ever going to let Tedros go. Tedros has been waiting for him too long.

”Nothing could ever change the way I see you,” Filip says against his lips. “What they did to you…” Tedros shudders against him. “Does not make you any less of a viking.”

“They used me like a—“ Tedros chokes on the last word.

This was the first time they have put words to what happened. Filip cannot say it any more than Tedros can. To vocalize the act would give it power that it didn’t deserve.

”They are the animals, Tedros. You cannot be changed by their filth.” Tedros sucks in shattered breaths as Filip holds him and kisses him hard. “You are unchanged.”

When Tedros finally starts nodding, Filip’s kisses soften, lose their urgency and adopt comfort. The sun sets behind them, and Filip truly starts to believe that they have started to heal.

———

“Fight me,” Tedros says one day, on one of those seemingly endless summer days after their successful siege of London. They’re lying in the middle of a blooming field of wildflowers and tall grass. Their camp is making smoke a quarter of a mile away.

Filip is relaxed enough that he only chuckles at the blatant call for aggression. “Why? Doesn’t it feel nice just laying here, living life?”

”We haven’t sparred in God knows how long. I want to see if you’re still any good.”

Filip scoffs. Once again, subtlety was not Tedros’ strong suit. “Relax. Doesn’t kissing me raise your heartbeat enough?” He aims a wink at the object of his affection.

Said object of affection blushes violently red. “Shut up.”

Filip purses his lips. “I won’t fight you for the right to keep running my mouth.”

Tedros offers up his first half-smile, “Nothing could keep you from running your mouth.”

“One of the great truths of life,” Filip grins.

“Another is that I won’t let this go until you agree.”

A short, amused laugh breaks from Filip’s throat. But soon he grows serious. “This is what you need?”

”Yes,” Tedros says, jumping to his feet, already impatient. “Get into a fighting stance, you coward.”

Filip knows this is how Tedros continued to put the past behind him, working through the still lingering shame by proving his strength. But just because Filip loved him, didn’t mean he was going to make it easy for the other viking.

So Filip gives in and stands up, widening the distance between his feet and raises his arms into a sparring position. As soon as Filip stabilizes himself, Tedros takes no extra time in lunging forward with a vicious jab.

Filip feints right and launches a half-hearted punch at his shoulder.

———

———

Tedros sees red.

Fury paints the whole scene in a vibrant crimson. That was how little Filip respected him now. He was a liar. He didn’t see Tedros as a worthy opponent. He saw him as a joke. The real answer to the question his request posed flashes like a humiliating, bright-flaming sign.

Logical thinking thrown out the window, Tedros knows Filip lies every single time he says he sees Tedros as the same warrior from three years ago.

Tedros slams a fist into Filip’s kidney, and the other boy’s whole body curls. Tedros steps back panting. He wasn’t broken. He could put Filip away any day, the past had not broken him. It hadn’t.

Filip staggers, eventually dropping to one knee when he can’t regain his footing. Tedros throws another punch but this one Filip blocks. The impact sends vibrations up his arm.

“Keep playing with me,” Tedros warns, “See how that ends for you.”

Filip stares at him through the flaxen blonde hair that has fallen into his eyes, his pale skin flushed. Tedros stares back. And still sees pity in those jade green eyes. Sweat drips off his chin, and his body still pulsates with the rage of the storm inside him.

Filip shoots forward, locking an arm behind his knees and pulling them out from under him. Tedros slams flat onto his back, gasping for air.

Shit.

“Do you yield?” Filip presses immediately, looming above him.

“Never,” Tedros hisses.

He slams a knee straight up to where he knows it hurts and Filip falls off of him with a wheeze. Tedros wastes no time in sitting on Filip’s thighs and pinning his arms above his head.

He leans down close and narrows his eyes at his best friend. “How about you, huh? Give up?”

Filip stares up at him with painfully naked affection and it only serves to make Tedros angrier. “I got my ass handed to me so quickly, the only honorable thing to do is yield.”

“You weren’t really trying.”

”I was.”

”You weren’t,” Tedros shoots back, not moving.

”It wasn’t a conscious decision, I promise. I just worry—“

Tedros pushes himself off Filip with a growl as soon as the words start to leave the other boy’s mouth. “Don’t finish that sentence.”

”But you know that it’s true. I know you worry about me.”

Tedros shakes his head. “It’s not the same.”

Filip is quiet for a moment.

Then he starts speaking, slowly and deliberately. “I know I always tell you to let that be buried. That it doesn’t define you.” Filip looks up at Tedros, pained. “But it defines me. I can’t forget what happened and every day all I can think about is that I want to put you up high on a shelf where nobody can reach you or touch you or hurt you.” He laughs weakly. “I know you’re a better fighter than me. But sometimes I feel that I can’t let what happened go. No matter how hard I try.”

Tedros is silent, and then his eyes drop to the ground. “I suppose it’s hypocritical of me to be angry at you for that when I do the same.” He looks up with an insolent smile. “Although my worry is justified, you wouldn’t survive an hour in the woods without me.”

Filip’s somber mood lifts and he laughs loudly. “You ass.”

Filip pulls him in with an arm around his shoulder and Tedros leans into his side with a cheeky smile still fixed on his face. Filip glances at him and looks around quickly before hurriedly walking Tedros backwards into a tree.

His best friend goes with it easily, blue eyes already half-lidded and mouth parted to receive the bruising kiss Filip presses to his lips. Tedros hums into the kiss and Filip feels like suddenly devouring all that Tedros was. Tedros seems to echo the sentiment after Filip bites his lip.

With the sunshine filtering through the bright green leaves, and the breeze carrying the scent of distant fruit to their heaving lungs, Filip could call this Eden and Valhalla.