Chapter Text
Somewhere along the British coast, circa 870 CE
The cold stone of the dungeon wall bit into Jude's scarred back. He had become accustomed to the chill, the damp, the way the moss grew in the corners where the ceiling dripped moisture. What he never managed to become accustomed to was the smell. The stench of rot, fear, and old blood that seemed to have seeped into the very stones of the Keep.
Jude shifted, trying to find a position that didn't pull at the lash wounds on his back. The movement sent fire burning along his spine, and he bit down on his lip to keep from crying out. He wouldn't give them the satisfaction. He had learned that lesson well over the years. His screams only made them hit him harder, made them laugh louder.
The chains around his wrists rubbed the skin raw, and he could feel the slow ooze of blood and serum dripping from the wounds. His feet were worse. The shackles were too tight, cutting into the bones of his ankles, and the cold had settled deep into his joints until he wasn't sure he would ever be warm again.
Not that it matters, he thought bitterly. Warmth is for the living. I'm not sure I qualify anymore.
Through the tiny window set high in the wall, he could see the grey light of early dawn creeping across the sky. Another day. Another day of pain, of hunger, of the endless cycle of humiliation and despair. He had lost count of the days, the weeks, the months since he had been thrown into this hole. Time had become meaningless, a constant of darkness and pain and the occasional splash of water that the Dungeon Master would throw in his face to wake him.
The door at the end of the corridor opened, and Jude tensed, his body preparing for what was to come. It was always the same, the heavy footsteps, the jingle of keys, the leering face of the Dungeon Master as he came to deliver the next round of punishment.
The familiar footsteps echoed through the dungeon, the heavy, careless tread of the Beta jailer. But they were almost drowned out by other sounds. And then, the cacophony became clearer, and Jude could hear something else.
Shouting. Screaming. The clang of metal on metal.
His heart, which had grown so still and quiet in his chest, began to beat faster. He strained against his chains, trying to hear more, to understand what was happening above him.
The church bells began to ring. A wild, discordant sound, the desperate cry of a Keep under siege. Jude had heard those bells before, years ago, when the Scots had raided the northern settlements. He remembered the chaos, the panic, the way the noble families had hidden in their chambers while the common folk were left to fend for themselves.
But this was different. This was worse.
Through the stone walls, he could hear the roar of many voices, the crash of weapons, and the terrible, unmistakable sound of a war horn. The sound of it seemed to vibrate in his very bones, in the stones of his cell, in the earth itself, ancient and primal, chilling his blood.
A viking war horn.
Jude had heard stories of the Vikings. The Northmen who came from across the sea in their dragon-headed ships, bringing fire and death with them. They were savages, the stories said. Monsters who feared neither God nor man, who worshipped heathen gods and ate the flesh and drank the blood of their enemies.
He had always thought the stories were exaggerations. A way to frighten children into obedience, to make them fear the outside world.
Now, as he listened to the sounds of battle raging above him, he wasn't so sure.
The footsteps in the corridor grew closer, and Jude pressed himself back against the wall, folding his body into a tight ball, making himself as small as possible. The chains clinked softly, the sound obscenely loud despite the chaos outside.
"Please," he whispered, the word torn from him before he could stop it. "Please don't. I'm just a slave. Nothing more than a slave."
The words tasted like ash in his mouth. He wasn't just a slave. He had never been just a slave. But for all his defiance and pride, he had been beaten and broken and starved until he didn't know what it meant to be a man anymore, and the words came out, desperate and pathetic.
The familiar form of the Dungeon Master appeared before his cell door and despite everything, Jude tried to straighten up and stop shivering. A slave stripped of everything but his dignity, his continued defiance and refusal to obey were the only things left to him.
"You're coming with me. Every man has to fight to defend the Keep, even slaves. At least you'll be useful by laying down your life against viking raiders for the lord. Pray they make it quick, or don't, your heathen Gods won't save you." The gruff Beta said as he fumbled with the keychain to open the cell.
A new shadow came through the hallway towards the cell. Despite the huge size and width, their steps were agile and light in contrast to the Beta jailer.
Jude didn't know those steps, or that shadow, and he feared the Keep might already be doomed.
The enormous figure came close enough to be illuminated by the sparse light coming through the barred windows. Jude's breath hitched, his chest constricting. His whole body locking up with a strange mixture of pure fear and a primal Omega deference to the overwhelming Alpha presence that had just entered the dungeon. He almost didn't feel it as the Beta harshly grabbed him to pull him to his feet.
Jude whimpered, a small unconscious sound that escaped his throat without permission. It made the Beta holding look at his wide eyes fixed on the entrance and him finally turn towards the new arrival.
The jailer grabbed his sword but the stranger was quicker, and with one elegant thrust from his arm, the Beta's head was cleanly cut off from his neck in a spray of blood. It flew off against the wall and rolled on the ground while the rest of his body folded like a rag doll and fell to the floor. His face was forever frozen in a look of shock.
Jude, clinging to the wall, barely able to stand, stayed completely still, staring into those shocked and lifeless eyes. His skin felt warm where the hot blood had sprayed like a fountain directly onto his face and he could feel it dripping from his chin and running down his chest.
Slowly, almost unwillingly, Jude looked back up at the terrifying Alpha. The stranger was tall. Taller than most men Jude had seen before. He was a tall man himself, especially for an Omega, but not nearly as tall as this Alpha was.
The stranger was wearing a leather armor over woolen clothing, and a heavy fur cloak on top of that. The woolen clothes looked more or less like what the nobles of the Keep wore, but judging from the patterns and the man's looks, he wasn't an English noble.
This must be one of the viking raiders, and a high-ranking one at that.
The viking's face was clean shaven, much like Jude's own, but unlike him, the stranger's hair was long and braided back from his face. He had a strong jawline and interesting features. His hair was a luminous blonde and he had a faint scar on his left cheek, giving him a rugged appearance. His eyes were a striking deep green, framed in black kohl, and they were looking at him intently.
"Who are you, and why are you in a cell?" The Alpha asked in a low voice, pointing his bloody axe at Jude's chest. His accent was thick and rough but his pronunciation was clear and it was evident he spoke good English.
Jude swallowed audibly. "The name my mother gave me is Jude, I am a heathen of the Afir lands. And my only crime was being born the illegitimate, black bastard of an English lord." He tried sounding brave but was painfully aware of the tremor in his voice.
The axe was still pressed against his chest, while the Alpha gave him a once over and Jude shuddered, aware of the scars and marks on his body. The thin linen trousers which just barely covered his crotch did nothing to cover up the evidence of years of torture.
The Alpha looked him in the eyes again, and it looked as if he had decided something. Jude struggled with the feelings of dread and relief fighting in his stomach. The Viking lowered his axe and Jude almost sighed in relief.
"You are coming with me. Try to escape and I will remove your head from your body just like our friend over there." The Viking said firmly as he pointed to the decapitated Beta lying on the floor. Jude avoided looking into those shocked and lifeless eyes once again and nodded.
The Alpha removed his fur cloak and laid it on Jude's shoulders. It was warm from the man's heat, and the cloak was big enough to cover Jude's slim frame. It was a small act of kindness, which Jude didn't know what to make of it.
The Viking ushered him through the dungeon, opening the locks of the cages with prisoners inside as they went, but making no move to take them with him. Many of them would probably die soon anyway.
Jude knew he should feel sorry for them, but he was so numb that he just couldn't feel anything. Jude had been locked in the dungeon longer than any of them and had been tortured for most of that time. Besides, Jude was starting to suspect their fate might be preferable to what awaited him at the hands of the viking raiders.
He distantly wondered if he should try to run away and see if the viking made good on his threat. Better to die and spare himself, but in the end he wasn't brave or desperate enough to do it.
They climbed the dungeon stairs together, and with each step, the darkness receded. Light seeped through the cracks around the door at the top of the stairs, pale and grey and beautiful. Jude squinted, his eyes unaccustomed to anything brighter than the dim glow of the dungeon torches.
And then they were outside.
The cold air hit him like a slap, sharp and invigorating. Snow covered the ground, mixed with mud and blood. Bodies lay scattered across the courtyard. Guards, servants, the noble families who had tried to hide in their chambers. The Keep was burning, thick black smoke rising into the grey sky.
Jude looked at the dead faces and felt nothing. He should have felt something, maybe grief or horror or rage. But there was only that hollow emptiness inside him, that same emptiness that had been there for years.
He stumbled, his legs finally giving out, and the viking caught him before he could fall.
The viking just steadied him without saying anything and pushed him forward.
They made their way through the chaos together. Vikings were everywhere, tall and fierce, their faces painted with war marks. Some of them looked at Jude with curiosity, others with something that might have been disgust. Jude ignored them all. He was too tired to care what they thought of him.
Most were Alpha males but Alpha females and Betas were also present. He was surprised to note however, that among the bloody and mud stained warriors there were a few male and even female Omegas. Despite being smaller and slimmer they carried themselves with utter confidence and seemed to be as skilled and respected warriors as their Beta and Alpha counterparts. He distantly noted how some of the Omegas even were more bloody and covered in gore than the Alphas.
The ship was large, its hull carved from dark wood, its prow shaped like the head of a fearsome dragon. Vikings were loading it with plunder. Silver, gold, furs, weapons, food. And prisoners. Dozens of prisoners, huddled together like frightened animals.
Another Alpha man came up to them. He glanced at Jude and back again at the Viking who had taken him and he smirked, "Hvem er svartingen?"1
The tall, green-eyed Alpha glanced back at Jude, looked back at the other man, and gruffly said "Hold kjeft."2
Jude got the distinct feeling that they were talking about him, and most likely about the color of his skin. It bothered him more than it probably should, that he didn't understand their language. At least with his captors at the Keep he'd know exactly what they thought of him and how they planned to punish him.
The Alpha that had taken him made a hand movement and guided Jude up the gangplank and onto the ship, settling him against the side where he could sit and rest together with the other prisoners. Then he stood, looking down at Jude with an expression that was impossible to read.
"Han her er en skikkelig hedning, Erling!"3 The other man shouted behind them with a laugh. The tall, green-eyed viking just grumbled something unintelligible.
When all the vikings and the captured prisoners were finally on board, and the whole Keep was burning, the vikings started to sit down by the oars, getting ready to leave.
The blond, green-eyed viking, who had taken Jude, who was apparently their raiding leader, stood at the front of the ship talking to another huge man with red hair. They both glanced several times towards the prisoners, seemingly debating about them.
They walked down towards them. The red haired man started grabbing prisoners and examining them, while the apparent viking leader supervised. It was the normal inspection, arms, hands, feet, face, and teeth, but the people from the Keep screamed and cried anyway.
Jude didn't feel any sympathy for them. It was the kind of inspection he himself had undergone multiple times in his life. He just wished they would stop crying so much.
The Alpha nodded approvingly as the vikings inspected the people they had taken from the Keep. Most were farmworkers and maids who worked for the Noble that had kept Jude prisoner. But they had also managed to capture some of the soldiers and guards of the Keep.
The group of peasants were huddled together as if that would somehow give them protection.
Then it was Jude's turn to be inspected. Jude didn't even try to resist. What would be the point? He would only end up tossed overboard, or worse, and he didn't want to try his captors's patience so soon.
The red haired man looked at him appraisingly, and looked back at the leader with a guarded look, which failed to hide his curiosity.
The other prisoners were all strong and healthy, which Jude knew he wasn't. He was fairly curious himself about why he hadn't been left to die like the other slaves. He had an idea, but he was trying not to think about that.
"Hvorfor tok du ham?"4 the other man said to the Alpha that had taken Jude, his tone even.
"Fordi jeg ville det."5 The leaders's voice left no room for discussion, and he made a hand movement.
The other man started inspecting Jude. He lifted the fur cloak Jude was draped in, winced when he saw his feet and back, and glanced back at the huge Alpha.
Jude got the distinct feeling that even if the men on the ship didn't act as the people in the Keep did around the lord, the Viking with the smooth shaven face and deep green eyes was not only their raiding leader but also considerably high ranking.
The leader had gotten a hard look on his face, but nodded for the other man to continue. The red haired man's hands reached around Jude's neck and jaw to open his mouth. Jude went still and tried to ignore the slowly rising panic in his chest. He felt like he couldn't breathe, as he tried to ignore the feeling of hands on his neck.
The red haired man mumbled something to the leader in a seemingly satisfied voice, and the other man hummed in agreement. The hands let go of his throat and suddenly breathing became easier, even if the red haired man hadn't even put pressure around his throat in the slightest.
They were apparently satisfied with his face since they didn't even bother to tilt his head back and take a closer look at it.
"Gå, jeg skal ta meg av dette."6 The leader told the red haired man. As the other man left, the tall Alpha who had taken Jude lifted his huge hands and softly took Jude's chin between his fingers.
"What's your name?" The leader asked in his rough accent.
"Jude Bellingham." He told him looking straight into his eyes, refusing to be cowed.
"My name is Erling Braut Håland. You may call me whatever you feel fits for your English tongue." He said, and the corner of his mouth turned upwards.
Jude just blinked.
"Get some rest, it's going to be a long journey home." Erling said, finally letting go of Jude and turning away.
Jude's feet and back were bleeding. His legs hurt, and his arms hurt, but at least now he wasn't chained in a dungeon.
He sat back against the side of the ship, closed his eyes, and tried to let the swaying of the ship rock him to sleep.
───
The journey north was long and cold.
Jude had been left with Erling's fur cloak to wear. It was warm and smelled of Erling, a strange mixture of woodsmoke and sea salt and something else, something that made Jude's Omega instincts stir in a way he hadn't felt in years.
He had spent so long suppressing his nature, hiding himself from the cruel men who had held him captive. Omegas were valuable, prized for their ability to bear children and their submissive nature. Jude had learned early on that showing his omega needs would only make his torture worse. So he had hidden it, buried it deep inside himself, and pretended to be weak, pathetic, undesirable.
But now, wrapped in Erling's fur cloak, surrounded by the scent of a strong Alpha, Jude could feel his Omega nature stirring. It was dangerous, he knew. Omegas were not warriors. Omegas were property. And the last thing Jude needed was to become someone's property again.
But there was something about Erling that made Jude feel safe. Something in the way the Viking had looked at him, had spoken to him, had touched him as if he was something precious.
Jude pushed the thought away. It was foolish to hope. He had been crushed and broken and discarded, and he couldn't afford to let himself believe that this new situation would be any different.
Harry Kane found him as the ship began to move. He was shoved nearby by one of the vikings. He dragged himself to Jude's side, settling down beside him with a look of relief.
Harry, or Sir Kane although he wasn't a knight, was a noble warrior and member of the guard, and one of the few people who had ever been kind to Jude.
"Jude," he said. "I didn't think you'd made it. I saw the Dungeon Master's body—"
"I'm fine," Jude said, his voice flat.
"Fine," Harry repeated, disbelieving. "You're covered in wounds and you haven't eaten in days—"
"I'm fine," Jude said again, more forcefully this time. "Leave me alone."
Harry looked hurt, but he didn't argue. He just sat there, silently, as the ship cut through the grey waters.
The other prisoners from the Keep had been herded together on the deck, surrounded by Viking guards. They huddled in the cold, their fear palpable. Jude could hear them whispering among themselves, planning and scheming.
"We'll make a run for it," one of them said, a young man Jude barely recognized, his face twisted with fear and anger. "When we reach land, we'll scatter. Some of us will make it."
Jude laughed, a hollow sound. "And the rest of you will die. The vikings will kill you all."
The young man rounded on him, his face red with fury. "What would you know about it, you traitor? You've been with them since the beginning, you filthy—"
The word hung in the air, unspoken but understood.
Jude stared at him, something dark and cold settling in his chest. He knew what the man was going to say. He had heard it all his life.
"I know what it's like to be a prisoner better than you," Jude said, his voice barely above a whisper. "These might be vikings but I as captors and slavers I doubt they are any different from Englishmen. I know they value strength, and I know they won't hesitate to kill anyone who threatens them. If you run, they'll cut you down without a second thought. And if they don't, the cold will. Or the hunger. Or the wolves. There's no escape for you. Not here. Not now."
The young man's face went pale, and he shrank back, muttering curses under his breath.
Harry touched Jude's arm. "That was harsh."
Jude pulled away. "It is true."
He turned away from Harry, made himself comfortable against the side of the ship and fell into a deep sleep.