Lagertha was a strong woman. She could take any man in a fight, she could look her own death in the eye without fear, and she could face most any suffering; she could endure most anything, but this...this truly tested her.

Gyda was her only daughter, the second of the children she had had with the great Ragnar Lothbrok; her only daughter, and there she lay, dying and Lagertha had no power to save her. She had already tried every remedy she could think of and prayed to the gods to spare her every second of everyday, but Gyda only seemed to get worse.

Just days ago, she had watched Siggy burn her own daughter's body; Lagertha had helped her stack Thyri's funeral pyre herself and comforted Siggy in her grief. She pitied her friend. Though Lagertha had had her own share of pain, Siggy's far exceeded hers; losing Thyri was just another excruciating stab in her heart. Sometimes she feared Siggy might never be the same. Thyri's death had taken a massive toll on her, slowly destroying from the inside out, an already fragile creature, as she had already lost her sons and husband before her. Lagertha couldn't bear to face the same fate. It had not been long since she had miscarried her unborn son...she could not...no, she would not lose another child. By the gods who feasted in Valhalla, she would not let Gyda die.

Lagertha sighed as she swept a stray strand of Gyda's long blonde locks off of her sweat stained forehead. Gyda flinched slightly in response to her touch, her pale lips opening ever so slightly, but no matter, she did not wake from her feverish sleep. The girl looked so small and helpless, reminding Lagertha of when she was just a babe. She wanted nothing more but to take her into her arms and will all of her pain away; to hold her and singing to her until all her troubles melted away, as she used to when Gyda was just a child, but it wasn't that simple. A barrier stood between them that Lagertha had found near impossible to breech.

"Is she doing any better?"

Lagertha peered over her shoulder. Athelstan, the priest that her husband had brought back with him from England nearly a year ago on his first raid, stood in the doorway. His skin was still pale from his recent experience with the epidemic, but color was slowly beginning to return to his face.

Since he had become well enough, he had been assisting her in caring for the others that still lay sick and dying, offering different remedies from his homeland to try to revive them. He looked between the mother and the daughter, his eyes resting on the latter of the two, filling with concern.

"She is alive." Lagertha replied with a mournful sigh, "And she is asleep at the moment." she added, coming to her feet and shepherding Athelstan out of the room. "We shouldn't wake her," she explained after they were out of the Hall. "She needs to build up her strength if she's to survive."

Athelstan nodded in agreement.

When the priest didn't speak, Lagertha took her turn. "Why have you come?" she inquired.

"This," he replied, bringing a strange liquid concoction to Lagertha's attention. It was contained in a small vial, resembling some type of potion. "This," he repeated, "Is a tonic which Father Cuthbert taught me back in England." he explained. "He used it once, that I can remember, to heal one of the other brothers of a fever, much like the one that has plagued Kattegat...if I've remembered and prepared it correctly, it may the answer we've been searching for...this might be able to save her."

"This can save my daughter?" she questioned, eyeing the vial hopefully. "Is this the remedy that you've been trying to remember? The one that you think might serve as a cure?"

Athelstan bit his lip. "Possibly. I've tried it on one other person yesterday, when I was just about certain that I had finally gotten it right...it's too soon to tell if it has worked. The fever Father Cuthbert used the tonic to cure might be entirely different from this epidemic..."

"No matter, we have no other choice." she declared. She lead him back inside, glancing to the place where Gyda lay, amongst the others who had fallen ill for a moment before returning her gaze to Athelstan. "Save my daughter, Priest. This tonic...brew more of it. If it is successful, then it shall be the answer to our prayers, and if it isn't..." she trailed off, deciding against voicing the former. She shook her head. "It matters not. This may be our only chance."

Without any farther instruction, Athelstan made his way over to Gyda. The girl was fully awake by then, her eyes wandering about the room wearily until they rested on him. "Athelstan?"

He smiled at her, trying his best to offer her as much encouragement as he could muster. "Yes, it's me." he said, kneeling beside her. "Are you feeling any better?"

She hesitated before nodding. "Yes."

He could sense the lie as it slipped past her lips. For a girl of twelve, he could easily see that she was very brave, but what else would you expect from the product of Ragnar and Lagertha?

"I asked Móðir to pray for you," she continued, strategically changing the subject from her own health. "I'm glad to know that the gods have spared you."

Again, he smiled. He couldn't help it. Ever since he had been taken to this strange land, it had always been Gyda that had made life tolerable for him. She was the only one who truly accepted him, with the exception of her father. In truth, it had even taken Lagertha quite awhile before she grew fond of him. Gyda, however, had always been there.

"I've brought something that might make you well again." he said, withdrawing the tonic vial from his pocket. "It's a tonic that I have made that might be able to serve as a cure...you trust me, don't you?"

Gyda nodded. "Of course I trust you, Athelstan."

As if by second nature, his lips curved into a smile upon hearing those words. "Good." he said, "Now, you'll just need to sit up a little bit...here, let me help you."

Wrapping his arm around her, he was able to help her sit up just enough so she could drink the tonic without choking on it. She cringed slightly, as the liquid traveled down her throat, earning a cough when it had finally been completely swallowed.

He laughed softly. "That bad, is it?"

Gyda shook her head. "No, it just burns a little."

"Well, the burning should go away soon." he provided. "You should be feeling better by tomorrow, if the tonic works as it should. In a short time, you should be back to normal again."

Silence passed between them, not an uncomfortable one, but nonetheless, silence. Athelstan sat with Gyda a moment longer. Maybe to make sure she was okay, maybe just to keep her company while her mother was away. Whatever it was, it just felt necessary.

"Well," he said suddenly, when he felt that his welcome was running thin, "I shall check on you tomorrow then."

Athelstan made to stand and leave and would've if it weren't for a small hand grasping his sleeve. "Please, stay." Her blue eyes pleaded with him longingly in a way that he couldn't bear to refuse. Gyda needn't say anything more. Athelstan promptly returned to his seat, beside her make-shift bed.

Gyda was such a small, innocent thing, in his eyes. She was still very young and not quite as outspoken as her brother, Bjorn. Instead, the girl had taken up more of a reserved role, not to say that she couldn't be outright when the occasion called for it, but out of all of her family, it was she who was most likely to keep her head when put to the test. This said, he was taken aback by what she said next.

"Athelstan, if I die, will you say good-bye to Bjorn and Faðir? Will you promise me that?"

He paused, taking in her words. At first, he thought maybe she was joking, but her eyes told him that she was perfectly serious.

"I don't fear death." she assured him, just as any true Viking would say. "I just want to make sure that it would be done in case I do die."

"Gyda..." Athelstan managed, "You are not going to die."

"How can you be so sure?" she questioned. "The days I've been sick out number yours and you are already well again." she shook her head. "I don't understand. If the gods wanted me to die, then shouldn't I already be dead? If they wanted me to live, then wouldn't I be better already?"

Athelstan shrugged. "I cannot answer that for you." he said truthfully. "But I can tell you that one thing our gods have in common is this: everything they do has a purpose. So, in saying this, I can assure you that you would not be alive right now if you weren't meant to be. I believe that you can, and will get better again, but only if you believe so too." he smiled at her encouragingly. "Stay strong, Gyda. I'll see you tomorrow, then?"

She smiled a nodded. "I'll look forward to it."

Every day that week Athelstan paid Gyda a visit. He'd, first, give her her daily dosage of the tonic, which seemed to have a very positive effect on her and everyone else whom he had tried it on, then he'd sit and talk with her for awhile. As she had told him once before, she craved company more than anything. With Ragnar and Bjorn gone and her mother busy running Kattegat, she often spent the majority of her time lying alone with naught but her thoughts, thus Athelstan had concluded that in order to heal her, he needed to provide her with one simple thing...someone to talk to.

Of course, he'd originally begun this daily ritual based purely on duty, to Ragnar and to his conscience, but over time he'd begun to realize that he actually enjoyed his visits with Gyda and even looked forward to them. The girl, once so quiet and reserved in his eyes, was now an entirely different person to him. She was so lively, even in her sickly state, and intelligent. Given, he'd had a rather limited knowledge of women, but even so he could see that she was quite ahead of her time. She had ideas, visions, plans for herself that impressed him. Gyda, as he had learned, was a really great girl.

He was on her way to visit her one particularly frosty morning when he entered the great hall and wasn't immediately greeted by Gyda in the normal fashion of her waving at him from across the room. His first reaction was worry, but he quickly pushed that aside and thought logically. Maybe she hadn't noticed him walk in, or maybe she'd lost track of the time, or better yet, maybe she was sleeping. Yes, that had to be it.

Thinking nothing of it, he continued on into the room to where Gyda's usual place was only to find that it too was missing. Now, he had allowed the feeling of panic to sink in. In his frenzy, he caught the attention of a medicine woman and beckoned her over.

"Excuse me, but where is the girl who was here just yesterday?" he inquired.

She looked at him questioningly for a moment before she made a connection. "Oh, yes, the Earl's daughter, I remember. We had her bed moved out just this morning." she replied before casually returning to her work, as if she'd only been commenting on the weather.

Dread washed over him as his body stiffened. No, it couldn't be true. She was getting better...she can't be... He couldn't even bring himself to say it, let alone think it. It wasn't possible. In that moment, he cursed his own breath. Why should he be allowed to live and she die? He, that had next to nothing to live for, when she had so much yet before her? It didn't make sense. It just wasn't fair.

Dumbfounded, Athelstan left the hall, stumbling out into the street. Wondering aimlessly about, he soon found himself in the forest located in the northern outskirts of Kattegat where he sank to his knees and allowed himself to do the one thing that made sense to him in that moment. Pray.

"Dear Heavenly Father, I know what I've been taught, and I do trust in your judgement, but in being a human, I still cannot help but wonder why. Why couldn't it have been me instead? This..." he looked about him at the strange wilderness surrounding him through his glassy eyes. "This life...what is it if it has yet to be lived? God, hear me. Why couldn't it have been me in her place?" his lip quivered from all the emotions raging inside of him...anger, sadness, grieving, bewilderment, frustration, and above all, guilt. "I'd gladly take her place, if it means that she'd have a chance to live." he paused, shaking his head, "All I ask, Lord, is that you help me to understand. In Jesus' name, I pray. Amen."

Unclasping his hands, he sat there for a moment, letting all of his emotions subside. Soon, after the initial shock had abandoned him, he was left with one thought...Lagertha. She didn't know yet. God...she didn't know. As much as he dreaded braking the news to her, he knew it had to be done. With a heavy heart, he began on his way to the living quarters of the Hall.

The Hall was separated into three main parts. The first, was the Great Hall, a large room made to hold a large amount of people for anything from entertaining to village-wide court sessions. The second, was purposed as a private meeting room, used for business and other such affairs concerning the greater good of the land. Lastly, there was the living quarters, nestled in the very back of the hall. There, the earl and his family lived, along with important members of the household, which, at the moment consisted of just Siggy and himself, Siggy's daughter, Thyri, having recently been deceased.

He had walked the path to the living quarters many times, but somehow, this time was much longer. His feet weighed him down, refusing every step, his heart beat quickening the closer he came to his inevitable fate. How could he possibly tell her such a thing? It didn't matter. It had to be done. He had no choice.

Stopping outside of the doorway, Athelstan gathered his courage, taking a deep breath and regaining his composure. He had to tell her, there was no turning back. Looking to the sky, he grasped the crucifix in his pocket tightly. "Lord, give me strength."

"LAGERTHA!" Well, that came out a lot louder than he meant it to...

Looking about the room, his eye caught movement. "Athelstan, you frightened me." she removed her hand from her heart and abandoned her weaving, moving towards the priest in the doorway instead.

"I..." he began, but his words were lost. He had only the ability to look at her, look and gape. A moment of silence passed between them. Finally, Athelstan spoke, "Gyda." His legs found the ability to move once again, making their way ever so slowly towards her.

"Is everything alright?"

Athelstan took her hand. It was so cold. Her skin was sickly pale, her blue eyes searching his for some type of explanation, but how could he oblige when hardly believe it himself?

"I don't understand," he began again, "I...I thought...they said you were dead."

Gyda smiled and shook her head. "No, I'm not dead." His eyes stared unwavering into hers as she slipped her hand into his. "I have you to thank for that." she said, "You saved me."

"You're alive." he breathed, touching her small, pale cheek as if to make sure she was real and not just some haunting illusion. His fingers brushed over her soft skin gently, his hand shaking ever so slightly in the fear that she might disappear at any second.

"My fever broke last night," she continued, "They kept me until morning to make sure I wasn't dying in place of recovering. At first light Móðir came to check on me and they let me go." her lips curled into a smile. The life in her that he once knew returned to her eyes. "I'm going to live, Athelstan, I'm going to live."

A smile tugged at his lips. She was going to live.