Thorson had lost count of how long he had stayed in Ragnar’s household under Lagertha’s care
If it were up to him, he would have crawled back to his own longhouse after the very first day.
These were hard times, and even ones kin who overstayed could easily become unwelcome, and rightly so, seeing that supplies were dwindling with the ever stretching winter.
Ragnar, however, would not have it.
And Even if Thorson had forced his way out during the early days of his recovery, he would only have collapsed somewhere in the barren snow and sealed his fate.
Finally, when his limbs had regained their strength and his wounds had begun to seal themselves, Ragnar asked him to accompany him somewhere.
The three of them, Ragnar, his son Bjorn and Thorson, paid a visit to another Norseman whom Thorson knew to be a shipbuilder by the name of Floki.
At first glance, Thorson thought perhaps he was one of those men who dabbled in seidr magic.
The man did not behave like a normal person.
Every once in a while during their visit, he would run and embrace a tree or lie down in the bare snow and let it cover his face as though he were dead.
Ragnar was patient and asked them to do the same.
Only after he had finished whatever ritual he was performing did Floki come over and embrace Ragnar.
From their warm greeting, Thorson gathered they were close friends.
He soon realized they had to be, considering the level of trust they would need to accomplish what they were planning.
Over the course of those many nights,he had come to learn that, among all the people who had attended the Thing, Ragnar Lodbrok was probably the only one who had taken the matter he had raised with the seriousness it deserved.
Day after day, Ragnar had made time to sit by his bedside and listen to his side of things.
During that time, Thorson had begun to grow comfortable with him.
He had told Ragnar almost everything he knew, at least everything he had already confirmed.
He did not mention the strange land called Westeros, of course.
Ragnar had not asked about that.
What the Norseman wanted to know was which direction he would sail if he were to leave and, once he had gone, how long it would take to cross those barren lands before they found open water.
Thorson had not been able to offer many answers.
But he had learned one thing.
If escaping this cursed land was his goal, then Ragnar was his closest ally.
“Floki, this is Thorson.
Thorson, meet Floki, a famous shipbuilder.”
“Shh,” Floki said suspiciously, looking around before turning toward the boy.
“Isn’t he the boy who killed Agsken?
He should be dead.
I saw the axe tear through him myself.”
Ragnar raised a brow and gave a sealed smile
“The gods chose to spare him it seems.
He’s been under my wife’s care for quite a while now.”
Floki eyed Thorson strangely.
Reaching out, he pulled aside the boy’s coat to expose his wounds, then stepped back as though he had seen a monster.
“You should be dead,” he whispered.
Thorson pulled his coat back into place.
It almost sounded as though the man was accusing him of being alive.
“If it helps,” Ragnar said, trying to lighten the mood, “he thought himself dead too.”
“But he isn’t,” Floki muttered.
“The gods have a purpose for you boy.”
He let out another weird chuckle, and for a moment he seemed to forget they were even there.
He kissed his own hands, pressed them against his brow, then suddenly grew solemn.
“They always seem to have a purpose for the queerest of people, but not for Floki.
No, not for me.”
Thorson did not know whether to take that as an insult or a compliment.
The man had called him queer, yet in the same breath had somehow made it sound like praise.
He did not mind it anyway.
If there was anyone truly queer here, it was Floki himself.
“You trust him then?” Floki asked, turning toward Ragnar.
“You barely know him.”
Ragnar smiled and placed a reassuring hand on his friend’s shoulder, but it was Thorson who answered.
“I owe Ragnar my life.
His secrets are mine, and I will guard them with my life.”
“Aye,” Floki said.
“It is not his life I am worried about.
It is mine.”
“Floki is right,” another voice said as a man approached them.
“Uncle!” Bjorn called, moving to embrace the newcomer.
“About time you showed up, brother,” Ragnar said.
“Do you have it?”
The man tossed a leather pouch to Ragnar.
“Hello, Rollo,” Floki said with an odd smile.
“Floki,” Rollo replied before turning to Thorson.
“So this is the boy then?”
“The same,” Ragnar answered, passing the pouch to Floki.
“By the gods, has Lagertha become a healer now?
Surely those hands of hers can perform magic.”
“The gods can heal through whoever they wish,” Floki said shaking the pouch, a jingle of silver resounded and he smiled
“Yeah, you would believe that, Floki.
You thought the boy was dead too.”
“We all did,” Ragnar admitted.
“I say we attend to the matter at hand.”
“And you brought him?” Rollo asked.
“Brother, you barely know him.”
Ragnar nodded.
“We need allies, and you do not need a lifetime to know an honest man.
The boy has my trust.”
“He does not have mine, brother.
But if you vouch for him…”
“I do,” Ragnar answered without hesitation.
“In that case, let us get this done.”
Floki smiled and led the way.
The four of them followed closely behind him.
They passed through several dead trees and climbed a snow covered hill until they emerged into a clearing.
“There she is,” Floki said, his voice overflowing with warmth and affection.
For a moment, Thorson might have thought the man was introducing them to a ravishing woman.
The smile plastered across Floki’s face certainly suggested as much.
But he was speaking of no woman.
It was a longship.
Thorson had known the man was a shipbuilder, and the grandeur of what he had built was indeed astounding.
Even so, it stirred little warmth in him.
“What remains,” Floki said, “is to find out whether she floats.”
“A task that would be daring even for the gods,” Rollo answered.
“The only thing surrounding us now is mile after mile of frozen land.
By the gods, Ragnar, I dare say the boy was right.
This land truly has changed.”
“I did what he said at the Thing,” Rollo continued.
“I dug as far as I could.
My hands bled as well.
Yet I found no solid ground.”
“You might have dug in the wrong place,” Ragnar repeated, saying the same thing he had told Thorson.
His brother looked hopeful.
“By the gods, I hope you are right.”
“But that is beside the point.
The point is, when are we leaving?” Floki asked.
“First we need men,” Ragnar said.
“I will see who is willing to go on a winter raid with me.
You do the same.
We need at least seventy men, but we shall take whatever we can get.
We leave three days from now.”
“Well, Haraldson is not exactly placing much trust in us,” Rollo added.
“You can wager he will have eyes on us.”
Ragnar nodded.
“Not if he believes it is a futile plan.
If he cared, he would have come by now.
He would have learned that Floki is building a ship.
But he has not.
Which means he does not know.
And if you ask me, Haraldson simply does not care.”
“See you in three days then,” Rollo said, turning and embracing Bjorn before leaving.
Ragnar turned to Thorson.
“I assume you will be joining us.”
“I am,” Thorson answered almost immediately.
He did not bother to ask where they were going.
Anywhere was better than doing nothing.
“In that case, you should go and set your things in order.
We leave three nights from now.”