He was hovering, lingering in the corner of the room like some horrible shadow. Why wouldn’t he just leave...? Why wouldn’t he just go out to the farm and do whatever it was that he did all day…? She caught glimpses of him while she cooked, caught him staring out with eyes that did not see as he rubbed his chin, and she hated him now more than ever. A child had stood there, fighting his uncle and promising her the world all because he’d known what had happened to her was not right. A child had known and this man had done nothing.

She grit her teeth, making her way over to the door and shouting “Dinner!”

It was not long before they were all sat there with him at the table, slurping and chewing their way through their stew as he ate his quietly. How desperately she wanted to hit him, to scream and shout until her voice was cracked and hoarse.

“Again.” Frigga said, as she sat on the table in front of Enid and leaned forward. Her little fingers were reaching, curling and uncurling as she went for the spoon in Enid’s bowl. Enid smiled, scooping up a small spoonful and feeding the girl. “Hmmmm….” Frigga hummed. “Good, mor.”

Suddenly the room went silent. Suddenly the air was thick and heavy though Enid could not say why.

“Don’t call her that, Frigga.” Freya warned, her voice deep and low.

“Don’t talk to her like that, Freya.” Enid said.

That was when Freya slammed her fist down on the table, when she stood and pointed her spoon at Enid almost like she was wielding a dagger.

Frigga jumped, crying and sliding to cling to Enid as her sister screamed “You are not our mother!”

“Stop shouting, Freya.” Enid said, “You’re scaring…”

But Freya slammed her fist down again, this time sweeping her bowl off the table and letting it fall to the floor with a loud crack.

“You are not our mother!”

“That’s why I brought her.” Ivar said, his voice cutting through the room. “She’s not your mother but if Frigga wants to call her that, then…” he shrugged, his eyes falling back to his bowl as he went for another scoop.

For a moment that seemed to be it, for a moment Freya only stared at him, her shoulders sinking and sinking, a pained light springing to her eyes that Enid recognized.

“No,” Enid said, “She can’t call me that. I’m not her mother.”

“She can call you whatever she likes.” Ivar said.

“No, she can’t!” Enid snapped. “I’m not her mother. I’m not Helga!”

That was when Ivar’s face went pale, when his jaw clenched together in a tight line and those terrible eyes darkened.

“Don’t say her name. You don’t get to say her name, slave.”

“But it’s true! I love these children but I can’t take her place. Helga was their only mother, I can never mean the same thing to them.”

“Then get out!” Ivar snapped, suddenly standing and towering over her.

So quickly he tore Frigga from her arms. So quickly he pulled her to her feet and started to drag her across the room.

“Far!” Tyr shouted, coming to stand in front of the door with his hands raised. “Leave her alone, you’re hurting her!”

That scowl on Ivar’s face deepened, turning to something darker, something twisted and broken.

“Out of the way, Tyr.” he warned.

“Let her go.” Tyr said.

Ivar was reaching for him then, reaching to push him away, reaching to grip at him with his strong and terrible fingers.

“No!” Enid shouted.

But something knocked his hand wide. Soon she was staring at eyes just as dark, just as cold and dangerous; but eyes that were glaring up at him.

“Let her go.” Freya said.

For a moment Ivar resisted, for a moment Enid could still feel him tremble and shake with a vicious energy; but then something in him snapped, then she felt him fall in on himself as he pulled away.

“Out of the way, Freya.” he whispered.

“Let her go.” Freya said again.

And he did, so suddenly Enid’s knees fell out from under her. She knew then that she would hit the ground, that she had no strength left in her to stand and fight. But Freya caught her, holding her in her arms and letting her recover before she took another step in front of Enid. And then Tyr was with her, baring his chest and glaring up at his father.

It was a long moment before anyone spoke again, a moment that was thick and heavy, where the air seemed to come alive and crackle like lightning. Then Ivar tutted, then he pushed past the children and Enid and slammed the door shut behind him.