If I Had a Heart: The Saga of Ivar and Ita

Chapter 7

Just as the Seer had foretold, the rain dissipated and the sky cleared in the early evening. Ita, with her pack on her shoulder, followed Ivar to the edge of the settlement to meet the men. He and Ubbe still were not speaking after their argument, but they must have not been so angry with each other, Ita realized, because Ubbe was still going with them. Though, he did cut a few glares in Ivar's direction, which were often followed by a bemused glance at Ita. She quickly learned not to care.

Ivar made his way through the vast crowd of men – and women, too, Ita noticed with a certain amount of amazement, but of course she was not the only shield maiden among them – toward the front. She kept close behind him, dodging glances and avoiding eye contact with many of them who she still did not know well who still viewed her as a potential threat. An outsider could not be trusted, many of them agreed, especially the older ones, who whispered of another Christian who had earned the respect of Ivar the Boneless, a bishop-warrior called Heahmund, whose legend perplexed Ita. Was he even real, or had these older warriors invented this traitorous, pagan-killing mercenary from England? She didn't dare ask.

"It's in his blood," she heard one man say, cutting her a scornful glance as they passed.

She grabbed hold of Ivar's cloak nervously.

"Aye, his father did just the same," said another, a tall, older man with a graying beard.

"Maybe he's worse than Lothbrok. You'll remember his father only had the one," a woman's voice chimed in.

"Oh, yes. I remember. Ragnar Lothbrok took a right strange liking to that priest," said the first man, seeming to spit out the final word as though it were poison.

"Floki remedied that, though," the woman chuckled darkly.

"I always thought Ivar'd be more like Floki, seeing as he practically raised him," the second man said almost regretfully.

"Yes, but we all remember what happened to Floki," said the first man, and the conversation seemed to die there.

Or maybe she simply ceased to hear it. She was used to much worse from some of them, of course, but it was surprising that they would say this much with Ivar near. He didn't seem to hear their words at all, so far as Ita could perceive. She half expected him to say something, but he just walked on in stoic silence to the front of the crowd with Ita at his side.

"Why are there so many warriors coming with us?" she asked. "I thought you said I was to go in alone."

"And you shall," Ivar said, "the first time."

She nodded.

"Hey," Ivar said, looking briefly over his shoulder at her, his expression softening just a bit. "Don't be so worried. Nothing bad will happen."

She forced a little smile and nodded again.

"No one will dare do or say anything to you that they wouldn't want me to find out about," he said.

She wasn't so sure about that, but she tried to trust him. "Alright."

"And once you're in the village, if anything goes wrong," he said, trailing off. He looked at her again with a smile as she glanced up to meet his eyes. "Well, let's just say we do have an alternate plan."

"What does that entail?"

"Ehh…raiding early," he said tactfully.

"Oh," she said. "You know, I would not be so nervous if I wasn't going in unarmed."

"We have brought your sword and your shield, and you shall be given both once the raid begins," he reminded her.

"And what if I am not given them in time?" she questioned.

He did not answer, but looked away.

When they reached the front of the crowd, Ivar was loaded up into a chariot which was drawn by a large, dark horse, and Ita joined his brothers in walking ahead of the army. Ubbe's eyes seemed to follow her from time to time, looking a little more than confused.

"Is there anything you would like to discuss, Ubbe?" she asked.

"Well, no, not that I can think of," he said with a smirk. "Nothing important comes to mind. I suppose I could ask if you are ready for tomorrow."

"I am," she said, trying not to sound as worried as she was.

"And if all goes well, we raid in a week," Hvitserk said. "Are you ready for that?"

"One more training session and I should be," she replied.

"I think you'd be ready tomorrow if it came down to it," he said.

"Let's hope it doesn't," she laughed nervously.


They reached their destination about five hours later, deciding to set up camp just a little ways outside the city, on the other side of the glen where Ubbe, Hvitserk, and Ivar first saw the city. Tents were set up and fires were built as everyone unpacked and settled into what would be their home for the next week. While many of the men opted to sleep outside, the Sons of Ragnar, most of the shield maidens, and a handful of upper-ranks warriors chose to sleep in tents, many of them sleeping four or five to a tent. Ita was lucky enough to get her tent all to herself; Torvi was meant to share with her, but since they had arrived, Torvi had stayed mainly outside tending to the fire or telling stories to some of the younger shield maidens who, like Ita, had never experienced a raid.

As she sat on her makeshift bed on the floor of the tent, Ita knew she should be sleeping so that she would not be tired for the coming morning, but her mind was much too busy for that. So she arranged and rearranged her bed, thinking that no matter what she did to it, it would never be as comfortable as her bed back in Ivar's hall. But then, she thought, once exhaustion kicked in – and she knew that it likely would by the next evening – an uncomfortable sleeping place would not matter; any sleeping place would do.

"Ita," a quiet voice from the door said, and she looked up to see Ivar peering in.

"Yes?"

"Would you care to join me for a walk?" he asked.

She wanted to say, "Viking, you may have ridden here, but the rest of us walked. I am tired. Of course I do not want to go for a walk."

Instead, Ita smiled and she cut all that down to, "Of course."


They walked into the woods where they had come from, to a nearby stream that Ivar knew of. Ita knew it well, too, as she had often gone there with her brother Fergus as a child, and there he would tell her all the ancient stories their father had taught them. It held a much different air now, no longer as carefree and light, but quite a bit darker. Perhaps it was only the night, or rather the anxiety she had been feeling of late. They stopped there, and Ita walked down to the shore to look into the water. It was the same as she remembered, clear and clean and ever moving. She smiled, remembering how she always asked Fergus where the water went. He didn't know. Neither did she, even now.

She dipped her foot in and found that it was icy cold, just as she remembered it. She quickly drew her foot back out again. As a child, it never seemed to bother her. She would run into it and splash about, having little notice or care for its frigidity. Over her shoulder, she looked back at Ivar and saw him watching her as he leaned on his crutch.

"It's beautiful here," she said.

"I like it, too," he agreed.

"What are you thinking about?" she asked him as she tucked her hair behind her ears and knelt down to look at the ground near the water.

"Hm," he intoned, tilting his head as he watched her; she seemed to be searching for something, though he couldn't tell what. All around seemed only dirt and rocks. "I don't think you really want to know the answer to that."

"I do," she said.

He remained silent for several seconds, then he sighed. "Well," he said, "I am thinking about you."

"Oh?" She smiled sweetly. He saw the light in her eyes, reflected from the pale moonlight which shone through the treetops above them, and he returned her smile. "What about me?"

"Em," he hesitated, clearing his throat, "mostly how you will do your first raid."

"Oh."

That word felt much different this time around, and Ivar could see her face fall. Quickly, she snatched something up off the bank and shoved it into the pocket of her cloak, and she stood. With slow, smooth steps, she walked back to where he stood and leaned against the tree he was standing under. Ivar had to turn to look at her, and when he did, he saw her staring out at the little stream.

"What are you thinking about?" he asked quietly.

"I was just asking my God if I am in the right place," she said.

"And he can hear you without you speaking?" He seemed skeptical, which was a bit amusing to Ita.

She laughed. "Yes. He can hear everything. Every thought, every word, spoken or unspoken."

"That seems highly unlikely," he smirked.

"But it is true," she said.

He laughed and shook his head. "You may believe that, but I will choose not to."

"Why is that?" She cocked her head to the side, studying him carefully with a smile on her face.

"I do not want him to hear some of the things that I think," he returned.

"I completely understand," she said with a nod and a smirk.

"But to answer your question, if you will allow me, I would say that you are," he said.

"I am what?"

"In the right place," he said.

"I think I am, too, but…" she trailed off.

Ivar leaned back against the tree beside her and let go of his crutch. "But what?"

"I cannot help but think of where I might be if I had not been brought here."

"Oh, and where would you be if not here?"

"Right now? In my bed asleep," she chuckled. He smiled, acknowledging her joke. "I would probably still be at home with my mother and my brothers if we had not fallen ill. Or maybe I would be married."

"Have you not been married before?" he asked her.

"No; have you?"

"Once," he nodded. "Very briefly."

She nodded, too, unsure of whether to ask for more information.

"I am surprised you haven't," he said. "You must be old enough."

"I am. I have been engaged to be married twice," she explained. "But I have never been married. My father, after returning from Northumbria, was given high honors. And on my fifteenth birthday, I was supposed to be married to the son of some lesser noble, which would have helped my family greatly."

"Why did you not marry him?" Ivar asked, intrigued.

"With my father gone, the deal between his parents and mine could not be finalized."

"Did you want to marry him?"

"No," she said simply, shaking her head.

"Things are very different with us," he said. "A woman has choices here so long as she is free."

"That sounds wonderful," Ita smiled.

He returned her smile and nodded. "So this young nobleman, was he your only prospective husband?"

"Well, just before the sickness, I had been engaged to a weaver's son." She looked at the ground vacantly. "We would have been married by now."

Ivar nodded. "Did you love him?" he asked quietly.

"I only met him twice," she said. "He seemed quiet and simple. It could have been quite a calm life with him. But no, I did not know him enough to love him."

"Do you wish he had lived and you had married him?" Ivar asked her. "Would that be better than this?"

"Of course quiet contentment would be better than the imminent slaughter of innocent people, but I feel I am living more with your people than I ever would have with the weaver boy or the young nobleman."

She gave him a little smile which appeared both sad and grateful, and he nodded.

"Ita, if you ever long for this quiet contentment you mentioned, do not hesitate to ask. I would do everything in my power to get that for you if it is what you desire," he said.

"Thank you. I will keep that in mind."

He looked at her carefully, a barely readable look in his eyes. Ita paused and looked back at him. He was up to something. She was almost certain of it. He took a step closer and briefly she contemplated taking a step back, but whatever Ivar was doing now didn't seem very threatening. He smiled sweetly and placed a hand on the back of her neck, his thumb beside her ear. His other hand he placed on her waist. The thick leather of his clove felt cold and rough against her neck, but his skin was warm and his touch gentle and comforting. Ita wound her arms around his neck as his gaze met hers and he leaned closer to lay his forehead against hers, just looking at her there in the dark for a few moments.

"I'm so scared for tomorrow," she breathed shakily after what seemed like ages of silence.

"Don't be," he said. "You will be fine, and remember if anything goes wrong, you will not be alone."

"I know."

His expression softened. His smile faded and he leaned in closer.

And he kissed her.

Ita kissed him back, hardly knowing what to do but desperately trying to follow his lead. Fortunately, he was slow and gentle, much to her surprise and relief. With his back to the tree to keep his balance, he slid his arms around her and drew her in slowly, pulling her body tighter to his as they kissed. She arched into him and sighed, the air rushing out her nostrils and past his cheek, making a noise like rustling paper. When he finally pulled away and looked into her eyes once more, she saw a very different Ivar than the one she had met so many weeks ago in these same woods. He laughed under his breath and kissed her once more, a little more chastely this time.

Nothing in him now looked capable of the things he was known for; this was not Ivar the Boneless, the fearsome commander of an army of heathens on whose hands was the blood of countless men and women who stood in his way. No, this was a very different man.

She laughed with him now as he kissed her again.

"Are you ready to go back?" he asked her. "You will probably want to rest before…."

"Yes, we should probably get back," she said, and she took a slow step away from him.

When they made it back to the encampment, she saw his demeanor change once more, back to his usual distant, vaguely angry expression and his stiffened gait. He walked her back to her tent and bade her good night, giving her one last little smile before turning and leaving to rejoin his brothers by their fire.