Dawn never came softly to the Stormborne.
Grey light seeped through the shutters in thin, trembling lines.
Rain whispered against the roof.
The inn, which had felt too small the night before, now felt like a burial chamber.
Rægenwine was already awak7e, cloak drawn tight, eyes on the door.
Dægan and Leofric stood over a rough map of the road. They had not been planning escape anymore, but counting the minutes until hooves thundered up the lane.
Thunorric sat at the end of the table, cloak around his shoulders, wet hair falling near his face. His sons pressed against him, refusing to let go.
“Da… stay,” Wulfie whispered for the tenth time.
Thunorric placed a hand on the boy’s head, fingers trembling only slightly.
“I’ll try,” he murmured. “Storm willing.”
But they all knew the storm wasn’t willing.
The storm had come to collect him.
Outside, steel rang against saddle buckles.
The first horn sounded low, mournful, a beast calling across the marshes.
The boys jumped.
Harold clutched Bram and Rægenwine flinched.
Dægan’s jaw tightened.
“They’re here.”
Another horn.
Closer this time.
Leofric stepped to the window, lifting the shutter an inch.
The colour drained from his face.
“Thirty men… at least. Spears. Shields. One rider with a wolf-banner.”
The room froze.
Dægan muttered, “The hunter.”
Footsteps pounded on the floorboards above them. Black Shields rushed to the windows, faces pale beneath their tattoos. Even the bard dropped his harp.
Thunorric didn’t move.
His sons clung harder.
The door shook.
Not from a knock but from the weight of horses circling the inn like wolves around a trapped stag.
A voice outside thundered:
“By the order of Coenwulf, King of Mercia! Surrender Thunorric Stormborne, outlaw and oathbreaker!”
Harold whimpered.
Bram pressed his forehead to his father’s arm.
Thunorric inhaled slow, steady.
That same deadly calm from the night before.
Rægenwine whispered, “If you run… they’ll burn the inn.”
Thunorric nodded slowly.
“Aye. I know.”
Wulfie’s voice cracked.
“Da… don’t go.”
Thunorric stood.
Every man in the room held his breath.
Even the storm paused.
He knelt before his sons and cupped their faces, one by one.
“You lads listen to me. You stay with your uncles. You stay together. You don’t look back.”
“Da….”
“Look at me.” His voice trembled. “I’ll come back if there’s breath in me. I swear it.”
“Promise,” Bram whispered.
Thunorric pressed his forehead to Bram’s.
“I promise.”
The door boomed under a spear-butt.
“Stormborne! Come out!”
Dægan stepped in front of him.
“No. I won’t let you do this.”
Leofric’s voice was a ghost.
“Brother… their orders aren’t to take him alive.”
Another slam.
Another roar.
Thunorric placed a hand on Dægan’s shoulder.
“Stormwulf… let me go.”
“No.”
“Brother,” Thunorric said softly, “you once told me… the world needs less war.”
“And you think dying helps that?” Dægan’s eyes blurred.
“No. But I won’t have my lads grow up hunted.” Thunorric smiled sadly.
The hunter’s voice cut through the rain.
“Thunorric!
Come out now, or we take the children!”
Wulfie cried out.
Rægenwine swore and drew his blade.
Thunorric straightened, jaw set.
“That’s enough.”
He kissed each of his sons’ foreheads, one last time.
Then he walked toward the door.
Dægan grabbed him not hard but as if trying to hold on to a dying star.
“You don’t have to do this,” Dægan whispered.
Thunorric leaned in, pressing his brow to his brother’s.
“I do.”
Leofric placed a hand on both their shoulders, voice breaking.
“If you walk out now… we will not see you again.”
Thunorric swallowed hard, lightning in his chest.
“Aye,” he whispered. “But if I don’t… they’ll kill everyone here.”
He stepped past them.
Hand on the latch.
Breath steady.
Heart pounding.
He looked back only once.
At his family.
At the boys.
At the life he would never have again.
Then he opened the door the rain hit him like cold fire.
The hunters aimed spears.
Horses stamped and snorted.
Shields glinted like teeth.
The wolf-banner flapped in the storm wind.
And the king’s hunter tall, hooded, voice like gravel leaned ahead in his saddle.
“So,” he growled. “The Stormwulf’s shadow finally steps into the light.”
Thunorric lifted his chin.
“No shadow,” he said. “Just a man.”
The hunter smirked.
“Not for long.”
His hand rose thirty spears lowered instantly as Dægan shouted inside the inn. Brother Leofric cried out a warning to anyone who listened. The young ones huddled scared confused and upset together crying.
But Thunorric did not look back.
Not once.
Not ever.
Rain hammered the earth as if trying to drown the dawn itself.
Thunorric stood in the mud, cloak heavy with water, as thirty spears formed a wall of iron before him. The king’s hunter dismounted slowly, boots sinking deep into the wet ground.
The wolf-banner snapped above them, its black shape cutting the storm-grey sky.
Inside the inn, Wulfie screamed his father’s name.
Thunorric didn’t flinch.
Not even a blink.
The Hunter Approaches
The hunter circled him once, appraising him like a butcher measuring a stag.
“You came willingly,” he said, voice low and dangerous. “Unexpected.”
Thunorric smirked faintly.
“I’ve been full o’ surprises since before your father had teeth.”
A few of the king’s men chuckled nervously.
The hunter didn’t.
He stepped closer, close enough that Thunorric smell iron. , leather, and the bitterness of a man who enjoyed his work too much.
“On your knees,” the hunter ordered.
Inside the inn, Dægan roared, “NO!”
Leofric held him back by the cloak.
Thunorric lifted his chin.
“Not until my sons are taken inside and the door shut.”
The hunter frowned, annoyed by the demand but he motioned to his soldiers.
A few men approached the doorway.
Rægenwine snarled at them, blade raised, but Leofric spoke sharply:
“Let them take the boys. It’s what he wants.”
Wulfie, Bram, Harold, and James were pulled back into the shadows of the inn, crying, reaching out.
“DA!”
“Da, don’t go!”
“DA!”
Thunorric closed his eyes at the sound just for one heartbeat.
Then he opened them again.
Calm.
Resolved.
Unyielding.
He lowered himself to one knee.
The mud splashed against his cloak like spilled blood.
The hunter smiled.
“That’s better.”
He stepped behind Thunorric and ripped the cloak from his shoulders. Rain soaked through the clean shirt beneath, running along scars old and new. Some were pale. Some were angry red. Roman brands. Whip marks. Blade lines from men long dead.
The hunter lifted his chain.
“Bind him.”
The Stormborne Intervene
Dægan burst through the doorway like a wolf breaking a trap.
“Touch him and I’ll gut you!”
Half the king’s men moved instantly, spears lowered toward Dægan’s chest.
Leofric shoved through after him, staff in hand, fury burning in his usually calm eyes.
“He’s done nothing to earn this.”
“Silence,” one soldier snapped. “He’s an outlaw.”
“Then so am I,” Leofric hissed.
Thunorric didn’t look back.
“Dægan. Lore.”
His voice was soft, but the brothers froze at once.
“Stand down.”
Dægan’s hands shook with pure rage.
“I won’t watch them take you.”
“You will,” Thunorric said.
Rain dripped down his jaw.
“Because my lads need you alive more than they need me free.”
Leofric’s throat closed.
Dægan’s fury bled into heartbreak.
“Brother…”
“Go inside,” Thunorric said. “See to the boys.”
Dægan’s chest heaved like a man drowning.
“I can’t let you”
“You can,” Thunorric whispered. “And you will.”
A moment of silence.
A lifetime of pain held in one breath.
Then Dægan stepped back.
Leofric caught him as he stumbled.
The Chains
The hunter fastened shackles around Thunorric’s wrists with unnecessary force. The iron bit into old scars.
Thunorric didn’t react.
The hunter leaned close and whispered:
“You’ve no idea how long I’ve waited for this.”
Thunorric smirked.
“Aye. But you should always be careful what you wish for.”
The hunter’s hand tightened on his hair, yanking his head back.
“Still got that tongue,” he growled.
Thunorric’s smile faded.
“Oh, lad… I’ve got worse.”
The hunter shoved him forward.
“On your feet.”
He rose without struggle.
The Walk Through the Rain
The king’s men parted, forming a corridor of steel.
Thunorric walked between them, chained but unbroken.
Every man stared.
Some in awe.
Some in hatred.
Some in fear because even bound, Thunorric radiated the quiet, terrifying presence of a storm about to break.
From the inn doorway:
Dægan leaned against the frame, eyes red, hands gripping the wood until it cracked.
Leofric held the boys tight, all four crying into him.
Raegenwine stood beside them, jaw clenched, sword lowered but still in hand.
Even the Black Shields watched in stricken silence, heads bowed.
Thunorric glanced back once.
Just once.
At them.
At the inn.
At the life he would not keep.
Then he faced ahead again.
And kept walking.
The Hunter’s Judgment
At the road’s edge, the hunter raised his voice.
“Thunorric of the Stormborne!
By decree of Coenwulf, King of Mercia
You will be tried at dawn and executed at dusk!”
Leofric clutched the boys tighter.
Dægan sagged against the doorframe.
The rain hammered down harder.
Thunorric lifted his chin.
“Dusk, is it?” he murmured.
His voice was steady.
Almost amused.
“Aye.
Dusk’ll do fine.”
The hunter sneered.
“You’ll die begging.”
Thunorric’s eyes flashed.
“You first.”
The soldiers shoved him ahead.
The chains rattled as the last Stormborne walked into the storm.
And the inn behind him broke into sobs.
© 2025 Emma Hewitt StormborneLore. The characters, stories, names, and world-building elements of the Stormborne Saga are original works.
This includes Thunorric, Dægan, Leofric, the Black Shields, and all associated lore. They are owned exclusively by the author. Unauthorised copying, reposting, distribution, or adaptation of this content is strictly prohibited without written permission.
Futher reading :
Chapter 1: the last night at Raegenwine inn
The Prophecies and Tales of Taranis Unfolded
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