First Kill

As the battle came to an end, signaled by the mountain ape's last cries, Sigurd fell to the ground in relief and exhaustion. Theon collapsed beside him, blood covering his face from the wound on his head.

As Sigurd gazed up at the sky from his spot on the ground, a solemn look crossed his face. He was then met with the curious gaze of his sister, Astrid staring down at him..

"Is something the matter?" he asked.

She looked at him, half ready to cry, then bowed her head. "I'm so sorry. I smelled it, but I didn't know what it was, and I didn't want to be a bother, that's why I didn't tell you."

Sigurd looked at her a little confused as he pieced together what she was saying.

"Wait, you mean you managed to sniff that thing out before it attacked?"

She nodded, looking as if she expected him to shout at her or even hit her. She looked like a frightened kitten standing up to a lion. 

"Come a little closer."

She knelt down and moved closer to him.

Flick!

He flicked her on the forehead.

"Oww!"

"Next time, say something."

She rubbed her forehead, tears in her eyes, as a big red dot appeared. After cooling her inflamed forehead, a small smile began to form on her lips as she went to check on Theon.

"Aww, the two of you look like actual siblings," Theon mocked, while Arya examined his injuries.

"Fuckers, I'll kill you! I'll tear you to shreds!" The knight was crawling away like a cockroach, muttering profanities as he did.

"What should we do about him?" Theon asked, gauging Sigurd's reaction.

"Nothing. He'll bleed out in a couple of minutes," Sigurd said, trying to sound jovial, but the conversation soon took on a grim tone.

"Will he be your first?"

Sigurd paused; he wanted to lie, but somehow the truth slipped out. "...Yes."

"Are you alright?"

"I'm peachy."

He was lying. The reason he was lying on the ground was that he couldn't stop his legs from shaking. He had killed animals and beasts before, but for some reason, cutting through human flesh felt different.

The moment the knight turned his back to run, he had meant to kill him right then and there, but instead, his body acted on its own, and he severed the knight's Achilles tendon instead.

As he lay there on the ground, the image of his father came to mind and it angered him more.

This is bullshit! I never intended to be dragged into this damn war.

"It's okay, Sigurd. You'll get used to it over time. I still remember my first blood; I couldn't eat for weeks," Theon said, maintaining his usual joking tone until he shifted to a more ominous one. "You remember the first lesson Father taught us about hunting?"

"....."

"Sigurd, you know what you have to do, right?"

His words might not have been clear, but Sigurd understood them perfectly.

"Shut up! Screw Father! And screw you too!"

Theon pushed himself up and got to his feet.

"Arya," he turned to address Arya, his expression more serious than before. "Go on ahead with Astrid. We'll be with you in a second."

Without questioning Theon's words, Arya took Astrid by the hand and dragged her along the path they had been following.

Once they were out of sight, Theon approached Sigurd and, using his monstrous strength, hoisted him off the ground and onto his feet.

"The problem with you, Sigurd, is that you never learned how to adapt. You've always been the same old Sigurd—the talented son of the chief who would rather laze around than work for anything. That's why everyone looks down on you and thinks you're worthless," Theon said, his tone eerily reminiscent of their father.

"Seeing as you can only make a decision when there's an easy way out, I'll give you an ultimatum: either you kill him or try to kill me."

"You know, out of all of us, you're the one most like Father," Sigurd replied, his tone laced with spite.

Theon picked up Sigurd's sword from the ground and handed it to him.

"Do you remember Father's first hunting lesson?" Theon asked.

Sigurd's gaze turned to the sky as he recalled the exact words their father had taught them during their first hunt: "The killing blow must always come from the hunter."

He marched over to the knight, who was crawling away on the ground. As the knight saw him approaching, he flipped onto his back to plead for his life. Sigurd blocked out the sound of his desperate pleas and raised his sword above his chest, his hands shaking.

He didn't close his eyes; he looked straight at the knight as he plunged the sword into his heart. The blade slipped in with ease. He watched as the last signs of life flickered from the knight's eyes, taking in the sound of him gurgling on his own blood as it drowned him.

At that moment, Sigurd realized something—he disliked killing.

And that realization made his earlier resolve felt meaningless.

Theon placed a hand on Sigurd's slumped shoulder. "It wasn't fun, was it? If it was, then there's something wrong with you. Killing is never fun, but it's a necessity. You understand that, don't you?"

Sigurd nodded silently. At that moment, it felt like Theon was trying to convey something more, but he was too tired to care.

"Let's make camp for the night, shall we?" Theon suggested.

Not long after, they caught up with the girls, who were gathering fruits as they arrived.

"Is everything okay?" Arya asked, sensing the subtle tension between the two brothers.

"We're fine. Let's make camp for the night."

They found a clearing and lit a fire, and as night fell, they gathered around it to sleep.

As Sigurd lay on the ground, staring up at the stars, his mind began to wander. He had flashbacks of his battle with the knight. Today, for the first time, he learned how brutal it was to kill someone.

And yet, he resigned himself to doing it once more.

There was someone he must kill.