Somewhere, deep in the bottom of this cup of deceptively sweet-tasting honey wine, lies all of the shits I usually give.

Or so Rowan thinks, as she begins to realize that she just might be more than a little buzzed.

"Answer me!"

She flinches away from Ubbe's shout, clenching her eyes against the pounding that has started in her head.

"Let her be, Ubbe." Ivar growls and grips his brother's arm, but he is shaken off.

"Don't you see? She is a spy. How else could she know how father died unless Aelle told her beforehand?"

"I've never met Aelle." Rowan mumbles as she peers into the cup in her hand suspiciously. "Ivar, did you put something in this?"

Ubbe smacks the cup from her hand, enraged by her lack of a reaction. "Look at me, you Saxon whore!"

Only her eyes move up to meet his gaze. Ivar sees the look she gives Ubbe, and tries to surreptitiously move the pitcher of mead and any other large containers of liquid out of her reach.

Ubbe sneers at her. "I knew there was something strange about you. Did you think you wouldn't be found out? Did you think you could manipulate all of us as easily as my brother? You should have stayed in Wessex with your traitorous king."

"Y'know." Rowan smiles. "I'm growing rather tired of hearing people tell me where I should and should not be."

Ivar speaks up before his brother has a chance to reply. "She is a spækona, Ubbe." His exasperated tone suggests this is an obvious fact that everyone else must be a complete idiot to have not realized.

"What?" Ubbe asks in disbelief.

"She is like mother."

"Do you really believe that?"

Ivar looks at Rowan and smiles ominously. "Yes, and I will prove it. Tomorrow we will go speak to The Seer."

Rowan can practically hear the capitalization. Even in her current state, she notices that the noun he uses indicates that he's talking about a man, which makes no sense. Men don't practice that kind of magic.

Ubbe narrows his eyes at her. "That is a good idea, Ivar."

Her jaw aches from the tension in it. A hand grips her shoulder gently. Beside her, Sigurd leans forward to study her face. "Rowan?"

"Please yourselves." She spits out. The sensation of anger burning at the backs of her eyes is familiar. All she has to do is push it back. If she does she knows that, soon enough, it will be replaced with blissful numbness. She stands to leave, but Ivar stops her by grabbing her wrist.

"Rowan?" He asks quietly. "What is wrong?"

"I'm just tired." She lies. "I'm going back to Torvi."

"You will come with us tomorrow?"

Rowan nods, and Ivar kisses her fingers before releasing her. "Everything will be alright. I won't let anything happen to you."

~…~

Torvi is in a state between rage and panic when Rowan steps through the door. The older woman gives a cry of relief, rushing forward to clutch her in her arms.

"I was so worried about you!" Torvi looking her over for any sign of injury. "What happened? When you didn't come for the evening meal I sent Guthrum to look for you."

"I was with Ivar and his brothers." Rowan mutters, head hung.

Torvi drops her hands from Rowan's shoulders and steps back, looking positively stricken. "I thought you were going to stay away from them."

Rowan shakes her head. Exhaustion reaches her very bones. There is no strength left in her to argue. "Please, Torvi. I'm no a part of this. Don't make me choose."

Torvi must see something in her face. She frowns slightly. Cupping Rowan's cheek in her palm, she sighs in resignation. "Do they truly mean that much to you?"

"Ivar does." Rowan replies. "I won't hurt him."

"Your heart is far too kind." Torvi scolds. "I don't know what you see in him."

Half the time, neither does Rowan. Then he goes and remembers a dumb joke she made weeks ago and still thinks it's hilarious. And then there's clincher, the thing that pulls her back to him every time…

"He needs me."

Torvi eyes her cynically. "Far too kind."

~…~

It takes a horde of stampeding Ragnarssons to get Rowan out of bed the next morning. At least, that's what it sounds like they're doing. Torvi was letting her sleep in due to the migraine that had taken firm hold. The three brothers, however, have other plans.

"Good morning, Torvi." Ubbe greets his sister-in-law politely. "We wanted to take Rowan for a walk around the village."

"Get up!" Ivar brushes past him, making a beeline for the bed where Rowan is trying to block out all noise and light with a pillow. "What are you doing still in bed?"

"Mmmrph." She'd hoped that migraines were a thing of the past, since she hadn't had one while in Bothild's body. She had been mistaken. It must have been triggered by the mead, because just the thought of the stuff makes her want to gag now.

"Get up! Get up! Get up!" Ivar leans his upper body over the mattress and bounces it up and down.

"Ivar..." Torvi tries to intervene. The prince ignores her, grinning like a fool as he carries on with his harassment.

Bleary-eyed and nauseous, Rowan pokes her head out and glares at him. At least the acknowledgement gets him to stop with the bouncing.

"I know where you sleep."

Ivar pats her cheek. "Yes, and you are always welcome, but now you need to get up so we can go on our walk." He stresses the final words meaningfully.

"You aren't going away, are you?"

He shakes his head with a smile.

The other two brothers, in the meantime, have been negotiating with Torvi. She looks suspicious over their sudden appearance, but seems resigned to let Rowan continue to spend time with them. It is agreed that they can show her around the parts of the village she isn't familiar with, as long as they return within a couple of hours.

Rowan finally drags herself out of bed and Ivar and the others step outside so she can get ready. Sigurd casts her a concerned glance when she joins them, but remains silent when she pushes past him and snarls a question at Ivar for his unabashed glee. Apparently he doesn't get many chances to rub something in his brother's faces these days. Even her terrible mood can't take this moment from him.

Ubbe leads the way to the outskirts of the village. The Seer's hut is set apart from others. Ivar tells her that though his power is respected, he is still an outsider due to a terrible sickness he has and for practicing women's magic.

The interior of the hut is dark and eerie; the only light comes from the fire. All manner of strange ingredients hang from the ceiling about them. A cloaked figure hunches in one corner. He does not turn as they enter, but Rowan can see him tense up at their presence.

"Seer," Ivar crawls to him, completely unbothered by the room or its inhabitant. "We have brought someone to meet you."

"Indeed you have, Ivar Ragnarsson." The Seer's voice is deep and raspy. When he turns in their direction, Rowan takes an involuntary step back. The skin of his face looks like it's been melted, sealing over his eyes. The overall effect is made all the more grotesque by the black makeup that is smeared over his fleshy, deformed mouth.

Rowan feels Ubbe move to stand at her back, as if she might turn and run. Maybe she should.

"We have questions about her, Wise One." He says from behind her. "About where she has come from, and her intentions here."

The old man's laugh is a raspy, joyless sound. "I cannot say from whence she has come." The Seer says. "But her soul has fallen between the branches of Yggdrasil."

The brothers all look at each other. Even Ivar seems shocked by this statement. "What does that mean?"

"Ask her yourself." The Seer replies. "She will tell you of her fall, of becoming shrouded by water. In the Well of Urd she swam, and when she emerged she was in a form and place she knew not."

"It's true." Ivar marvels. "She told me that she has memories of a life she has not yet lived."

"Is she a danger?" Asks Ubbe. It's the only question that matters to him.

"A danger?" The Seer scoffs. "Hardly. She comes from a world where man has grown weak and soft."

"I think you might have just contradicted yourself." Rowan mutters in English. Whether or not the Seer understands the words, he at least recognizes the tone, and bares his teeth in a snarl of contempt.

"Her knowledge may be great, but her wisdom is little. She carries counsel within, but it will not come to full bloom for many years."

Ivar leans forward eagerly. "Why is she here? Did Odin send her?"

"Her future is hidden from me. Her presence clouds my sight. Take her away!" The Seer turns his twisted face, gesturing towards the door as if Rowan's continued proximity makes him physically ill.

Sigurd and Ubbe each take one of her elbows and rush to remove her while she casts one final, ironic look around the room and calls back to the Seer, still in English, "I like your International House of Woo."

"BEGONE!" The shout trails after them, the brothers holding their hands over her mouth to prevent her from saying anything else until they are well away from the hut.

When they finally allow her to shake herself free from their hold, the whole group is silently contemplative. Ivar approaches, sits on the ground in front of her and reaches up to touch between her eyebrows where the skin wrinkles in a frown.

"What is the matter? It's like I told you, everything will be alright." He chides.

"I don't feel well." Rowan tries to be dismissive, but Ivar doesn't accept it.

"The Seer's words have distressed you."

Sigurd shakes his head in wonder. "It is a strange fate the Gods have given you, but it shouldn't upset you."

"The Gods would not have brought you here unless they had some sort of a plan for you." Ubbe adds.

"I don't care." Rowan's voice is barely controlled, her hands in fists at her sides. "And I don't need your kindness." She looks at Ubbe. "My head hurts, I want to throw up, and I am done."

She turns to leave. Ivar calls for her, but she throws up her hands and shouts back, "Done!"

~…~

"Are you feeling better?"

Rowan nearly jumps out of her skin. She turns from where she sits beside the lake to find Ivar, smiling tentatively. She nods and turns back to the bowl in her lap. It's been a few days since the visit to the Seer. It took that long before the migraine finally faded and she felt up to returning to swim. Only this time, she has another plan as well.

"What are you doing?" He draws himself over to sit beside her. There is an unusual array of items around her. Eggs, a small jar of honey, a tiny bottle of scented oil.

"It is for wash my hair." Rowan replies as she carefully stirs the mixture together.

"With eggs?"

She shrugs. "It works."

"How do you know?"

"I read." She sasses. The only response she gets is a snort of amusement from beside her.

When everything is combined into a slurry, she looks back at Ivar. He's started to keep his hair combed back from his face. It gives him an older, more mature appearance.

"Would you like to try?"

Ivar is oddly flustered by her offer. He makes a visible effort to appear calm before asking, "Are you offering to wash my hair?"

Rowan shrugs again. "If you want."

With an exaggerated air of indifference, he shrugs back. Rowan instructs him to remove his shirt and lie back on the rock so that his head hangs over the water. She rolls up his shirt and tucks it under his neck so he's more comfortable before slipping into the lake.

He tenses visibly when he first feels her fingers running over his scalp, but he soon relaxes as he becomes used to the sensation. By the time she's thoroughly saturated his hair with the egg mask, he looks like he's about to fall asleep.

"Stay there." Rowan tells him. Ivar's eyes flutter back open as if woken from a dream. "I will wash it in a moment."

It takes a lot more work to get her own hair completely covered. By the time she's wound it up into a knot so that it can soak in, it's time for her to finish rinsing out Ivar's treatment. All the jokes she could make about fancy salons die on her tongue, knowing that they wouldn't make sense to him.

"That other life," Ivar asks as if reading her mind. "Would you rather be there now?"

Rowan sighs. Ivar's eyes are closed again as she rubs her fingers into his scalp. He can't see the way she frowns and purses her lips.

"I was… unhappy there. But I still miss my family. In a choice between whether to be unhappy here or there, it's difficult to have an opinion."

Ivar hesitates before asking another question. "Why were you unhappy?"

"You have a sickness in your body. I had a sickness in my mind. It was like a monster, lurking in the shadows. Or a thief, stealing all joy." Rowan winces. She sounds whiny even to herself. She rushes to add, "It is difficult to explain."

"No, I understand." Ivar murmurs. His eyes gaze at some distant point in the sky. "Are there at least some things that you like better here?"

"There are." Rowan admits. She doesn't elaborate, and he doesn't ask her to. "Come in. I'll teach you more."

It doesn't take much to get him to join her in the water this time. He remembers the previous lesson well. By the time they finish, he's started to swim very short distances between her and the shore. Every time he reaches her outstretched hands he comes up grinning in triumph. And if he still clings to her more than is absolutely necessary, Rowan only gives him the side-eye.

"Why were you angry?" Ivar asks as he starts a small fire to help her dry out her long hair. "After we met the Seer."

Rowan blushes. She's been trying to figure that out herself. First she'd had a migraine for the first time in two years and was being forced to go along with Ivar's ludicrous plan. Then she'd met the Seer, who it was obvious to her was just another person like her and Oddune, but that he was using his knowledge to manipulate everyone around him. Then Ubbe had immediately believed all the mumbo-jumbo that had come out of his mouth, because, apparently, it took an Act of God for his brother to make a friend.

"People." She finally says. "Just… people."

Ivar looks up from the fire, considers this for a moment, and finally just gives a nod of, "Yeah, fair enough."

~…~

The herbalists have once again sent her out into the hills looking for something-or-other that Rowan can only identify because they've given her a sample and very detailed directions.

The land around Kattegat is breathtaking. Like her Mormor's home in Norway, the forest of evergreens gives way to rolling hills of green grass. Letting her hair down to be caught by the gently breeze, Rowan twirls idly on a hilltop. She skips barefoot towards the area that she's been told she can find stalks of a purple, bell-shaped flower.

A song comes to mind. A folk song by a Norwegian group called Bukkene Bruse her mother sang for her when she was small. It's bouncy and repetitive, and it's fun to walk to the rhythm as she sings to herself.

Hot æ det for ein gangar grå - Målfrid mi fruve

Som kvar morgon framfor dynni står - Tora lill

Som kvar morgon framfor dynni star

Tora lille -Tora liggia luri

As she comes over the next ridge, she slows to a stop. Before her stand hundreds of stones placed in deliberate, oval shapes. There are at least half a dozen altogether, and Sigurd kneels before one ring, the smallest of all. He is looking in Rowan's direction as she approaches, alerted to her presence by the sound of her singing.

"Hello, Sigurd." She calls to him as she comes closer. He watches her with a somber expression, and she gets the eerie feeling that she's somehow intruding. But he doesn't act overtly upset over her presence, so she doesn't hesitate to ask, "What is this place?"

"It is my family's place of burial."

Rowan halts abruptly, looking around her at the stones. Only now does she realize that they are laid out in the shapes of boats. Stone ships to carry their occupants on their final voyage.

"Oh, should I go?"

Sigurd shakes his head. "No. I wanted to speak with you, anyway."

"About what?"

"About Ivar." Sigurd remains calm, but there is a note of determination in his voice. "You need to be careful of him."

Rowan rolls her eyes. "This again?"

"You don't know him, not really." He insists. "He may act like he cares about you, but he doesn't." He looks back at the stones before him. "I don't think he's capable of caring about anyone but himself."

"That's not fair." She tries to defend Ivar, but Sigurd only grows more agitated in response.

"You're not listening!" He stands up and comes closer to her. Rowan knows he doesn't mean to be threatening, but the sudden movement causes her to instinctively step away from him. Sigurd stops and gestures behind himself. "You see this grave?"

Rowan glances over and nods.

"This is where our niece is buried. Bjorn's daughter."

She frowns. "I didn't know Torvi had a daughter."

"Not Torvi. She was Bjorn's child with his first wife. She left them both long ago. But Siggy…" He looks back at the grave behind him. His voice is haunted. "Bjorn entrusted her to my mother, but she was too busy to take notice of her. She died, drowned. I was supposed to be watching her, but I was annoyed. She was so small…"

Rowan stands frozen. The thought of something like that happening to one of her cousins while they were in her care sickens her. "How old were you?"

"Seven years. Ivar and mother were together when I told them that I'd found her. He laughed."

"You found her?" The image of a little Sigurd finding the body of his niece lodges in her mind. Her stomach roils and she winces at the sharp pain that rings through her.

Sigurd turns to glare at her. "Didn't you hear me? When I told Ivar that our niece was dead he laughed. It meant nothing to him."

"I heard." Rowan whispers. Only she'd tried to pretend she hadn't. She wants to tell herself that he's lying, but the pain in his face is real. "What did your mother do?"

He scoffs. "She didn't care either. She was too busy with her lover or drinking or taking care of Ivar to notice."

"Or to care for you." The realization comes to Rowan and tumbles out before she can stop it.

Sigurd stiffens. "I don't need your pity.

"Oh for…!" She takes a deep, calming breath, asking the heavens, "Why do men always believe sympathy is pity?"

"Whatever it is, I don't need it."

"Bullshit."

Sigurd blinks in shock at the profanity. Guthrum has been very helpful.

"I'm sorry you experience that. Not because I pity you, but because it causes me sick that any child could experience that and not have a mother's love and support. You did not deserve it. No one does."

He blinks again, as if this information is somehow new and profound to him. Rowan surveys his expression carefully. Has he really never had anyone tell him that? For a moment, she's a little concerned he may actually start crying.

"Do you need a hug?" She asks tentatively. His eyes finally focus on her with a frown.

"What? No!" He clears his throat. "No. I just want you to remember what I said. Be careful of Ivar."

If it will make him feel better. "I will remember." She agrees. "If you help me find this."

Sigurd takes one look at the stalk of flowers she holds up and smiles. "I know where those grow." He says.

As Rowan follows him, she stops to take one final look at the field of stone boats, and especially the tiny shape that sits alone, a half-forgotten marker for a forgotten child.

*.*.*

Usually takes me 5 G&T's before brain-to-mouth filter fails like that. Ivar covered for me, but not sure what's going to happen tomorrow with Seer person. May need to formulate escape plan. Still, Ivar said he would protect me.

Head hurts. Sound hurts. Light hurts. Going to bed now.

~…~

Mood's been more down than up lately. I'm scared.

~…~

My forefathers have come through for me! While knitting may not exist, I have learned that these guys have something that's close enough called nadelbinden. Do you know what this means?! I shall have MITTENS! Hallelujah!

~…~

Ivar doesn't appreciate my excitement. But he's a poopy-head.

~…~

Haven't asked to Ivar about The Dead Niece thing. Not sure why.

~…~

Hello, Row, this is the little voice in your head that sounds remarkably like Ed. You know exactly why you aren't asking Ivar about The Dead Niece. It's because you know he has psychopathic tendencies and are trying to pretend he doesn't.

As Ed would say, "On today's episode of Armchair Psychologist, 'Is There a Name for What's Wrong With You?"

A question I ponder more and more. Ivar is obviously not what one could call well-adjusted. Comparing his stories about his mother with Sigurd's is certainly eye-opening. I don't like to make judgements about people I've never met. She probably did the best she could with what she had. It's not like she had doctors and therapists to support her when Ivar was born. I don't blame her for keeping Ivar so protected, but it really didn't do him any good. He's been spoiled and favored on one side, and completely isolated from normal experiences on the other.

But Ivar has struggles here that very few in my time would experience. It's a harsh life, even for royalty. Everyone needs to work to keep things going, and a disabled child would be seen as a burden. It's amazing his parents didn't expose him at birth. Most would consider it a kindness.

The swimming will help. He never used his legs as a child, so I don't know how much things can be improved now. But the water will allow him to work on those muscles without the danger of injury. Hydrotherapy was a big thing at Camp PT. Ivar hasn't even noticed that he's started moving his legs more during our lessons. I don't want to mention it either. I don't want him to get his hopes up. At least it might help with the pain. He hides it well, but I can see from the way he moves sometimes that it gets bad. I could try to do the massages I used for my leg, but I don't want to push it with the touchy-touchy thing.

On the plus side, his hair is looking magnificent.

~…~

Endless questions about everything from everyone. I finally asked the brothers why people keep behaving as if I'm some bubbling spring of wisdom from the Gods. Apparently, everyone in the village is a hopeless gossip. That and Sigurd can't keep his mouth shut to save his life. So now everyone thinks I have the knowledge of Odin Himself.

Yay me.

Torvi was upset again that I didn't tell her before, but she understood when I told her that I was afraid of how people would react.

Then she told Lagertha, who has now been trying to keep me close by. Not sure if she really wants my input, or if she's just trying to keep an eye on me. Astrid the Watchdog has been popping up constantly. I feel like I should assure her that I don't hold the key to World Domination, and even if I did, I wouldn't tell Ivar. The guy has enough weird ideas without me adding to the problem.

~…~

Actually, the more time I watch Lagertha, the more I question who is nuttier, Ivar or her. Note to self: don't mention the bros' mom in her presence, the look in her eyes was a little manic and entirely creepy. Still, watching her doing the Queen thing is interesting. I see why so many are devoted to her. She strikes that Elizabeth I balance between affectionate, lovable woman, and untouchable, aloof monarch.

Yesterday, a man wanted to divorce his wife because they only had daughters. The look on his face when I told Lagertha that the sex of a child is determined by the man was priceless.

And no, people, the uterus doesn't wander around the body like a hipster European backpacker. That's not how it works. As far as I know, that's not how anything works.

~…~

I've been here two months. I've known Ivar two and a half months. It feels strange that there was a time when he wasn't there, when I had to be on guard all the time. I tell him things I haven't told anyone, even Oddune. I tell him that there was a time I struggled just to get out of bed, and the only reason I didn't die is because I couldn't muster the effort. He pats my head and tells me he understands, and that he will happily drag me out of bed anytime.

He needs me like no one ever has before. I know it's my weakness. But I'm also afraid that he may come to need me too much. Is he expecting me to do something that is impossible? After sixteen years, what can I really change? There is only so much that one girl can do to help, you know?

It's like he's coming to me for shelter from the storm, but the rains already came long ago.

The word Urd literally means 'destiny'. So the Well of Urd could also be called, the Well of Destiny. The World Tree Yggdrasil grows from this well, and represents the present tense, while the well itself represents the past tense. It represents completed or ongoing actions that nourish the tree and influence its growth. The water flows up from the well into the tree, dripping from the leaves as dew, and then return to the well. Therefore, the Vikings perceived time as being cyclical in nature. All beings have some passive effect upon destiny, while those who practice magic do so actively. There is neither absolute free will nor absolutely unalterable fate, except for the time of a person's death, which is decided by the Norn, who live in the Well of Urd, at his or her birth.

/cosmology/yggdrasil-and-the-well-of-urd/

The washing and grooming of a man's hair was traditionally done by his wife as a sign of affection. It's something a woman might do to show that's she's interested in a man. So, for Ivar, it would probably seem like an extremely intimate act.

For anyone interested in doing a little sleuthing, there's a big hint in this chapter about a major future plot point. If you want a clue, and don't mind potential spoilers, then look up the meaning of Ragnar's name. ;-)