Chapter Text
It happens so quickly that he almost doesn’t realise it’s happening at all, like falling asleep bundled in furs by the fire. He almost feels as though he would’ve missed it if he had just blinked at the wrong time, just looked away at the wrong moment. He hadn’t even intended on being present for this, but that bastard Askeladd had insisted he be present (You’re still the Prince’s bodyguard, Thorfinn) and some small part of him wonders if even then, he’d already guessed at what might happen. It was hard to say what Askeladd might be thinking or planning at the best of times.
It happens so quickly that he almost doesn’t realise it’s happening at all, caught in the throes of something that might be dream or nightmare. He was hardly listening to the procession of Lords receiving rewards, his attention spread across the fest hall. The sudden silence and then the motion is what draws his attention, and Askeladd’s sword is flashing in the light before his mind can even catch up to the scene.
He’s not even sure why he attacks. He’s not even sure if it was the right decision, the wrong one, he’s not even sure it was a decision, but amidst all the shouting and chaos, his shortswords were in his hands and he was leaping from his seat. The fight, if it can be called as such, is swift, and when his blades sink into his hated foe’s flesh, he could almost swear that the old bastard let it happen.
Askeladd pitched forward, almost as if embracing him, his sword clattering to the ground as it slips from his limp fingers. “Satisfied, boy?” he murmured, and even though Thorfinn can’t see his face, he knows he’s smiling at him, that cruel mocking smile. “What will you live for now… Thorfinn, son of Thors?”
“... Why?” he murmured back, the heavy realisation beginning to dawn on him. “It wasn’t-it wasn’t supposed to be like this...” It was meant to be a duel, honorable and pure. He was meant to surpass Askeladd and defeat him the right and proper way, to demonstrate that all his tricks and cruelty were nothing more than cheap tactics. It wasn’t supposed to be like this.
Askeladd slumped a bit further and he knew on some level that it was over.
He’s finally done it. His quest is over. Askeladd is dead at his hands. The weight on his shoulders is gone, but now there’s the weight of Askeladd’s actual body bearing down on him, his mocking silence ringing in his ears. There is none of the cheering, none of the joy he thought would be there. This final achievement, this great avenging, he'd always dreamed of it tasting like honeyed fruits on his tongue so sweet and succulent but all he can taste is cold, bitter ash. His quest is over. The only thing that meant anything to him in his life is gone.
A familiar, powerful hand slapped his back with enough force to make him stumble forward. “Ha! Not a bad kill.” Askeladd’s body slid off his blades, and when Thorfinn looked up, Thorkell’s grinning face beamed back down at him.
The moment of slowness, of stillness, passes and the wheels of time seem to spin faster to make up for their dalliance. There’s talking, there’s motion, but none of it really registers to Thorfinn, not right now. He said some things, moved away, stood by Canute’s side (You’re still the Prince’s bodyguard, Thorfinn), and watches as the world continued to turn even though he feels like it should be upending. It’s only when Canute called his name that the spell is broken.
“Thorfinn,” Canute echoed, a concerned frown knitting at his brow, “Are you alright? You’ve been behaving oddly.”
He doesn’t look up from his still bloodied blades. “I killed him,” he said quietly, “I killed Askeladd.”
Canute only arched a brow at him questioningly. It’s not as though Thorfinn is a stranger to death, after all, and the Prince himself has borne personal witness to his undeniable talent for taking lives. “You did,” he said, and neither of them are quite sure what that statement means beyond the fact that it certainly has meaning.
“He let me do it.” The voice is quiet, and not at all like the Thorfinn Canute was only beginning to grow familiar with. "It wasn't... it wasn't supposed to be... he wasn't supposed to let me..." His eyes meet Canute’s again, a bold gesture that might’ve earned a reprisal had he been anyone else. Thorfinn’s gaze is empty, and for a moment Canute thinks he might be dead, that the man who killed Askeladd was gone and only his confused corpse remained. He lowers his gaze again.
He had come to offer Thorfinn a recusal, relieve him of his service and allow him to return home but to do so now would be to send back a body to be buried. Thorfinn is broken, and to relieve him now would be no different from throwing him aside as though he were nothing more than a tool.
The King in Canute knew that all men were tools, and to pretend otherwise was foolishness. If Thorfinn was of no use, then a King would replace him with someone who was. Canute balked at the idea. Thorfinn was not his friend - and Canute knew this because as the Prince of Denmark he had none he could call such a thing - but what he was, Canute did not know. His bodyguard? How was that different from thinking of Thorfinn as a tool? What Thorfinn was… Thorfinn was not his friend, but Thorfinn was the closest thing he had to one. Abandoning him now seemed wrong to him, in some way. It felt too much like something his father would do, pruning away unwanted fruit - and what was the point of all of it, if he were just a mirror of his father?
No. If Thorfinn was 'unworthy' now, then Canute would simply make him 'worthy'. If the flame within the hearth has sputtered out, he will not abandon it - he will stoke it anew.
“Thorfinn,” he declared quietly, stretching a hand out in offer, and Thorfinn’s gaze snaps to him. “As a King, I will need men I can trust at my side. Become my sword, Thorfinn Karlsefni, son of Thors,” and although he means it as a request it is just as much a command, “I would trust no other to be my Head Thegn.”
Thorfinn stares at the hand mutely. In his mind, he knows to be the Head Thegn of a King was a great honour, but it’s not as though he had ever cared for such things. It was not as though he had anything he cared for in this moment - vengeance upon Askeladd was all he had, and with it gone, what was left?
You’re still the Prince’s bodyguard, Thorfinn.
He clasped his hand in Canute’s.