"Bitterness imprisons life; love releases it."

~ Henry Emerson Fosdick

Ivar scowled across the distance at his brother. Hvitserk had his hands up, guarding his face as he bounced on the balls of his feet, waiting. Ivar narrowed his eyes and feinted right before attacking from the left. Hvitserk cursed and ducked, barely dodging the blow. Ivar continued his attack, bombarding Hvitserk with blows from every angle.

Hvitserk swung out and uppercut Ivar from below. Ivar staggered back and huffed, wiping his forearm across his face, a streak of red staining his skin. He glared at it before turning back to his brother. He snarled before abandoning the boxing stance entirely and lunging at Hvitserk, wrapping his arms around his waist and bringing him to the ground.

Hvitserk grunted and took Ivar's weight, easily gaining the upper hand.

He settled Ivar in a headlock and wrapped his legs around his brother's waist. Ivar groaned and strained against Hvitserk's hold, clawing at the arm around his neck.

Hvitserk was only willing to endure so much abuse and he'd had enough.

Ivar had been walking around like a black cloud had descended over his world for the last week. He scowled at everyone, refused to attend family dinners, yelled at the house staff, and sulked through meetings.

Ragnar had tried more than once to talk to Ivar and figure out what was wrong. In all honesty, they knew what was wrong. Aaline and Ivar had gotten into some kind of argument and she had relocated back to her room.

In fairness, she never really moved out of her room but she'd taken to sleeping in Ivar's room the last few weeks. Björn had filled the brothers in the night they'd killed Aethelwulf. He'd seen Aaline in Ivar's room and she looked flushed. Ivar had been pissed when Björn had knocked and he looked slightly disheveled.

Björn said that Ivar's hair had been messy and his clothes wrinkled. His mouth was suspiciously shiny and Björn said he tried to ignore the noticeable bulge in Ivar's pants.

The brothers had been all too thrilled for him but things didn't seem to be able to last.

No sooner had they started celebrating Ivar's progress with his wife, he was walking around like someone had pissed in his cheerios. Aaline refused to look at him when he entered a room and Ivar spent all his free time in the gym, bloodying his knuckles and aggravating his hips.

The brothers had taken turns sparring with him. They were all careful to keep his temper in check, hesitant to aggravate him beyond control. Sigurd had even been tentative and he was always eager to irritate Ivar. His rage was unparalleled and he had a hair-trigger temper that, recently, was one step from exploding.

Today was Hvitserk's turn and he was tired of humoring his brother.

Ivar snarled and scratched at Hvitserk's arm. "Fucking let me go." He growled.

Hvitserk grunted against the punch that Ivar landed to his hip. He didn't have as much power in this position and Hvitserk was expecting the hit.

Ivar grunted and pulled tight against Hvitserk's hold, trying to break it.

"Yield." Hvitserk gritted out between clenched teeth.

Ivar growled low in his throat and stretched his neck, pulling hard against Hvitserk's hold.

Björn rounded the corner and sighed, the picture a familiar one. He adjusted his jacket and stalked forward. "Hvitserk, enough." He barked.

Hvitserk glanced over at Björn and huffed, releasing Ivar. As soon as he was free, Ivar sat back and cocked his arm, landing a solid hit to the center of Hvitserk's face. Björn shouted and raced forward, launching himself over the ropes.

Ubbe and Sigurd were right around the corner and, hearing Björn yell, careened around the corner and following him into the ring. Björn and Ubbe hauled Ivar off Hvitserk with Sigurd tugged him to his feet. Ivar was spitting and cursing, his blood boiling.

"Enough, Ivar!" Björn shouted his arms around him in a bearhug. Ivar continued to struggle against his oldest brother, watching with fire in his eyes and Hvitserk staggered to his feet, blood dripping from his nose.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?" Hvitserk sighed. He swiped his forearm beneath his nose, blood streaking his arm. He glanced up at Ivar and shook his head. Ivar looked crazed, his eyes wild and unfocused, his chest heaving against Björn's hold.

"Huh, Ivar? What's wrong with you?" Ivar stared at Hvitserk, his anger slowly ebbing away.

"Let go of me." He said, his voice soft and barely carrying in the space between the brothers. Björn hesitated but Ivar wasn't patient and shrugged out of his brother's hold. Björn took half a step back, glancing at the other three men in the ring. They all eyed Ivar with trepidation, balanced on the balls of their feet, waiting.

Ivar sighed and rolled his neck, ripping at the ties of his gloves. He slipped his left hand beneath his arm, tugging the glove from his hand. He flexed his fingers wide, stretching.

Hvitserk hesitated before he took a step forward. "You've been off for over a week. Your head's been somewhere else. You're angry."

Sigurd snorted and Ubbe cut a sharp look his way. He cleared his throat and settled his hands on his hips, watching Ivar. Hvitserk glanced at Sigurd before amending his statement. "Angrier than usual, I mean. What's going on?"

Ivar dropped both of his gloves to the ground, suddenly exhausted. He pinched the bridge of his nose and clenched his eyes shut, feeling a headache pounding at the back of his head.

He'd only been angry with Aaline for the first couple of days. She had been so unreasonable, yelling at him and storming off. He had just been so frustrated with the Aelle situation and lack of progress. If she had just left him alone he wouldn't have yelled and she would still be sleeping in his bed. Maybe they would've moved past gentle fondling and oral sex to full-blown fucking. God knows she'd tried to move towards it enough times before their disagreement.

He hated to admit it but maybe he shouldn't have yelled at her. She'd only asked a simple question and what had he done? He blew up at her. Screaming and yelling about her being ridiculous and calling him a child. He felt bad as soon as she'd walked out but his pride wouldn't let him go after her.

That was just over a week ago and his self-doubt and anger had been boiling just beneath his skin for days. He felt bad and knew he was in the wrong but, no matter what he told himself, he couldn't bring himself to find her and apologize. It wasn't in his nature. He was chafing under the pressure beneath his skin and he didn't know what to do.

He'd been taking it out on his brother's and they were clearly very done with him.

"Ivar." He turned to look over his shoulder. His brothers were standing in staggered order, watching him, waiting. He sighed and shook his head, unwrapping his hands.

Hvitserk glanced at Björn before taking a deep breath, bracing. "Is it about Aaline?" Ivar froze and glanced up, over at his brothers. They were tense, ready for him to react but he surprised them.

He heaved a deep sigh and shook his head, resuming his work. Hvitserk drew his eyebrows together and took a few steps forward. "Ivar, we know that you two got into an argument. I'm assuming you haven't resolved said argument."

"You would assume correctly, brother." Ivar drawled, his voice low and deadly. He didn't look up from his hands but Hvitserk could see the tension in his frame.

"Ivar, I know…" He stopped and took a deep breath. "I know that you...that you miss her." Ivar turned his head to his brother, his eyes hard as ice and narrowed. Hvitserk took another deep breath and licked his lips.

"It's alright to admit it. She's your wife. Frankly, we were glad that you two seemed to be getting on. We noticed when it went sour." Hvitserk tried to smile but the tightness in Ivar's jaw drew him up short and he glanced back at his brothers. Björn nodded once and Hvitserk continued.

"Look, I know it's not exactly your strong suit but, maybe, you should try and apologize?" Hvitserk took a half step back when Ivar turned to face him, his face set in stone.

"Apologize? I haven't done anything wrong." Ivar insisted. Björn clicked his tongue against the back of his teeth and shook his head.

"I'm sure that's not true, Ivar. Did you yell at her, maybe? Call her some name?" Ivar narrowed his eyes at his oldest brother but couldn't bring himself to respond. Björn was, after all, correct. He knew it, too. A smile crept over Björn's face and he nodded once.

"Fix whatever it is you've done. You don't have to say the words 'I'm sorry' but you need to make it clear that you are." He said.

Ivar settled his hands on his hips, staring at his brothers. They all had wives. Björn had been married for as long as he could remember. Ubbe wasn't necessarily happy with Margrethe but he seemed content. Hvitserk and Thora were disgustingly in love and Sigurd seemed to be happy with Sibylle. He concluded that he should probably take their advice. As much as it pained him to do so, they probably weren't that far off.

He met Hvitserk's eyes. "Her favorite flowers are roses." Hvitserk grinned and slapped his shoulder.

"We should get her some roses then."

.

Aaline gazed at the bouquet of mixed roses. White, yellow, and pink roses looked out at her from the large bouquet placed dead center in the middle of her desk. She hummed and gently thumbed the silky petals.

She tilted her head to the side and studied the arrangement. It came with a card but there was no message. Just a simple uppercase "I" had been scribbled on the card stock in the little envelope. Wherever he had gone was expensive. The card was stiff and durable, designed to be handled with some sense of roughness. The envelope was the same kind of material, beautifully folded and clearly handcrafted.

The arrangement was placed in a large blue crystal vase with gold accents on the rim and the base. Another handcrafted item. She could tell by the slight dips and curves around the rim.

He had clearly done his research. Each rose told her what he couldn't say with words. He had picked yellow roses because they symbolized a wish to say sorry. They worked for all occasions but they were typically the go-to rose for apologies.

The white roses represented his hope for the future. White roses worked well at weddings and christenings but it also served to tell the receiver that they were respected and the giver wished for a bright future with or for the recipient. They promised new beginnings and loyalty.

The pink roses were interesting. They weren't a deep pink which typically acted as a "thank you" or an appreciation. They were pale pink, baby pink. A representation of a new romantic occasion.

She tapped the edge of the card against her bottom lip, studying the flowers.

It was a beautiful arrangement. He had put time and effort into the flowers. Speaking directly with the florist and making sure they used the right color and that the bouquet wasn't too crowded. He'd done well. It wasn't too big to be gaudy but it wasn't too small to be understated.

Aaline had to appreciate his attempt at an apology. Ivar wasn't one to make a verbal apology but his attempt at physical one wasn't anything to laugh at. He sought outside help to make it possible and Aaline knew that probably wasn't easy.

She didn't turn when her door was pushed open. She was expecting Torvi. The blonde had called earlier to go out to lunch and Aaline had told her to just come up. She wanted her opinion on the roses.

She felt the older woman stop beside her and they both examined the roses in silence.

"It's very pretty." Torvi finally said. Aaline hummed and tapped the card against her lip.

"I think he went to the florist on 12th Street. They import their flowers from Latin America fresh every week. A bouquet like this, with the handcrafted vase and paper, was probably a few thousand dollars."

Torvi kept her voice even and soft like she was trying not to disturb the quiet contemplation that Aaline had created.

Aaline hummed again and dropped the card from her face, setting it carefully back on the desk, before turning to Torvi.

"Lunch? I'm starving." Torvi hesitated before she smiled, nodding once.

The two women left the office but Aaline's mind was far from calm. Hundreds of thoughts seemed to filter through her mind and she walked towards the elevators. She pushed them all from her mind knowing that there was nothing she could do now. She had made a decision though.

She decided to finally speak to her husband.

.

Ivar had a towel to his head, rubbing the water from the strands as he left his bathroom. Another towel was strung low around his waist and his chest was damp. He froze as soon as his wife appeared in his line of vision.

Her eyes trailed over his form and he swelled with male satisfaction at the blush that crept across her cheeks.

She stood stock-still in the middle of the room with her hands clasped in front of her. Her face was hard but not in anger. She had a purpose. She was there to accomplish something.

Ivar tossed his towel towards the hamper by the bathroom and looked back to her, giving her his full attention.

She cleared her throat and crossed her arms over her chest. Ivar watched her struggle to speak, amused. She cleared her throat again and opened her mouth.

"I got your flowers. Thank you. They were beautiful." Her eyes darted throughout the room, looking at everything but him. Her cheeks were still rosy and it was beginning to spread down her neck and chest, appearing in splotchy patches across her chest.

Ivar watched the color spread across her skin and wondered if it showed up everywhere. Would it paint the skin of her belly and thighs or just her chest and neck? How long did it last? He glanced up when she called his name. Her eyes darted across his chest and her blush deepened.

"Could you, maybe, put some clothes on?" She asked. Ivar smirked and acquiesced. He tugged the t-shirt from his dresser over his head. He nodded once and she smiled.

"Thank you." Her voice was soft and Ivar couldn't recall a time when he'd heard it so quiet. She'd only ever spoken to him with a firm tone. She wasn't often in a vulnerable position but she was now and he could tell that she wasn't used to it. She hadn't looked at him when she spoke but she was looking at him now.

"I know what you were trying to do." It was his turn to look away now. He turned to the dresser and muddled around with the objects on his dresser, moving the cologne bottles around, pushing his jewelry across the surface, anything to keep his eyes off of her.

"I'm not very good at this." She whispered. The sound carried between them only because there was no other noise. Ivar may not have heard her if something else was going on. But hear her he did and he glanced up at her.

Her face was still a soft pink but the color was starting to fade. Her arms were relaxed at her sides but her hands were still clenched into fists. Her eyes were rapt on his face and she rocked slightly from side to side.

"Apologizing?" He asked. Her eyes narrowed and she shook her head once.

"Confrontation. I don't like it. I prefer to deal with my problems behind the scenes where people won't see me however, I felt that this topic needed to be addressed in person." Her throat bobbed and she hummed. She opened her mouth to continue but Ivar cut her off.

"That was my intention." He leaned back against the dresser, his fingers curled around the edge. A crease appeared between her eyebrows in her confusion. He heaved a sigh and gestured towards her with one hand. "The flowers. Björn told me I needed to fix it so...You told me you liked roses and the woman at the flower shop said that—"

Before he could finish she was in front of him and her hands hovered over his chest. His mouth closed with an audible click and he looked down into her eyes. Her lips parted and she took a deep breath to speak but before she could Ivar dipped his head and pressed his lips to hers.

It was quick. A gentle press of lips together that was over before it started. Ivar pulled back and gazed down at her, his lips tingling where they'd met hers. Her eyes were closed and her lips parted just a little.

She opened her eyes and looked up at him, dazed. He smiled down at her. A real smile, not a cocky grin or self-assured smirk. A smile. She pulled her bottom lip between her teeth and he very nearly groaned. Before he could get the sound out, she was up on her toes pressing into him.

Her lips settled against his again, this time with firmer pressure. He parted his lips and dipped his tongue into her mouth, moaning at the taste of her. She slid her hands up his chest and around his neck, tangling her fingers in the hair at the base. He pulled a hand from the dresser and smoothed it up her back, curling his fingers around her nape and tilting her head to the side. He angled his head and curled himself around her, settling her frame against his, pulling her close.

Aaline moaned and Ivar dipped his tongue deeper into her mouth. She pressed harder against him, molding her body to his, eliminating any space between them. Ivar groaned and pulled back, a familiar stirring beginning in his cock.

He looked down at Aaline and smoothed her hair back away from her face. She blinked up at him in tender contentment. Ivar hummed and bumped his nose against hers.

"Would you like to have dinner with me?" His voice was soft but she heard him. A slow smile spread across her face and she nodded. Ivar grinned and pressed her close again, burying his face in her neck.