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Every night Thorfinn has the same nightmare. But it never gets any less frightening and horrendous.

The shambling, growling masses of bodies are as deafening as always. He can not ignore the clang of metal and sound of breaking bones, shouts and splitting heads and chopped off extremities. The blood and water splashes loudly as another body is felled and emerges just as quickly. It’s a familiar scene to him already, but this time he can hear and see and smell everything much more clearly. Thorfinn feels almost as if he is back on the battlefield, pillaging and burning everything in the wake of Askeladd’s band of warriors. Down below, the warriors and soldiers shout and jeer as two men face off in a duel, pushing and prodding them with their weapons to keep them going. An everlasting battle on a small scale, all amid the eternal destruction.

He remembers the duel he fought against Thorkell and can still remember, hear and feel it as if he was there. The soldiers stumble and swing at each other, their contorted, rotten features grinning wildly up at him sometimes. Some start pointing up and him and he wonders who they are and when and where he killed them. The guilt and shame are stronger than ever and he feels his grip on the cave’s ceiling slipping. The bodies of the undead start piling up and even though he knows he is high up, he can feel them grabbing for his ankles and feet, wanting to drag him down into their mayhem. From afar, he thinks he can see Askeladd on his pillar, watching and waving at him.

He struggles to keep his feet away from the shifting and groaning pile of undead, their stench and moans of pain making him panicked and lightheaded. They’ve attached themselves to his feet and are pulling and his grip on the stone starts to weaken. He wants to scream and plead and struggle, but his body does suddenly not want to move. The panic of being dragged down cuts of his air and he feels as if he is suffocating, as if he was down in the murky, bloody waters with the undead horde of soldiers. His strength is leaving him and he can do nothing but try to hold on, but Thorfinn feels as if he is being torn apart by the growling mass of bodies trying to pull him away. They snatch his tunic and drag, but he does not feel the sensation of falling. Instead, it’s as if a rope is secured around his waist and is holding him upright.

Thorfinn tries climbing upward, but the stone crumbles beneath his fingers.

He misses a foothold and falls, grabbing the rope around his middle as a last resort. He wakes up without shouting, fortunately, but in a cold sweat and with tears on his face, his hands in a vice grip around the arm around his waist. He’s disoriented and wonders briefly where he is, until he can feel and smell the straw under him, and the solid presence of Einar’s body holding him tightly. From his breathing he can tell that the he is awake, with a slightly panicked edge to it. Einar has never comforted him after a nightmare like this, and the feeling of being held tightly is so new to him he doesn’t know how to react. He doesn’t want to acknowledge that is actually feels nice and decides to stay silent. Einar starts to lessen his grip around him and moves as if to pull away, but Thorfinn just tightens his grip around Einar’s hand briefly.

Without speaking, Einar understands him and settles against him more closely. It confuses Thorfinn a little. Comfort from other people had been rare all these years. But Einar’s body is warm and solid, his head settled softly on top of his. Thorfinn can tell from his breathing that he is falling asleep again and decides that he should do so as well. There’s more trees to be felled tomorrow, as well as meeting with Patil about this and that. However, he’s not afraid of having another nightmare now, not with Einar so near to him.

And maybe, the next time he has a nightmare won’t be quite as bad.