Viking and The Witcher: Year 2 1.2

Rebekah sat by the fire, holding Freydis close. The room was quiet except for the soft crackling of the flames. Freydis reached out, laughing, as Rebekah smiled down at her. Thorfinn stood in the doorway, watching them. For a moment, everything felt right. He stepped forward, his boots tapping against the wooden floor, but something was off.

The fire began to dim, the warmth fading. Freydis's laughter stopped. Thorfinn froze as a cold breeze swept through the room. Rebekah's smile disappeared, replaced by fear. She clutched Freydis tighter as a shadow stretched across the wall.

"You can't protect them forever," a voice whispered.

Thorfinn turned, and there she was—Dahlia. Her face was calm, but her eyes were sharp, full of malice. She reached toward Rebekah.

"No!" Thorfinn yelled, moving to stop her, but the distance between them seemed to stretch. He ran harder, but his steps felt heavy, as though he was sinking into the floor.

Dahlia's hand rested on Rebekah's shoulder. Rebekah screamed, and in an instant, she and Freydis were gone. The room grew darker. The fire was out. Thorfinn spun around, his chest tight, but there was nothing but shadows. Dahlia's laughter echoed around him.

"You'll fail them, like you've failed everyone else," she said, her voice surrounding him.

Thorfinn shouted, his voice raw, but the shadows swallowed him whole.

...

Thorfinn woke up gasping. He sat up quickly, his hand reaching for a weapon that wasn't there. His heart raced, his chest rising and falling rapidly. He blinked, trying to shake the nightmare, but the images of Rebekah and Freydis lingered. For a moment, he thought he still heard Dahlia's laugh.

His breathing slowed as he looked around. He wasn't in the desert anymore. He touched the ground beneath him—soft, not sand. He looked up and saw the walls of a tent. The fabric was heavy and patterned, with a small lantern casting a dim light. It smelled of herbs and smoke, faint but noticeable.

Thorfinn swung his legs over the side of the cot, wincing as a sharp pain reminded him of the scorpion's sting. He reached up, feeling the bandages on his shoulder. Someone had tended to his wounds. On a small table nearby, there was a bowl of water and a folded cloth. A jug of water sat beside it. He grabbed the jug, pouring some into the bowl and splashing it on his face. The cold water helped wake him fully. He tried to push himself up, his arms shaking as he forced his body to rise. He took one step toward the tent's entrance before his legs buckled. His body hit the carpeted floor with a thud, sending a sharp jolt of pain through his shoulder. He groaned, his breath coming in shallow gasps as he struggled to move. Before he could try again, the flap of the tent opened, and a woman stepped inside.

She carried a jug in her hands, filled with milk and honey. Her movements stopped when she saw him sprawled on the ground. She spoke quickly in a language he didn't recognize, her tone urgent. Setting the jug aside, she crossed the space lowering herself to kneel beside him. Her hands gripped his arms firmly but without hurting him as she pulled him up. Her touch was warm against his skin as she hoisted him to his feet and guided him back toward the bed.

The woman had striking features, unlike anyone he had seen before. Her skin was a dark shade—darker than he'd ever seen—smooth and unmarred, her eyes dark. Her face was angular, her nose and jaw sharp but not harsh. Her black hair was pulled back into numerous thin braids, cascading over her shoulders as she worked. Her frame was lean but she looked strong. She adjusted her grip, her hand pressing briefly against his uninjured arm as she helped him sit down on the bed.

She said something again, her tone softening now that he was seated. Thorfinn met her gaze but could only shake his head in confusion. His shoulder throbbed as she turned her attention to it, undoing the bandage carefully. She unwound the fabric, exposing the wound beneath. He winced as the cool air touched the tender flesh. Her hands paused briefly, then she reached for a small jar on the table nearby. Dipping her fingers into the paste inside, she applied it to the wound. The sting made him hiss, but he bit down on the pain, watching her work.

Her hands moved quickly as she applied the poultice, spreading it evenly before taking a clean bandage and wrapping it around his shoulder, her fingers securing the bandage tightly but not uncomfortably. Thorfinn could see the efficiency in her actions, as though she had done this countless times before. When she finished, she leaned back slightly, meeting his eyes as she said something else he didn't understand.

He tried to speak. "Do you know French?" he asked, his voice rough. She tilted her head but didn't respond.

"Latin?" he tried next. Still, no recognition. He frowned. "Norse tongue?"

Nothing.

Frustration crept into his expression as he searched his mind for another language. He thought of the little Arabic he had learned during his time training. A trader from Spain had taught him basic phrases, and though he never had time to expand his knowledge, he hoped it was enough. "Hal tatahaddath al-arabiya?" (Do you speak Arabic?) he asked, his pronunciation hesitant.

The woman stopped, her body still as she studied him. Finally, she tilted her head slightly and replied, "Anta tatahaddath lughat al-tujjar." (You speak the trader's tongue.)

"A little," Thorfinn said, his tone steady despite the effort it took to form the words.

Her expression shifted, the faintest hint of approval crossing her features. "Good that will help," she said plainly. She stood, and picked up the jug of milk and honey. She poured a small amount into a cup and handed it to him. "Drink," she instructed. He accepted the cup and drank, it felt soothing to his throat.

After finishing his drink she took the cup from him before putting it on the table. He shifted slightly in the bed, his muscles still weak and his shoulder throbbing with a persistent ache. His eyes narrowed as he considered Sira's words, trying to piece together everything she had just told him.

"What is your name?" he asked, his voice rasping.

She smiled. "My name is Sira," she replied, setting the poultice aside.

He went to introduce himself, but she raised her hand gently. "I know of your name, Thorfinn the Northman."

His body tensed. He wondered if she was an enemy. His gaze hardened, but before he could speak, Sira placed a hand on his arm.

"I apologize," she said softly, her tone sincere. "Your wife informed us of your name."

Thorfinn's frown deepened as confusion spread across his face. Then, his eyes widened. 'Wife?' He thought quickly. 'They must mean Arwyn.'

"You found Arwyn? Where is she?" he demanded, trying to push himself up.

Sira stopped him, her hand firm against his chest. "She is safe," she assured him. "She is being treated as a guest of honor. You must not worry."

"A guest of honor?" Thorfinn asked, the confusion only growing. He leaned back against the pillows, his brows furrowed.

Sira nodded. "You are in the caravan of the great Kaya Maghan, the Ghana, the warrior king, Dinga Dyabe," she said, her voice laced with reverence.

Thorfinn processed the name. He had never heard of this figure before. "Where are we going?" he asked, his voice quieter now.

"We are making the great journey to find the City of Stars," she said, her tone filled with awe.

The information overwhelmed Thorfinn. The throbbing in his shoulder didn't help. He winced as he shifted, trying to make sense of everything.

"You must rest," Sira said, adjusting the poultice on his shoulder. "It is already a miracle that you survived the Kèlè Ngana."

Thorfinn's head tilted slightly. "Kèlè Ngana?" he asked.

"In simple words it would be, mirror scorpion," Sira explained. "Its venom is certain death. You must not move too much. Even now, your body is still fighting it."

Thorfinn nodded slowly, the weight of her words settling in. He let out a long breath and laid back against the pillows. His eyes closed, the exhaustion too much to fight any longer. Before he drifted off, the image of Arwyn, alive and safe, brought him a moment of relief.

...

Thorfinn opened his eyes slowly, his body still heavy with exhaustion. The dim light of the tent greeted him, filtering through the fabric walls. He blinked a few times, his vision clearing as he tried to orient himself. The ache in his shoulder had dulled but was still present. He pushed himself up slightly, resting on his elbows. As his eyes adjusted, he noticed someone sitting nearby. Arwyn was there, her back straight as she leaned slightly against the small table in the tent. She wasn't dressed in her usual clothing. Instead, she wore a loose, sleeveless dress made from finely woven fabric, the vibrant gold and red colors contrasting with her pale skin. Her shoulders were bare, the dress held up by thin straps that revealed the sharp lines of her collarbones and the slope of her upper chest. The fabric draped over her form, outlining the curve of her hips and the subtle definition of her thighs beneath the loose skirt.

Her arms were resting lightly on her knees, her hands relaxed. Her hands, though smaller than his, looked strong, the fingers calloused from years of wielding a hoe. Her hair, usually tied back carelessly, was styled differently. The strands were parted and fell neatly down her back, the ends brushing against the exposed skin of her upper back. Thorfinn's gaze moved upward, noting the sharp angles of her face. Her jawline was narrow, her cheekbones high, and her pale green eyes seemed brighter in the dim light. Her lips, often pressed into a frown or smirk, were slightly parted as she looked down at the cup in her hands. The dress revealed her neck fully, her slender throat visible as she tilted her head slightly, deep in thought. He knew she looked different from the first time he'd met her, but Thorfinn never noticed how much she had changed physically. She was as beautiful as her sister was, nearly as beautiful as Rebekah.

She shifted slightly, the fabric of the dress sliding over her thighs. The movement was small but noticeable, and Thorfinn couldn't help but take note of how different she looked compared to the times he had seen her in armor or plain travel clothing. There was an elegance to her now, even though her posture was still guarded.

"Finally awake?" Arwyn asked, her voice cutting through the silence. She glanced up, her eyes meeting his. Her gaze was sharp, as usual, though she tried to sound casual there was a faint tone of worry in her voice.

Thorfinn grunted, sitting up fully despite the pull in his shoulder. He rubbed the back of his neck, his eyes not leaving her. "You're wearing something new," he said simply.

Arwyn smirked, setting the cup down on the table beside her. "The women here insisted. Said my old clothes not suitable when I am presented to our host."

"It suits you," Thorfinn said, his tone neutral. His eyes lingered briefly on the dress before he looked away, his jaw tightening.

"You think so?" she replied, raising an eyebrow. She stood, the fabric of the dress falling around her legs as she adjusted the straps on her shoulders. "I feel ridiculous in this thing. It's too long. Makes it hard to move."

Thorfinn glanced back at her. "You look fine."

Arwyn rolled her eyes, though she didn't press the matter. She moved to the side of the tent, picking up a pitcher of water. As she poured a small amount into a cup, Thorfinn's gaze followed her. Even in foreign clothing, she carried herself with the same poise she had always shown, like a true shield maiden.

She returned to him, holding out the cup. "Here. Drink this. You look like you're about to pass out again."

Thorfinn took the cup, his fingers brushing against hers briefly. He sipped the water slowly, his throat dry and sore. Arwyn crossed her arms and leaned against the table again, watching him closely.

"You've been out for a while," she said. "You looked like hell when they dragged you in here. Thought you weren't going to make it."

Thorfinn set the cup down, his expression hardening. "I'm still here."

"Barely," Arwyn said, her tone sharp. She tilted her head, her hair falling over one shoulder. "You're lucky we found you when they did. That scorpion would've been the end of you."

"Not the first time I've been lucky," Thorfinn muttered, his gaze meeting hers. He shifted slightly, the bandages on his shoulder pulling as he moved. "Where are we, exactly?" Not that he didn't trust Sira but he would be a fool to trust the world of someone he didn't known.

Arwyn's smirk faded slightly. "Some caravan. They've been taking care of us. Said you were poisoned pretty bad. Took a few days before you even opened your eyes."

Thorfinn frowned, his gaze narrowing. "And you? They didn't try anything?"

Arwyn's smirk returned. "They've been treating me well. Apparently I am a rare beauty."

Thorfinn snorted, leaning back against the pillows. "I'm sure they'd think differently if they could understand you."

Arwyn laughed softly, the sound unfamiliar but not unwelcome. "Get some rest. You're still too weak to do much of anything."

Thorfinn shook his head and pushed himself up from the bed despite the soreness in his body. "I've rested enough," he said, his voice firm. His legs felt weak, but he forced them to steady as he stood. His hand instinctively went to his shoulder, feeling the bandages under his tunic.

Arwyn sighed and crossed her arms, watching him closely. "You're stubborn, as always," she muttered. "If you drop dead, don't expect me to carry you."

Thorfinn ignored her and took a few tentative steps, testing his balance. His movements were stiff, but he managed to keep himself upright. "How far are we from Constantinople?" he asked.

Arwyn shook her head. "I don't know. I can't understand them. Their language is... different."

Thorfinn frowned, his brow furrowed. "What about maps? Do they have any?"

"They do," Arwyn replied, her tone flat. "But I couldn't make sense of them. Even if it was a map of home, I doubt I'd know what I was looking at."

Thorfinn sighed, rolling his shoulders to loosen them. He moved to the center of the tent and began stretching his arms and legs. His joints popped as he bent down and touched his toes, then arched his back. The stiffness in his muscles eased slightly, though the movement sent a light sweat across his skin.

Dropping to the floor, Thorfinn started his exercises. He pushed himself into a plank, lowering his chest to the ground before pushing back up. His arms trembled slightly, and his breaths grew heavier. Sweat beaded on his forehead and slid down his chest. He grunted as he moved through a set of push-ups, then rolled onto his back and began lifting his legs.

Arwyn leaned against the table, her eyes on him. She watched the muscles in his arms and shoulders flex with each movement, the veins in his forearms standing out as he worked through his routine. Her gaze lingered on his chest and abdomen, tracing the lines of his scars and the sheen of sweat on his skin.

For a brief moment, her mind drifted back to a night they had shared months ago, one she had tried not to think about since. The way his body had felt against hers, the heat of his skin, the strength in his movements—it all came rushing back. She flushed slightly and quickly looked away, her face hardening into an annoyed expression.

"Where did you end up after you fell off the ship?" Thorfinn asked, breaking the silence.

Arwyn cleared her throat and shrugged. "I woke up on the beach. Somewhere on the edge of the desert."

"No supplies?" Thorfinn asked, continuing his exercises despite his arms trembling.

"Nothing," Arwyn said. "No water, no food. Just sand and the sun."

Thorfinn stopped and leaned back on his hands, his breathing heavy. "How did you survive?"

"I changed into my wolf form," Arwyn said. Her voice was calm, but there was a hint of pride. "My sense of smell is better that way. I could sniff out insects, dead animals, anything I could eat. I also found these strange plants with spikes all over them. When I broke them open, there was water inside."

Thorfinn grunted and switched to squats, his movements slower now. "And how did you meet these people?"

Arwyn crossed one leg over the other, her arms still folded. "I caught their scent on the wind. Changed back to my normal form and followed it to their camp. They took me in, gave me food and water, washed me, and gave me clothes."

Thorfinn smirked slightly but didn't comment. He pushed himself up from the ground, standing straight despite the slight wobble in his legs. "Why do they think we're married?"

Arwyn's face turned red, her lips tightening. She looked annoyed as she answered. "I thought it'd be easier to convince them to help me search for you if they thought you were my husband. It also kept any of the men from trying to claim me."

Thorfinn chuckled softly, the sound low and brief.

"What's so funny?" Arwyn snapped, her eyes narrowing.

"Nothing," Thorfinn replied, though the slight smirk remained on his face.

Arwyn glared at him but said nothing more. Thorfinn walked back to the bed, sitting down with a faint groan. He reached for the pitcher on the table and poured himself another cup of water, drinking it slowly.

Arwyn stood by the small table in the corner of the tent, arms crossed and her eyes fixed on Thorfinn as he sat on the bed. Her stance was tense, her jaw set. "So? What now?" she asked, her voice low but sharp, as if daring him to suggest something reckless.

Thorfinn leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. He ran a hand through his hair, still damp with sweat from the lingering heat of the day. "We stay," he said, meeting her gaze. "For now. We need to figure out where exactly we are, how far we are from Constantinople, and whether these people are allies or something else entirely."

Arwyn tilted her head, studying him. "You trust them that much? Enough to sit here like we're honored guests?"

Thorfinn shook his head. "Trust has nothing to do with it. We're in the middle of the desert. We don't know the terrain, the dangers, or the distance to civilization. Running off would be suicide, and you know it."

She stepped closer, her arms still crossed. "So we're just supposed to wait until they decide what to do with us?"

"Until we know more," Thorfinn said firmly. "Yes."

Arwyn's eyes narrowed. "And Geralt? What if he didn't make it?"

Thorfinn leaned back slightly, rolling his shoulder with a wince. "He's alive. If we survived, he did too. He's resourceful, and he'll know to make his way to Constantinople. He'll expect us to do the same."

"And what if he doesn't?" Arwyn pressed. "What if he's at the bottom of the ocean, and we're just wasting time here?"

Thorfinn stood, facing her fully. "Then we'll get to Constantinople ourselves. We'll find our way, with or without him."

Arwyn snorted. "You make it sound so simple."

"It isn't," he said, his tone calm but firm. "Which is why we need to be cautious. These people have helped us, but we don't know them. Keep your wolf form hidden. Don't give them a reason to ask questions. I'll do the same with my abilities."

Her expression softened slightly, though her stance didn't change. "You don't think they already know what we are, they do seem interested in us?"

"If they do, they haven't said anything yet. Let's keep it that way," Thorfinn replied.

Arwyn nodded after a pause. "Fine. I'll play along. For now."

...

The next few days passed slowly, each one blending into the next as Thorfinn recovered. They shared the bed in the tent as was expected of a married couple, though Arwyn's discomfort was evident. She kept to her side, as if drawing an invisible line between them. Thorfinn didn't comment on it. Sira visited frequently, bringing food and checking his wound. Her amazement at his rapid recovery was obvious, though she rarely said more than a few words. One afternoon, as she finished applying another poultice, Thorfinn decided to press her again.

"Where are we? Can I see a map?" he asked, his voice steady. "How far are we from Constantinople?"

Sira tilted her head slightly, her expression unreadable. "Dinga Dyabe will answer all questions you have," she said, her tone polite.

"When?" Thorfinn asked, irritation creeping into his voice.

"Soon," Sira replied. "For now, you must rest."

Thorfinn clenched his jaw but nodded, letting her leave without another word. His frustration grew with every unanswered question. He had stepped outside the tent a few times, only to find two guards stationed there. The camp stretched as far as he could see, a sea of tents under the hot sun. One evening, after finishing their evening meal, Arwyn broke the silence. "You're losing your patience," she said, her voice low.

Thorfinn didn't look at her. "Really?"

"You need to calm down," she continued. "These people saved our lives. We're in no position to make demands."

Thorfinn exhaled sharply. "I don't like being kept in the dark. If they want something from us, they should say it."

"Maybe they're waiting to see if we are worth their time," Arwyn said, leaning back against the bedframe.

He turned to face her, his expression serious. "We aren't toys for them to amuse themselves with."

"We're alive because they helped us. You can glare at the guards and mutter under your breath all you want, but we're still in the middle of a desert. You want to walk out of here on your own?" She asked.

Thorfinn didn't answer right away. Instead, he leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "I don't like sitting still."

Arwyn softened, though her voice remained firm. "You're not the only one frustrated. I don't like being watched. But we need these people, at least for now."

Thorfinn nodded slowly. "You're right. We'll wait. For now."

...

Another day passed and the tent was silent except for the faint rustling of the wind outside and the soft crackle of a distant fire. Thorfinn lay on his back, staring at the canopy above them, his hands resting on his chest. His body had almost healed, but the tension in his mind left him restless. Beside him, Arwyn shifted on the bed, her movements subtle but enough to let him know she was awake too.

"Thorfinn," she said quietly, her voice breaking the stillness.

He turned his head slightly toward her, his expression unreadable. "I'm awake."

She hesitated before speaking again. "When they found you in the desert, I was the first one to get to you. You were barely alive, your skin burned, your lips cracked. You kept saying something, whispering over and over."

Thorfinn tensed, his body stiffening as if bracing for what was to come. He didn't answer, waiting for her to finish.

"You called me Eowyn," she said.

His fists clenched at his sides. "I see," he said, his voice tight.

Arwyn turned onto her side, propping her head on her hand to look at him. "Why?" she asked.

He exhaled sharply through his nose and kept his gaze fixed on the ceiling. "I was dying of thirst, Arwyn. I was stung. Poisoned. You look a lot like your sister."

She didn't reply immediately, watching his profile in the dim light. There was no shift in his tone, no hesitation in his words, yet something felt off. She didn't press him further. Instead, she turned fully to face him, her voice softer now. "Why did you say you were sorry?"

Thorfinn's jaw tightened, and his fists clenched harder, his knuckles turning white. "I don't want to talk about this," he said firmly, rolling onto his side to face away from her.

Arwyn stared at his back. Thorfinn had never shown guilt before, not for anything he'd done to her family or anyone else. He was a man of contradictions. To his people, he was loyal, protective, even kind. To his enemies, he was unrelenting, cruel, and utterly without mercy, he had slain her family without a second thought and taken her sister as a prize. The two sides of him never seemed to intersect, and she had always thought there was no bridge between them. Until now.

She lay on her back, looking up at the canopy, her chest tightening as her thoughts turned to her sister. Eowyn's face was as clear in her mind as it had been the last time she had seen her, tears streaming down her cheeks as she begged Arwyn to leave Bebbanburg with her. She had refused. She had believed in Thorfinn, loved him, trusted him. That belief had cost her sister everything.

"I should've taken Eowyn away," Arwyn said, her voice trembling slightly. "I should've run away with her."

Thorfinn remained silent.

"She asked me, you know," Arwyn continued. "She begged me to leave with her. Back in Bebbanburg. But I refused. I didn't want to leave you."

Thorfinn shifted slightly, though he still didn't face her. She didn't stop.

"I dream about that moment," she said, her voice quieter now. "I'm forced to watch as I refuse her. I see her taken. I try to scream, to tell her I'm sorry, to beg her to let me go with her, but she can't hear me. No matter how loud I scream, she can't hear me."

Her chest rose and fell as she fought to keep her voice steady. "I wish I had gone with her. Maybe she'd still be alive."

The silence that followed was thick, oppressive. She could feel the weight of her words settling in the space between them. Then, after what felt like an eternity, Thorfinn spoke, his voice barely above a whisper.

"You should have."

The words hit her harder than she expected. She turned her head toward him, her eyes searching his back for any sign of what he was feeling. There was nothing to see, but the tone in his voice lingered in her mind. For the first time, she wondered if Thorfinn carried the weight of what happened to Eowyn, even if he refused to show it.

Neither of them spoke again that night.

___________________________

The morning sun filtered through the fabric of the tent as Arwyn sat cross-legged on the bed, her eyes fixed on Thorfinn. He was at the small table, drinking deeply from a clay cup filled with water. She studied his face, his movements, and the tension in his shoulders. Their conversation last night lingered in her mind, replaying his quiet words over and over. She should have. It wasn't like Thorfinn to show regret, and she couldn't tell if it had been guilt or just a cold acknowledgment of the truth. The man she knew rarely dwelled on what he couldn't change.

Thorfinn, meanwhile, seemed to have already moved on. He finished the water with a final swallow and placed the cup down with a faint thud. His focus was elsewhere no. He had no interest in revisiting the conversation, and his body language made that clear. The tent flap opened suddenly, and Sira stepped in, carrying an assortment of folded clothing in her arms. Her expression was warm, her steps light as she approached them. "The Dinga Dyabe wishes to speak with you now," she announced. "Put these cloaks on for now, not many people will have seen you and may find your looks strange."

Thorfinn muttered under his breath, "Finally." He stood, rolling his shoulders as he turned toward her. "Let's go." Before taking the cloaks and donning them.

Sira raised a hand, shaking her head. "Not yet. First, you must be washed and made presentable." She gestured toward the tent flap. "Follow me."

Thorfinn sighed but didn't argue. "Come on," he said to Arwyn, who stood and followed him out of the tent.

The camp outside was alive with activity. The air was filled with voices speaking in a language unfamiliar to him, the rhythmic pounding of tools, and the occasional sound of animals. Thorfinn glanced around, his gaze falling on rows of tents stretching out toward the horizon. Men and women carried goods between them, some leading strange animals that Thorfinn couldn't name. The smell of cooked food wafted faintly in the air. As they walked, Thorfinn's eyes caught sight of a massive creature unlike anything he had ever seen. Its sheer size made him stop in his tracks. The beast was at least five times larger than a horse, its thick hide wrinkled like aged leather. A long snout moved picking up bundles and placing them carefully onto a platform. Its tusks curved outward, gleaming faintly in the sunlight.

Sira noticed his reaction and smiled. "That is an elephant," she explained. "They are strong, intelligent, and capable of carrying great loads. They are valuable companions, though they drink much water."

Thorfinn raised an eyebrow. "Why bring them to the desert, then?"

Sira didn't hesitate. "The Dinga Dyabe has no need to worry about water. He could bring an entire oasis with him if he so wished."

Arwyn tugged on Thorfinn's arm. "What is she saying?" she asked, her voice filled with curiosity.

"She says it's called an elephant. It's smart, strong, and carries heavy loads," Thorfinn replied before glancing back at the massive creature. "And apparently, the Dinga could drain an oasis and bring it with him."

Arwyn frowned. "An oasis? He must have incredible power."

"Or lots of gold," Thorfinn said as they continued following Sira through the bustling camp and into a large tent.

Inside the tent, Sira led Thorfinn and Arwyn to large wooden tubs filled with steaming water. The women around them had skin as dark as the night, their bodies barely covered by thin cloths that clung to their round breasts and wide hips. Their nipples showed through the fabric, their cunts just veiled by the scant material.

Sira commanded, "You will be washed and clothed," before turning and leaving them.

Thorfinn eyed the tubs, his gaze lingering on the round arses and full breasts of the women. He looked over at Arwyn, her arms crossing her chest, her nipples hard against her dress.

"Let's get this over with," Thorfinn said, approaching one of the tubs.

Arwyn followed, her steps slow. A woman with large breasts and a thick waist approached Thorfinn, her movements making her breasts bounce. She placed her hands on him, guiding him to sit on the tub's edge. Thorfinn took off his shirt, showing off his muscled chest. The woman's eyes roamed over him, her lips parting as she started to undress him further.

Another woman, with similarly ample breasts and a narrow waist, moved to Arwyn. She started to remove Arwyn's dress, revealing her pale skin and small breasts, her nipples now visible through her thin undergarment. The woman led Arwyn into the tub, her touch gentle yet firm.

Thorfinn watched Arwyn strip down, showing off her legs and arse. Her skin was light against the dark skin of the women. She stepped into the water, her movements stiff.

As Thorfinn sat in the tub, the heat of the water mixed with the touch of the woman's hands on him. She washed him with a sponge, her breasts brushing his arm, her nipples hard against the cloth. Her hands moved over his chest, down to his stomach, her fingers close to his cock. Across the room, Arwyn was being washed. The woman's hands roamed over Arwyn's breasts, down her stomach, to her thighs, her touch intimate. Arwyn's eyes were shut, her breathing uneven as the woman's hands explored her.

Thorfinn couldn't take his eyes off Arwyn, watching the water play on her skin, her breasts partly underwater, her nipples hard from the touch of the woman's hands. He felt a heat inside him, stirred by the sight and the proximity of these women, their bodies on display, and Arwyn's own response.

The women worked in silence, their hands touching, cleaning, trying to make the experience as pleasurable as possible. Thorfinn felt himself grow hard under the water, the woman attending to him noticed his hard cock, now standing at attention. Her hands, slick with soap and oil, slithered down, her fingers grazing his throbbing shaft. Her eyes locked onto his, a lascivious grin spreading across her face as she gripped him, starting to stroke with a slow, tantalizing rhythm. The sensation was overwhelming; the heat of the water mixed with her slippery touch sent electric pulses through him.

Thorfinn's breath hitched, his gaze darting to Arwyn. She was in the hands of another woman, whose fingers were now teasing between Arwyn's legs. Arwyn's eyes were open, fixed on Thorfinn, her lips parted as soft moans escaped her. The woman with Thorfinn pumped him harder, her other hand gently cupping his heavy balls, her thumb rolling over them in a sensual massage. Thorfinn's hips bucked with her strokes, his eyes never leaving Arwyn. The sight of her, the sounds she made, heightened his own arousal. The woman's hand was incredible, her strokes quickening, her grip now tightening.

Across from him, Arwyn was lost in her own world of pleasure. The woman's fingers plunged into her, her thumb circling Arwyn's swollen nub. Arwyn's hands clutched the tub's edge, her legs spreading wider, her body arching in pure ecstasy. Her moans grew louder, her eyes wide, watching Thorfinn as he watched her. Thorfinn could feel the pressure building, his body tense with the need to explode. The woman's hand was a blur, stroking him with a hunger that matched his own. He could see Arwyn's face contort with pleasure, her body trembling, on the brink of climax. Their eyes locked, sharing a moment of mutual desire.

Then, almost in perfect sync, Thorfinn felt the surge. His cock pulsed in the woman's hand as he came, his seed shooting into the water. At the same moment, Arwyn's body convulsed, her moans turning into a loud cry as she reached her peak, her juices flowing freely into the bathwater. The attendants didn't stop immediately, prolonging their pleasure, milking every last shudder from their bodies. The water around Thorfinn was now cloudy with his cum, and Arwyn's legs still trembled as the woman slowly withdrew her fingers, now moving with a gentle, soothing touch. Once they were clean, the women helped them out of the tubs, their skin slick. They dressed them, their touches lingering, ensuring every bit of cloth was in place.

The attendants then led Thorfinn and Arwyn through the camp towards the tent of the Dinga. Their steps kicked up small clouds of sand, the sun high and bright above them. People moved around the camp going about their business, but their movements slowed as the pair passed. Eyes followed them, the conversations turning into whispers. Thorfinn walked with a slow pace, his shoulders back and his head held high. His pale skin and white hair caught the sunlight, making him stand out in the sea of dark faces. He glanced at the people watching him, noting how some stepped back or averted their gaze entirely. It wasn't fear in their eyes, not exactly—it was something closer to uncertainty.

Arwyn walked beside him, her posture rigid. Her eyes moved over the crowd, scanning for any threats, she didn't like how some of the men leered at her, though she didn't mind the others who looked at her with slight fear. She noticed how many people stared at Thorfinn, how their gazes lingered on him. She frowned slightly, her hand brushing against the fabric of her new clothes as she wasn't entirely comfortable in them.

The path wound through rows of tents, some small and plain, others larger and decorated with bright patterns. The smell of cooking meat wafted through the air, mixed with the sharper scent of sweat and unwashed bodies. As they neared the center of the camp, a tent larger than the rest came into view. Its fabric was deep red with gold stitching along the edges. Tall poles held it upright, and heavy curtains hung over the entrance. Sira stood outside the tent, her hands folded neatly in front of her. She waited until they were close before stepping forward. Her eyes moved to Thorfinn first, then briefly to Arwyn.

"The Dinga Dyabe wishes to speak with you first," she said, her voice calm.

Thorfinn stopped, his expression shifting slightly. "Just me?" he asked.

"Yes," Sira replied. "Your wife will be cared for here while you speak with him."

Thorfinn turned to Arwyn. She looked at him, her mouth pressing into a thin line. "I don't like it," she said quietly, her eyes narrowing.

"Neither do I," he replied, his voice low. "But we both know they couldn't contain you if they tried."

Arwyn crossed her arms. "Fine. Just don't take too long."

Thorfinn nodded, then looked back at Sira. "Let's go."

Sira gestured toward the tent. "Follow me."

Thorfinn stepped forward, pausing briefly at the entrance. He glanced back at Arwyn, who gave him a short nod before shifting her weight and looking off toward the camp. Thorfinn pushed the tent flap aside and stepped inside. The heavy fabric fell back into place, muffling the sounds of the camp outside. Inside the tent, the air was cooler. The ground was covered in thick rugs that felt soft under his boots. Lanterns hung from the poles, their dim light casting faint shadows. At the center of the tent, a man sat cross-legged on a low platform. His robes were layered and adorned with gold and beads.

Thorfinn stepped closer, his eyes scanning the tent for signs of hidden guards or weapons. The absence of either made him uneasy. He could end the life of this man, the supposed leader of these people, with a single strike, and yet the Dinga seemed unconcerned. It felt deliberate, and Thorfinn didn't trust it.

"What is the true value of a man?" the Dinga said in Arabic, his voice deep.

Thorfinn's brow furrowed. The man had not turned around yet, still facing the large board in front of him. His question hung in the air like a challenge. Thorfinn didn't answer as he approached, circling slowly until the Dinga came into view. The Dinga was young, perhaps in his twenty-fifth winter. His features were sharp, his beard neatly trimmed close to his face. His skin, lighter than most of the others Thorfinn had seen, bore a golden undertone. He wore robes of fine fabric, simple yet dignified, and his hands rested on the edge of the board before him—a square grid of sixty-four squares in alternating shades of dark oak and pale yew.

The Dinga turned his gaze up to Thorfinn. "Have you played this game before?" he asked, motioning to the board.

Thorfinn shook his head. "I'm not familiar with it."

The Dinga gestured to the seat on the opposite side of the table. "Sit. I will teach you."

Thorfinn hesitated, then pulled out the chair and sat down. His eyes briefly scanned the pieces on the board, carved figures of different shapes and sizes, each arranged in two opposing armies. He studied their design but said nothing. Dyabe turned a pawn in his fingers, its simple form rougher than the other pieces. "This is the pawn," he said, his voice calm. "The smallest piece on the board. It moves forward, step by step, simple and predictable. It is sacrificed freely, its life considered cheap in the grand scheme. Yet, do you know why the pawn is the most dangerous piece on the board?"

Thorfinn shook his head slightly, watching the Dinga's hands.

"Because it holds the potential to rise above its station," Dyabe continued. "When a pawn crosses the board, it becomes what it chooses—what its player needs. A bishop, a knight, even a queen. From the smallest beginnings comes the power to reshape the game. Not because of its strength, but because of its determination to move forward."

He placed the pawn back on the board, tapping it lightly. "Consider the king," he said, gesturing to the most elaborate piece. "The king is the symbol of power. The goal of the game is to protect him, to ensure his survival. Yet he is the weakest piece. He cannot strike like the rook, leap like the knight, in essence he is not that dissimilar from the pawn. His value lies in perception. People fight for him because they believe in what he represents, not what he can do."

Thorfinn leaned back slightly, watching as the Dinga turned the piece in his hand. "Fascinating, isn't it? How one can assign such arbitrary value to a person."

"This is a game," Thorfinn said with mild annoyance.

Dyabe smiled as he leaned forward, resting his arms on the table. "Is it? What of kings and peasants? Nobles and farmers?" he said. "What do you think a person's worth is decided by, their birth? Their riches? Their strength?"

"I have seen men born into palaces, draped in silk and gold, with every advantage one could imagine. Men who believed their value was undeniable, simply because of their title. These men would not lift a hand to help even those who served them, convinced their lives were the only ones that mattered." He picked up a pawn and turned it between his fingers. "I have also seen men born into nothing, with hands calloused from labor, who gave everything they had to protect what they loved. Men who worked themselves to death so their children could live a better life. Which of them do you think held more value?"

Thorfinn shifted in his seat, his eyes locked on Dyabe. The younger man let the question hang in the air for a moment before answering it himself.

"The nobleman died surrounded by those who waited to take what he left behind. The farmer died surrounded by those who loved and mourned him, carrying forward the lessons he taught them. The nobleman had everything, yet left nothing. The farmer had nothing, yet left behind everything that mattered."

Dyabe set the pawn down and reached for the queen, holding it up. "Even this piece, the most powerful on the board, has no value if it serves no purpose. A queen without a cause is just another piece waiting to be knocked down. The same is true of men. The strength of their arm, the sharpness of their mind—none of it matters if they stand for nothing."

He placed the queen back and leaned back slightly, his gaze steady on Thorfinn. "You've killed before. You've looked a man in the eye as his life slipped away. Did you ever wonder who he was to those who loved him? Was he a father? A son? A friend? Or was he nothing more than an obstacle in your way?"

Thorfinn's jaw tightened, but he didn't speak. He didn't like the feeling his words caused, especially not after the conversation with Arwyn the night previous.

"Every piece on the board has potential, even the smallest. A pawn can rise to become something greater, or it can fall, forgotten. The question is not what they were born as, but what they choose to become. Will they become something greater, or will they accept their place and wait to be sacrificed?"

Thorfinn scowled, his annoyance clear. "Why are we talking about such things? If you want to know something, ask directly."

Dyabe smiled, placing a hand over his chest and bowing his head slightly. "Forgive me," he said. "I often get swept away in thought. I find that questions often lead to more questions, and sometimes answers come without asking."

Thorfinn crossed his arms, waiting.

"In truth," Dyabe continued, "I brought you here because I was curious. I have never seen a Northman before, though I have heard tales from travelers. They speak of you as fierce warriors and raiders."

"We are," Thorfinn said bluntly.

Dyabe chuckled lightly. "You don't look much like the stories would suggest. You'd look more at home in my court than on a battlefield. Despite the wariness of my people, I'm certain many think you handsome. Even my own daughter, Sira, does."

Thorfinn's brow lifted slightly. Sira was his daughter? He quickly studied the man before him. How old was he?

Dyabe laughed, clearly aware of Thorfinn's unspoken thoughts. "You must wonder how I could have a daughter like her. I am in my thirty-second summer. My wife bore Sira when I was in my thirteenth."

Thorfinn's face remained neutral. "Why was she given the task of healing me?" he asked.

Dyabe nodded thoughtfully. "Sira is a good judge of character. I trust her judgment above all others. If she believed you were worth speaking to, then I knew it was true."

Dyabe leaned back slightly, his gaze steady. "What of you, Thorfinn? Do you have children?"

Thorfinn hesitated, his jaw tightening briefly before he nodded. "I do."

"Where are they?" Dyabe asked.

"Far away," Thorfinn replied.

Dyabe tilted his head slightly, his curiosity evident. "Why travel so far from them?"

Thorfinn's voice was low, steady. "It is for them that I travel so far."

"I see," Dyabe said, standing up slowly. He walked over to a low table, where a decanter and two cups sat. He poured dark wine into both cups and handed one to Thorfinn.

Thorfinn accepted the cup, though he didn't drink immediately. "I appreciate your people's help," he said. "But we have places to be. If you can point us in the direction of Constantinople and provide enough supplies for the journey, I'm sure we can trade something of value in return."

Dyabe chuckled, the sound low and warm. "I need nothing material from you, Thorfinn. I have more gold than I could ever spend. I could rebuild Constantinople here in this very desert and not dent my wealth."

Thorfinn's brow furrowed slightly. "Then what do you want?"

Dyabe's smile remained. "What I seek from you is more valuable than gold or silver. I want to know you. I want to learn of your life, your gods, your people."

Thorfinn stared at him. "Why?"

Dyabe's tone was calm but unwavering. "Because I seek to understand what I do not know. Knowledge is the greatest treasure there is."

Thorfinn exhaled slowly, considering the man's words. It was a strange request, but not entirely without reason. The offer was tempting. There was much he could learn from Dyabe in return.

"I'll accept your offer," Thorfinn said finally.

Dyabe's smile widened slightly. "Very good." He motioned towards the entrance of the tent. "I had your wife moved to a new tent, next to mine. You'll find it more comfortable than the one you've been staying in. You may go and join her now."

Thorfinn stood and turned to leave, but Dyabe clasped his hand firmly. "I hope we will learn much from each other, Thorfinn the Northman."

Thorfinn nodded once, then exited the tent, walking toward where Arwyn waited.

___________________________

For the next few months, Thorfinn and Arwyn traveled with the Soninke caravan through the desert. The landscape changed often. Some days they walked across endless sand dunes, the heat pressing down on them. Other days, they passed through rocky areas or stopped at small oases where palm trees provided shade. The journey felt strange but manageable.

The food was unlike anything Thorfinn had eaten before. The Soninke prepared spiced meats, sweet breads, and fruits he didn't recognize. The flavors were new but good, and he ate without complaint. The people around him dressed in colorful clothes and jewelry that sparkled in the sun. At night, they gathered around fires, singing songs in a language Thorfinn now understood.

Thorfinn met with Dyabe every day. At first, their talks were formal, but over time they became easier. Dyabe asked many questions about Thorfinn's homeland, his people, and their gods. Thorfinn answered carefully at first, but Dyabe's curiosity wasn't insulting, so he shared more. He spoke of Kattegat, its long winters, the feasts, and the battles. He mentioned the ships they built and the voyages they took. Dyabe shared his own stories. He spoke of distant cities, places with stone streets and towers that reached the sky. He described rivers so wide they looked like seas and lands where the forests were so dense you couldn't see the sun. Thorfinn listened. He didn't know if Dyabe was exaggerating, but the stories were fascinating all the same.

They often played chess during their talks. Dyabe had taught him the rules on their first meeting, and Thorfinn had struggled at first. Dyabe won easily in the beginning, but Thorfinn learned quickly. By the second month, he had started to give Dyabe trouble, even winning a few games. Dyabe seemed to enjoy the challenge, smiling whenever Thorfinn forced him to think longer about his moves.

Arwyn spent much of her time with Sira. She had started learning the Soninke language, but Sira's lessons went beyond words. Sira showed her the dances and customs of their people. In return, Arwyn shared what she knew of her own home in Northumbria. They spent hours together, and Thorfinn noticed Arwyn seemed more relaxed when she returned from these lessons. He didn't ask what they talked about.

Though the days passed smoothly, one thing still bothered Thorfinn. Dyabe spoke often of their destination, the City of Stars, but he never explained what it was.

However something strange happened one day when Thorfinn sat across from Dyabe at their usual spot. The chessboard lay between them, pieces already arranged, though neither of them had made the first move. Dyabe placed three books on the table, sliding them toward Thorfinn. The Northman glanced down at them, frowning slightly as he recognized the Bible.

"I've read this one before," Thorfinn said, his fingers tapping the book's worn cover.

Dyabe raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "Have you? That surprises me. What did you think of it?"

Thorfinn's gaze lingered on the Bible. "I read it back in Bebbanburg. I wanted to understand the Christian faith. It didn't leave much of an impression."

Dyabe chuckled softly. "A fair response. And the other two?" He motioned to the remaining books, each bound with care, their covers bearing symbols unfamiliar to Thorfinn.

Thorfinn shrugged. "I've never seen them before. And I'm not sure I care to."

Dyabe's expression softened. "Knowledge is never wasted, my friend. Even if you don't believe in what you read, understanding it can still serve you."

Thorfinn's lips pressed into a thin line. "What do you expect me to gain from this?"

Dyabe leaned back in his chair, his hands resting lightly on the armrests. "Perhaps everything. Perhaps nothing. Read them, and we'll discuss them after." His tone left no room for argument.

Thorfinn sighed and gathered the books, taking them back to his tent. Over the next few days, he read through each one, finding the task both tedious and enlightening in its way. When he finally returned them to Dyabe, his face betrayed no emotion as he placed the books back on the table.

"I've finished," Thorfinn said, sitting down as Dyabe began arranging the chess pieces.

"Good," Dyabe replied. "Let's begin."

They played in silence for several moves before Dyabe broke it. "What did you learn from the books?"

Thorfinn moved a pawn forward and looked up. "They feel similar. It's as if they're all speaking about the same god."

Dyabe laughed, his voice rich with amusement. "Ah, you'd cause a riot with a statement like that. Followers of those books would tear you apart for even suggesting it. But I understand what you mean."

Thorfinn tilted his head slightly. "Then why did you want me to read them?"

Dyabe made his next move, then leaned forward, his gaze steady. "Because I wanted you to understand, and this is what has led me forward."

Thorfinn watched him closely. "Forward to what?"

Dyabe didn't answer immediately. Instead, he stood and walked to a table on the side of the tent, where various treasures were displayed—rings, goblets, and jewels. He picked up a golden ring, turning it in his fingers.

"Do you know how much wealth I have, Thorfinn?" Dyabe asked, his voice quieter now. "More than I could ever spend. Gold, jewels, artifacts—more than most kings could dream of. I've built libraries, mosques, and temples for my people. I've raised monuments and funded expeditions. Yet none of it has filled the void within me."

Thorfinn said nothing, his eyes following Dyabe's every movement as the man tossed the ring onto the floor. It clattered briefly before coming to a stop. "It means nothing when the spirit is empty," Dyabe said, his voice firmer now. "I sought answers in my own faith. I prayed, fasted, and studied. Yet I found nothing. So I turned to other religions, other ideas. Still, the emptiness remained."

He moved to a chest draped in velvet and uncovered a stone tablet etched with ancient markings. Carrying it carefully, he placed it on the table before Thorfinn. "Until I found this."

Thorfinn leaned forward, studying the tablet. The markings were strange, carved crudely, but unlike anything he had seen before. "What is it?" he asked.

Dyabe rested his hand on the tablet. "One of my scholars found this in the desert. They believe it's written in the root language—the language from which all others descend."

Thorfinn frowned. "The root of all languages? How is that possible?"

Dyabe's lips curled into a faint smile. "Consider the possibility, my friend. It took years to translate this. I brought in the finest minds from across the world, linguists and scholars who dedicated themselves to unlocking its meaning."

Thorfinn tapped the table. "And what does it say?"

Dyabe's gaze darkened as he traced a finger along the tablet's surface. "It speaks of the first city. The City of Enoch. A paradise built in the likeness of Eden. It was said to be a place where man walked hand in hand with the divine, where all of humanity lived as one before being scattered."

Thorfinn leaned back slightly. "Sounds no different than the stories in these books," he said, gesturing toward the Bible and the other texts.

Dyabe nodded. "You're right. This tablet alone is no different. It is simply what set me on my journey."

Thorfinn narrowed his eyes. "What journey?"

Dyabe's voice softened as he looked Thorfinn in the eye. "To find Eden. To find God."

"If there is one place that will hold the location of Eden it is Enoch, the City of Cain."

The words hung in the air. Thorfinn considered them carefully. He didn't think Dyabe foolish, though the idea seemed impossible. He had met a god before, or so he believed—Freyr, who had saved him from drowning. The memory lingered in his mind, an experience he couldn't deny. "It seems pointless," Thorfinn said finally. "Even if Eden is real, you'd have to find Enoch first. And who knows where that is?"

Dyabe smiled. "My friend, I have already found Enoch."

Thorfinn straightened in his chair, his expression sharp with interest. "What? How?"

Dyabe returned to the chest, pulling out a scroll. He unrolled it on the table, revealing a map. His finger pointed to a location deep in the Sahara. "It began with the second city. There is far more written about it than the first. The Greeks called it Atlantis. A scholar named Plato described it—a city of concentric rings of land and water, said to rival the gods in its beauty."

Thorfinn studied the map, his brow furrowing. "And you think Atlantis was built atop Enoch?"

Dyabe nodded. "Yes, many writings describe that the second city was built atop the first after god flooded the world."

"The descriptions of Atlantis match a place in the Sahara—the Eye of the Sahara. When my scholars investigated, they found ruins buried beneath the sand. Ruins that predate any civilization we know."

Thorfinn's interest deepened. "And what did you find there?"

Dyabe's eyes gleamed with excitement. "Evidence of a city. The remnants of something vast, something rest seems to be sealed in a firmament, and is well intact. In one week, we will arrive. In one week, we will enter the city and uncover its secrets."

Dyabe placed a firm hand on Thorfinn's shoulder, his grip steady. "We will walk where the first men once walked, after which we will find the path to Eden."

Thorfinn said nothing, his mind racing. He didn't know what they would find, but the thought of entering a city buried for thousands of years stirred something in him. After a long pause, he nodded. "We'll see," he said simply.

Dyabe smiled, releasing his grip. "Prepare yourself, Thorfinn. The journey is just beginning."

___________________________

Arwyn lay back on the bed, the silk sheets cool against her skin. The pillows beneath her head were soft and made her feel more comfortable than she'd been since leaving Kattegat. She was wearing the traditional Soninke outfit that Sira had chosen for her earlier that day. The blue robe fit snugly and comfortably, while the bright skirt allowed her to move freely. She tugged at it absently, still adjusting to how different it felt from the heavier fabrics she was used to. It wasn't bad—just unfamiliar.

Sira sat beside her, cross-legged on the bed. Her own clothing was similar, though the dark, rich fabric seemed to reflect the firelight that seeped into the tent from outside. Gold jewelry adorned her wrists and neck, catching the light whenever she moved. Her headscarf framed her face neatly, her posture calm and assured as she poured tea into two small cups. She passed one to Arwyn, smiling warmly.

"You've grown more comfortable here," Sira said, her tone light. "The first few days, you looked like you were ready to bite someone."

Arwyn smirked, taking the cup. "I've been in worse situations."

"I'm sure you have," Sira replied, her smile lingering. "Do you like the food?"

"It's different," Arwyn said after a sip of tea. "Spicy, but good. I've never tasted spices like this before."

"That's good to hear," Sira said, settling more into the cushions. "We take pride in our food. It's part of who we are."

Arwyn nodded, her gaze drifting toward the tent's patterned walls. "The music is good too. It makes you want to move. It's not like the music where I'm from." The hymns they would hear the few times they went to Bebbengburg when she was younger were much more solemn.

Sira chuckled. "We love our music. It's at the heart of every celebration. Everyone dances, sings, or plays something. It's how we stay connected."

Arwyn thought about the nights spent around the fire, the drums, and the lively dances. "Your people are... close. It's different where I come from. People keep to themselves more."

Sira tilted her head slightly. "Do you like it? Being around so many people?"

"It's not bad," Arwyn admitted. "It's... loud, but everyone seems happy."

Sira smiled at that. "We share our happiness. It's how we live. What about Thorfinn? Does he enjoy it?"

Arwyn hesitated, thinking about how Thorfinn interacted with others. "He's not the type to sing or dance. He prefers quiet. He observes."

Sira seemed amused. "He watches while others enjoy themselves?"

"He's cautious," Arwyn said, choosing her words carefully. She thought about how Thorfinn often kept people at arm's length, how his sharpness came out more often than not. She didn't want to share too much with Sira.

Sira leaned forward, her tone turning playful. "What about you two? How is he... with you?"

Arwyn glanced at her, brow furrowing slightly. "What do you mean?"

Sira smirked. "In bed. Is he as quiet and cautious as he seems?"

Arwyn felt heat rush to her face. "That's... private."

Sira laughed softly. "I'm curious. He's strong, isn't he? Does he act like it?"

Arwyn sighed, looking away. "He's passionate," she said after a pause, her voice quieter. Though in truth she didn't want to answer because remembering the nights with him that she used to share often made her loins stir.

Sira raised an eyebrow. "Passionate can mean a lot of things. Gentle? Rough?"

Arwyn's lips tightened. "Both."

Sira's grin widened, but her tone was still light. "I see. You're lucky, then."

Arwyn shook her head, wanting to change the subject, but Sira kept watching her. Finally, Arwyn looked her in the eye. "Why are you so interested?"

Sira hesitated, then spoke openly. "I like him. I think he's... intriguing."

Arwyn's gaze sharpened. "You like him?"

"I do," Sira said, unflinching. "But I wouldn't act without your permission."

Arwyn frowned, confused. "Why would you need my permission?"

Sira tilted her head, studying Arwyn carefully before answering. "Here, you're like his first wife. It would be disrespectful for me to approach him without your blessing."

Arwyn blinked, her confusion growing. It felt strange to hear Sira say that, and stranger still to remember that she herself had claimed to be Thorfinn's wife. She had forgotten about it entirely. At the time, it seemed like the easiest way to avoid complications, but now the idea of being seen as Thorfinn's wife felt laughable. The woman Thorfinn wanted to marry was half a world away, he would take no other wife before he did so. It also felt strange to her that Sira would even ask. Thorfinn had always been with multiple women, something she'd have found abhorrent before she met him. That had changed over time. She didn't even think about it anymore. It just seems natural.

"What if I said no?" Arwyn asked, her tone even.

Sira shrugged lightly, her bracelets jingling. "Then I would respect your choice. But I thought it was only fair to ask."

Arwyn set her cup down, leaning back against the pillows. She didn't know what to say. The whole idea seemed so far removed from her reality. Still, she couldn't help but feel a small surge of protectiveness. Whatever her thoughts about Thorfinn were, she didn't like the idea of anyone else stepping into his life. It felt like this journey was theirs and she found herself not wanting to share it with anyone else. 'Why do I care,' She thought to herself.

"You're an honest woman," Arwyn said finally, her voice steady.

Sira smiled. "Honesty is important. Especially between women."

They kept talking about different things for a while before Sira's eyes lit up with sudden realization. "Wait here," she said, springing up, her jewelry tinkling like small bells as she hurried towards the tent's entrance. Arwyn sat up, her gaze following Sira, the tent feeling eerily quiet without her chatter. She leaned back against the plush cushions, her fingers tracing the silk sheet's edge, her mind swirling with curiosity and a touch of apprehension about what Sira might bring back.

Sira returned shortly, a thick, leather-bound book in her hands. "I just remembered this," she announced with a grin, sitting back down and gently placing the book on her lap. "I acquired it a while ago, a traveler from India gave it to me. It's written in their tongue, but I can read it. I thought it might entertain you."

"Why would I find it entertaining?" Arwyn inquired, her interest piqued.

Sira chuckled. "You'll see soon enough. Don't fret, I'll read it to you."

Before Arwyn could protest, Sira lay down beside her, their shoulders pressed together. The warmth of Sira's body, the faint scent of exotic spices, filled Arwyn's senses, making her acutely aware of her own body's reactions. Sira opened the book, her voice adopting a sweet sound as she began to read. At first, it was a tale of forbidden love, but the narrative soon shifted to something much more carnal. Sira's voice was steady, reading out loud about the lovers' lustful gazes, the way their hands explored each other's bodies with an unabashed hunger.

"He took her in his arms," Sira read, "and his hands roamed over her breasts, kneading them with a desire that made her moan. His fingers found her nipples, pinching them until they stood hard and proud."

Arwyn's cheeks burned, her hands gripping the silk sheet tightly. The explicit language was unlike anything she'd ever heard, the descriptions sending waves of warmth through her body, her legs rubbing together in a mix of discomfort and arousal.

"You're turning as red as the setting sun," Sira teased, her eyes dancing with amusement as she continued.

"I never knew they wrote such... such lewd things," Arwyn said, her voice a whisper, embarrassment mingling with fascination.

"It's common where it comes from," Sira explained. "Such tales let people live out their fantasies, their yearnings for fleshly delights. Here, listen to this part," she said, turning the page. "He parted her thighs, feasting his eyes on her womanly parts, and his tongue delved into her, tasting her sweetness, driving her wild with pleasure."

Arwyn felt her breath hitch, the vivid imagery causing a stir within her, her body responding in ways she hadn't anticipated. She tried to look away, to distract herself from the sensations, but Sira's voice was like a spell.

"Are you finding this to your liking?" Sira's voice was light, almost teasing.

"I... I'm not sure," Arwyn stuttered, her body tense with a mix of shock and something else she couldn't quite name. "It's... so very different."

Sira laughed softly, pausing her reading for a moment. "It's only a tale, Arwyn. But your blushing tells me you feel the heat of it. That's life, feeling. That's what counts."

Arwyn was at a loss for words, her mind racing as she tried to steady her breathing, but Sira's nearness only intensified the sensations.

"Shall I continue?" Sira's tone was playful, almost seductive.

Arwyn, after a moment's hesitation, nodded, her voice caught in her throat. Sira smiled, her eyes glinting with mischief as she opened the book again. Her voice was now a low, seductive murmur as she read on, detailing how "he thrust into her, their bodies moving in a primal dance, each thrust sending her closer to the edge of ecstasy."

Sira explained further, "His member was hard as steel, and she took him deep, her cries filling the night as she surrendered to the pleasure of their union."

Arwyn's mind was afire with the images, her body reacting in ways that thrilled her. Arwyn's body was tense, her cheeks warm as she listened, unsure of why she hadn't asked Sira to stop. The closeness between them only amplified the strange tension that had built, and Arwyn could feel her pulse quicken with every word.

Suddenly, the tent flap was pushed aside, and Thorfinn walked in, his presence cutting through the charged atmosphere like a blade. Both women froze. Arwyn immediately jumped up from the cushions, her cheeks red. Sira slammed the book shut and clutched it tightly to her chest, a faint pink creeping across her face. They exchanged a quick, almost guilty glance. Thorfinn stopped just inside, his sharp eyes scanning the two of them. He frowned slightly, noting their expressions. "You're both flushed. Are you well?"

Arwyn's mouth opened and closed for a moment before she found her voice. "We're fine," she said quickly, brushing her hair back and avoiding his gaze. "Just... warm in here."

Sira nodded, her hands still gripping the book. "Yes, it's the heat," she added with a small, nervous laugh. "It gets stifling in the tent sometimes."

Thorfinn's eyes narrowed slightly, his gaze flicking to the book Sira held protectively. "Hmm." He didn't seem entirely convinced.

Arwyn's shoulders tensed. "It's nothing," she said, her tone defensive. "Sira was just... reading something to me."

"Reading what?" Thorfinn asked, stepping further into the tent.

Sira quickly rose to her feet, holding the book firmly against her chest. "Nothing of importance," she said with a polite smile. "I should be going anyway. I'll leave you two to talk."

Without waiting for further questions, Sira gave a quick nod and walked toward the tent's entrance. "I'll see you later, Arwyn," she said over her shoulder before slipping outside, leaving a faint trace of her perfume behind.

Thorfinn watched her go before turning back to Arwyn, his frown deepening. "What's going on?"

"Nothing," Arwyn replied firmly, sitting back down on the cushions and keeping her eyes on the floor. "It's like she said. She was reading something, that's all."

"You're acting strange," he said, sitting down across from her, his tone suspicious. "What kind of book was it?"

"Just... a story," Arwyn muttered, her face heating again. "Nothing that concerns you."

Thorfinn leaned back slightly, his sharp gaze not leaving her. "You both looked ready to faint when I walked in. Doesn't seem like 'nothing' to me."

"It was nothing," Arwyn snapped, her tone more forceful than she intended. She sighed and ran a hand over her face, trying to compose herself. "What did Dyabe want?"

Thorfinn let the topic drop, though his eyes lingered on her for a moment longer before he replied. "He told me more about where we're going," he said, his voice even. "The ruins we're heading to are more than just old stones. He believes they're connected to Enoch, the first city of mankind."

Arwyn blinked, surprised. "The first city?"

"He claims it's a place where the earliest people lived, a city built in the image of Eden itself. He's convinced it's real, and he says he's found it." Thorfinn explained.

Arwyn's eyes widened. "Eden, the paradise Adam and Eve resided in! Do you believe him!?"

Thorfinn shrugged. "He's not a fool, and he's got resources. He wouldn't waste his time chasing something he didn't think was real. Whether it's truly the first city or not, I don't know. But if it's important enough for him to lead a caravan this size, it's worth seeing."

Thorfinn rubbed the back of his neck and let out a breath. "I'm tired. I'm going to rest," he said. He sank down, stretching out his legs and leaning back. His eyes closed almost immediately, his body heavy with exhaustion.

Arwyn stayed where she was. "I'll do the same," she said after a moment. She lay down, pulling the thin blanket over her as she faced the opposite direction. The sound of Thorfinn shifting slightly and settling into a deeper rhythm of breathing filled the tent.

She closed her eyes, but her mind refused to follow. Images from earlier flashed in her head. The story Sira had read, the way her voice had carried each word so easily, the heat in her own body as she listened—it all replayed again and again. She turned over, shifting to try to find a more comfortable position, but it didn't help. Her body felt tense, her legs restless as she pressed them together beneath the blanket.

Her eyes opened, staring into the faint shadows on the canvas above. She thought about the story again. She turned again, her breathing shallow, her cheeks warm as she tried to push the thoughts away. Thorfinn, lying across the tent, had already fallen into a deep sleep. His breathing was even, his body still except for the faint rise and fall of his chest. Arwyn felt a small pang of envy at how easily he could rest, his mind seemingly unaffected by anything. She knew she wouldn't be sleeping for a while or at least until she could cool the burning she felt inside her.

...

Thorfinn woke up in the night, his senses alert. The tent was silent except for the wind outside. He blinked, adjusting to the dim light.

Then he saw her.

Arwyn was on top of him, her hands on his chest. Her face was flushed, her breathing heavy. She avoided his eyes, her hair falling over her face. Her body pressed down on him, her thighs around his hips.

"Arwyn," he said, his voice low. His muscles tensed, but he didn't push her away. "What are you doing?"

She didn't answer at first, her lips parting, her gaze flicking to him then away. "This means nothing," she whispered.

He could feel her heat against him, her arousal clear through her thin nightclothes. His cock hardened, pressing up against her.

Her hand moved down, tracing the outline of his erection, her breath catching. "Is this what you want?" Thorfinn asked.

She bit her lip, nodding slightly, rubbing herself against him. Arwyn, her breath ragged, undid Thorfinn's trousers and pulled out his hard cock. It had been a while since she'd seen it, and the sight made her mouth water. She licked the tip, tasting the salty precum. It was musky and sharp, like she remembered.

Thorfinn felt her warm mouth engulf him, her lips sliding down his shaft. She sucked with a gentle pressure at first, her tongue swirling around the head, then she took him deeper, her cheeks hollowing as she sucked. The wet sounds of her mouth on him filled the tent, her saliva making his cock slick. His balls tightened with the pleasure of it, each suck sending shivers up his spine. His hands went to her hair, feeling her head move up and down. Arwyn moaned softly around his cock, the vibrations driving him wild. She felt his hardness, the way he pulsed in her mouth. Each drop of precum was like a signal of his arousal, and she couldn't get enough of it.

Pulling back, her lips were shiny, swollen from the effort. She stood up, lifting her nightdress to show her slender body, small breasts with hard nipples, and toned muscles. She straddled him again, her pussy just above his cock, ready to feel him inside her after so long without. Arwyn felt the heat of Thorfinn's cock against her. She was wet, her body eager for him after such a long absence. Slowly, she lowered herself, guiding him into her. The sensation of him stretching her was intense, a mix of pleasure and fullness that made her gasp.

Thorfinn groaned as he felt her warmth envelop him, her tightness gripping him like a vice. It had been too long, and the sensation was almost overwhelming. He watched her face, the way her eyes fluttered shut, her expression a mix of pleasure and relief.

Arwyn started to move, her hips rocking back and forth, finding a rhythm. Each movement made her clit brush against his pelvis, sending sparks of pleasure through her. Thorfinn's hands moved to her hips, helping to guide her, feeling the muscles of her thighs work with each rise and fall.

She moaned louder now, the sounds filling the tent, her small breasts bouncing slightly with each thrust. Thorfinn could see how her nipples had hardened further, a sign of her arousal. He reached up, thumbing one, feeling how she responded with a shiver, her movements becoming more desperate.

The pace quickened, her breath coming in short pants. Thorfinn could feel himself nearing the edge, the tightness of her around him, the sounds she made, all pushing him closer to climax. Arwyn leaned forward, her hands on his chest for support, her hair falling around them like a curtain, creating an intimate world where only they existed.

Her movements became urgent, her body seeking release. Thorfinn felt the tension in her, the way her muscles started to clench around him. She was close, so close, and he wanted nothing more than to feel her cum around him. With a final, shuddering thrust, Arwyn's body tensed, her orgasm hitting her like a wave. She cried out, her inner walls contracting around him, pulling him over the edge with her. Thorfinn followed, his release coming in strong, pulsing waves, filling her as they both rode out the sensations.

Breathing heavily, Arwyn collapsed onto his chest, their bodies slick with sweat, the aftershocks of their climax still rippling through them. She lay on Thorfinn's chest, her body bare and warm against his. His chest rose and fell steadily beneath her, his breath calm, though neither of them spoke.

Her hair spilled across his skin, and she could hear the faint rhythm of his heartbeat. She hadn't felt this good in a long time, she never thought she'd miss doing this with Thorfinn, not after she started hating him. She thought about moving, about putting some space between them, but her body refused to obey. Her limbs felt heavy, her mind clouded in a haze of weariness. Her eyes closed slowly. She thought she might only rest for a moment, but as her breathing slowed, she found herself drifting off entirely, her head still on his chest, her body unwilling to leave his warmth.

(13K words in this chapter oooof. Anyway if you like my stuff consider supporting me)

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