Hlín's Second Sorrow
oneiriad
Disclaimer: Neither Vikings nor The Almighty Johnsons belong to me.
A/N: Spoilery for the Vikings season two sneak peak
A/N the second: You do not need to be familiar with The Almighty Johnsons to read this fic, as none of the characters make an appearance. For those unfamiliar with the show, it follows a cast of characters who are reincarnations/descendants of the Norse gods.
Someday, he knows, Rollo is going to kill his brother.
It's one of the great truths, undeniable and unavoidable.
Someday, Sigyn is going to put down her bowl and finally rest.
Someday, Sköll is going to run down his prey and tear her to pieces.
Someday, Rollo is going to kill his brother.
He still remembers the day - more than ten years ago now - when he came to know. They had found a witch from the far north, hoping she was made of sterner stuff than the daughter of the local völva who had taken one look at Rollo that cold winter's day a few years before and fled screaming. As it turned out, they didn't truly need her - he had looked at his brother, sword in hand, still swaying from the lightning bolt, and he had known, known by the feel of hackles raised, of teeth bared and muscles coiled, ready to spring, known even before the witch had fallen to her knees with the Valfather's name on her lips.
Then Ragnar had stepped forward, opened his arms and dragged him into an embrace, still laughing with the joy of it, somehow not realizing what it meant.
At times, he might be forgiven for thinking that others know, that they can somehow smell it on him. Lagertha's suspicious glances, Haraldson's offer, Floki's challenge, Siggy's plotting - he sees them all coming as if from far away, as he sees Jarl Borg's oh-so-tempting plots before he ever gives them voice, as no doubt his brother does, leaving him behind to be tempted.
Sometimes, for all his cunning, Ragnar is a fool. Does he not realize that the day must come when the bait will be too tempting not to swallow?
Sometimes, Ragnar is a fool. Still, it is unexpected for him to return from visiting the famous ash tree with a woman riding alongside him and a scowling Bjorn in tow, for since he wedded Lagertha, the closest he has ever known his brother to come to straying is his fascination with that skittish Englishman of his.
Then his brother swings down from his horse, helps the woman down and grins at him.
"Rollo, brother, I want you to meet Aslaug, daughter of Sigurd. She's Sjöfn's", and just like that, things make sense again, even if he's already making plans to be far from Kattegat when Ragnar introduces his wife to his new frille - except, well, this Aslaug doesn't look like she's planning to be satisfied with being any man's frille. All the more reason to keep his distance.
Still, that is his brother's business.
Except - except days pass as they all wait for Floki to return with word from King Horik. Days that Ragnar will spend with Aslaug, riding and lounging in the grass and fucking whenever they think Bjorn does not notice. Days where he is left at Jarl Borg's hall, left to Jarl Borg's words.
Sometimes, Ragnar is a fool.
One hot summer's day, to stop Bjorn's grumbling, Ragnar leaves Aslaug behind and takes his son into the forest in search of a likely fishing spot. It is nearing noon when Rollo rises from his bed, pushing away the giggling girl's hands as he heads outside to piss. As he makes his way back inside, the hall is strangely quiet, the uncommon heat having driven even the slaves to seek shelter in the shade.
"And you are certain he will think it his?"
"Oh yes. It will not even occur to him that it might be otherwise. He wants it too much for that."
Rollo frowns and turns, walks quietly in the direction of the voices. They grow clearer as he approaches.
"What if he counts the moons and finds them too few?"
"Sometimes, children come early. Besides, when the time grows near, there are certain herbs a völva once whispered to me about - to make a woman pale and weak. He will not doubt."
"And this brother of his, you are certain we can trust him?"
"Oh yes. He is a hungry one, that one."
"But is he hungry enough?"
"He is hungry as the wolf, dear heart. Offer him the right choice of meat and he will be ours."
Rollo smiles at that, remembering the look in the woman's eyes as Ragnar had slung his arm around his shoulder, saying: "And this is my brother Rollo. He is Fenrir's." Not scared, not that one.
Later, he watches as Ragnar and Bjorn come riding back, laughing and playing at fighting with each other with a pair of fresh-caught salmon - well, laughing until Aslaug steps forth and Ragnar swings down to kiss her, until she pushes him away, telling him to bathe, he stinks of fish. Ragnar still laughs, but atop his horse, Bjorn has grown quiet once more.
Rollo watches and says nothing.
It is ten more days until Floki returns, having caught up with the king as he was visiting the hall of one of his vassals, a Scanian Earl of some repute.
In the dark of night, words are spoken. An offer made - and accepted.
In the morning, when Ragnar and his men and his woman ride out, Rollo stays behind. He raises his arm as they take their leave, baring his teeth as they go.
His brother does not even look at him.
Jarl Borg gives them a full day's head start, setting out at next dawn with his gathered hird. Rollo rides at his side, a black charger between his legs. Ragnar's trail would be easy to follow, even if Rollo didn't know where they were going. At noon they find the remains of the camp where Ragnar left the remainder of his housecarls behind while he went about his business with Jarl Borg, and the Jarl spares him a dark glance, but Rollo just shrugs - what difference does a few more men make? After a brief pause to water their horses and swallow some bread they press on.
They are still more than half a day's travel from where they left the boats when they catch up with Ragnar and his men.
Aslaug and Bjorn are nowhere to be seen. Good. The boy might fancy himself a man, but he has years to go before he'll belong in a shield wall. Her women will keep him safe. For now, at least.
There is a cold wind blowing from the sea as they form up. He finds himself staring at his brother and part of him feels strange at the thought of going into battle and not being with his brother, side by side in the shield wall, as it has ever been.
Another part of him knows that this is where he was always meant to be.
The wolf bares its fangs.
Then Ragnar shouts, leading his men to attack, and Rollo lets himself loose, loose as he has never been, not in England, not in the raids east.
Somewhere only he can hear, a wolf is howling.
Then the men clash, axes against shields and blood flows and all is chaos. He swings his axe, burying it in men who hesitate for just one moment too long, not yet used to thinking of Rollo as a foe.
Across the battlefield he spots Floki with his back turned and he feels his lips slide back in a snarl, memories of another battle turning his world red. Somehow, the shipwright manages to evade the head of his axe, ducking away from the worst of the blow, and from somewhere Arne leaps at Rollo, distracting him before he has time for a second swing. He buries his axe in the one-eyed man, but as he pulls at it, he feels the head coming loose from the shaft.
He looks up. Not five feet away, Floki is on his knees, swaying, and in front of him is Jarl Borg and there's blood on his sword. He roars, furious, and leaps forward, swinging the axe handle before his new lord has time to finish his bloody business.
Jarl Borg pushes at Floki with his boot, but the man doesn't stir from where he lies. He glances at Rollo, but apparently decides against speaking. What does is matter who struck the final blow?
Around them, the battle is almost over.
They take Ragnar alive. They bind him and gag him and sling him over a horse as if he was a sack of flour. Then they ride for Jarl Borg's hall, leaving the dead for the crows.
On the third day they arrive at the hall, and Rollo drags his brother down from the horse that he has been left on for the entire time. He stinks of piss and dried blood and sways slightly - he has not been fed these last three days, the gag never removed and his wounds never tended, but every morning and every evening Jarl Borg himself has walked up to him, has dragged his head up by his hair and slowly emptied a skin of water over his face.
They want Ragnar dead - but not quite yet.
They lock him in a stable overnight. In the morning they dunk him in the horse trough to get rid of the worst of the stench. Then Rollo personally drags his brother into Jarl Borg's hall, pushes him to kneel before him and - almost as an afterthought - finally removes the gag.
Ragnar doesn't spare even a glance at his brother. His eyes are fixed at the lord of the hall.
"What is the meaning of this? When people hear how you pursued and killed King Horik's representatives, all of Denmark and Norway will gather against you."
"Oh, is that the story you think they'll hear?"
Ragnar's eyes narrow.
"I think they'll hear quite a different tale. The tale of a man who came and pretended to speak of peace while intending war, and when he left..." - and as he speaks, Aslaug enters, golden jewelry gleaming in the light of torches as she finds her seat next to Jarl Borg - "and when he left, like a common thief he stole away his host's wife, meaning to make of this highborn lady a common frille. Tell me, Ragnar Lothbrok, who do you think they will gather against - the wronged husband or the king who is served by such men?"
"They will never believe that."
"They will, when even your own brother says that it is so."
And at long last, Rollo sees understanding dawn in his brother's eyes.
"What did he promise you, brother? What price is worth betraying your family for?"
Rollo's playing absent-mindedly with the axe he took from the battle field to replace his own. There are specks of dried blood on the head.
"What did he promise you?" and Ragnar's shouting now, his voice not quite enough to drown the growing din from outside as he struggles to his feet before them.
"He promised me whatever I want."
"And what is it you want, brother?"
Rollo smiles, sliding his thumb along the blade of the axe.
"Do you remember, brother, how you once promised me that we'd always be equals?"
He looks up at his brother, smile growing wider. Outside the din is growing still.
"That's all I want, brother. That's all I ever wanted. To be your equal. To be earl."
And Rollo swings his axe.
Jarl Borg looks down, a surprised look on his face, as if he cannot comprehend the axe buried in his chest. As Rollo pulls it out, the blood sprays and Aslaug starts screaming when it hits her. Out of the corner of his eye he sees his brother, the knife he slipped him buried in the chest of the nearest of Jarl Borg's men.
Someone's hammering at the doors, and when they swing open and Floki enters, axe in the hand of the arm that isn't tightly bound, leading the men they left at the boats and Bjorn among them with blood on his hands, the floor is already littered with the dead.
"Took you long enough," he grunts.
Ragnar laughs.
Someday, Rollo is going to kill his brother.
But today is not that day.
A/N the sequel: This story was born when I asked for people to challenge me to think of crossover scenarios for Vikings. Liliaeth asked for Vikings/Almighty Johnsons, to which I replied: Oh, that one's relatively easy - well, except none of the characters will get to meet. Anyway, here goes:
When Ragnar claims descent from Odin, he's being completely literal. Him and Rollo - I'm actually not sure which god Ragnar is, but Rollo is Fenrir. Actually, maybe Ragnar is Odin himself - that would make for an interesting fraternal relationship. Unfortunately, Lagertha is not a goddesss - she's awesome and kickass - and mortal. Aslaug, on the other hand, is a goddess - probably not Frigg, she doesn't seem to have that much class. Maybe Sjöfn? Anyway, that does make the brood of sons she gave him gods too...*
And of course god!Ragnar would find it amusing to steal another god's priest. Actually, it's Ragnar's actions at Lindisfarne and beyond that prompts the Catholic church to create the organization which once upon a time will become known as Lindus. Their first major success was catching Ragnar, the whole pit of vipers deal - admittedly, that backfired spectacularly, but still.
*It is my current hope for the second season, that it will start with it turning out that Aslaug and Borg are in league (and maybe more - her having a previous lover would explain her curiously rapid case of pregnant). Having kicked Borg's ass, Ragnar still decides to bring Aslaug home - as his concubine. I mean, it's canon that Ragnar brings home pretty slaves...
The idea kept gnawing at me and then I saw the sneak peak and, well, here we are.