Iorek angrily rubbed at his deaf ears and I sighed and approached him, mussing his hair slightly the moment I was close enough. Iorek dropped his hands and looked up at me, wearing the same frustrated look that usually was on his face.

He hadn't been born deaf. Iorek had been able to hear normally for the first six years of his life. But then, a plague had swept through Kattegat and Iorek had caught it. And Igor had caught it…

I heard the way the people of Kattegat spoke about me. A majority, for a lack of better words, loved their witch queen. People came to me with questions about their crops, who they'll marry, how they'll fare on the next raid. I looked into the flames and told them as much as I could see without revealing too much. But then there were the stories.

The stories about me got stranger and stranger the more I heard them. Some claimed that I danced naked in the forest during winter, allowing myself to become possessed with the spirits of the future. That had made Bjomolf and Thyri snicker so much they nearly fell off their chairs.

One story that I kept hearing was far more painful and true.

When Iorek was six years old, a plague had swept through Kattegat. People were dying and we were burning the dead left and right. Thora had just given birth to Hali, and she got sick for three months before she was able to hold her daughter. I shuddered at the thought of the time before that plague. Iorek had been able to hear, and Igor was still alive.

Igor had been my second son and Iorek's twin brother. Ivar had been so pleased when Thyri was born that it didn't take long after for him to put another son inside me. Igor had been small, but he was strong. My little boy had trailed after Thyri the moment he learned how to walk. Igor and Iorek had been inseparable.

The plague didn't discriminate when it grabbed ahold of both Igor and Iorek. And when the healers came to me and said that Igor had perished, I screamed and fought against Ivar's hold on me, because my boy, my six year old son, couldn't be dead. He just couldn't be.

Ivar had clung to me, keeping me from barging into the sick bay and hurting myself. I fought and screamed but Ivar clung to me, even after I dropped to my knees and made him fall, he kept his strong arms wrapped tightly around me and he kept his face buried into my shoulders.

That night, I had gone farther than I had before. I burned every fucking powder I had and kept the door shut tight to keep all the smoke inside the room. The effect had knocked me out and when I opened my eyes, I stood in a familiar meadow with a blazing bright sky full of stars. I stood up from where I had landed and glared around.

"Odin!" I had screamed. "Odin! Come out and-" I didn't know what I would do if the ruler of the gods showed up. But at that moment I wanted to bargain for my son's life and I didn't know who else to scream at.

I turned around once more and there he was. Odin stood and watched with a single cold eye. "You overestimate yourself, Augusta of Wessex. I am still your god. I can still take away your gift of prophecy just as easily as I gave it."

I had dropped to my knees and sobbed in front of him. "I just want my son back."

I had half expected him to be nothing but cold. But Odin One-Eye had knelt with me and placed his hands on my shoulders. "I have lost sons too, Augusta of Wessex. But my sons are as lost to me as your Igor is to you."

That had broken me. I had rocked back and forth and sobbed and Odin watched it all, stayed quiet through it all, and kept his hand on my shoulders through it all. Had Frigg cried, I wonder, when Baldr had been slain? Had Odin?

"Is he somewhere safe?" I finally asked after what felt like ages.

"Freyja is throwing a feast for all those dying in Kattegat as we speak." Odin confided. "Young Igor Ivarsson will live in Folkvangr, until his father can come and fetch him."

I heard two things in that one sentence. The first was that Igor was safe with Freyja; he wasn't in Hel at all. The second was that Ivar was going to die before me.

When I had come back to the world of the living, I helped Ivar with burning the bodies of the dead. Igor's body was included in there, and I felt my chest tighten as we burned him. Thyri sobbed as Bjomolf held onto her; he was trying to hold in his tears as more people of Kattegat burned to try and kill the sickness.

The plague had eventually left, and those affected like Thora and Iorek recovered. But Iorek had lost his hearing. He was the youngest of those who were sick and survived, and the healers tried explaining that some plagues take away senses. All I understood was that my son would never hear his family's voices again. What life would he live? Could he still be a warrior like he had wanted? Was this partially my fault because I had gone and screamed at a literal god?

Right now, Iorek wrapped his arms around me and buried his face into my chest. I hugged him back and said very clearly, "I love you." He couldn't hear, but he could feel the words in my chest as I spoke and he squeezed me tighter.

I rubbed his back and kissed the top of his head, noting for a moment how tall he was getting. At this rate, he'll be taller than Ivar, maybe even Bjomolf. When he finally let go of me, I pointed to myself, patted my heart twice, and then pointed at him. Iorek repeated the gestures of 'I love you' back to me and smiled slightly.

"Mother!" Thyri called out as she entered the family area. She hurried over, waving hello to Iorek. She talked with her hands to help him keep up with the conversation. "Do you know where the Frankish are staying?"

"Yes?" I said, the answer sounding like a question.

"I want to go see the rest of them." Thyri announced. "Miroslava said she saw a man from the east with them!"

I bit my tongue at the mention of Thyri's Slavic friend. The young girl and her family had come up here from southern Denmark after leaving their own country. Ubbe had gone raiding with the father and their daughter and Thyri had become fast friends, despite the fact that Miroslava somehow always ended up leading her into trouble.

"Well, let's go see this eastern man." I announced, quickly signing to Iorek what we were doing. Thyri's face went slack and she immediately started protesting.

"Mother, Miroslava and I were going to see them alone." Thyri explained. The way she blushed slightly told me that she wanted to go with her friend to see the Frankish for different reasons than to see an eastern man.

"I don't see why we can't all go." I said teasingly with a shrug. "Bring Miroslava along. Your father and Bjomolf should be with the Frankish too." Thyri continued to complain all the way outside where we found her friend pacing impatiently.

Miroslava quickly dipped her head to me. "Hello, Queen Runa."

"Hello, Miroslava." I greeted. "We're going to see the Frankish. Would you like to come?" The two fourteen year olds stared at each other, having their own silent conversation. I chuckled lightly and continued on, Iorek sticking close to my side. Thyri and Miroslava followed behind, lagging a bit and whispering excitedly to each other.

The Frankish had been sent to a refugee house outside of the Kattegat walls. In the last few years, more walls had been put up beyond these houses, creating two walls protecting the spaced out houses and the second wall protecting the city and Great Hall. The Frankish were easy to find, as they had brought an awful lot of stuff with them and were busy unloading it into the house when we arrived.

White Hair was sitting on the front step, and he immediately tried to stand up when he saw me. "Stay sitting, White Hair." I ordered gently, helping him sit back down. "You don't need to get up for me."

White Hair smiled and exposed his several missing teeth. "You're too good to me, Runa." I patted the old man's veiny hands and spotted the thralls were bringing the stuff inside. I recognized him immediately and narrowed my eyes.

Heahmund should've died in that plague. He had caught it and was sick for a whole month, praying to his god every day until he was recovered. When Igor died after him, I hated the Christian priest even more for the simple crime of living.

Heahmund caught me staring and stared back, keeping his face perfectly blank. If his god was so merciful, surely he would've killed Heahmund by now. The man had been in servitude for over fifteen years now.

Ivar and Bjomolf were inside the Frankish house, watching the Frankish and the thralls wander around and get everything set up. Galleren was standing with them, chatting friendly with Bjomolf and switching to cautiousness with Ivar. Thyri and Miroslava detached themselves from me almost instantly, searching for whoever this eastern man was. I went to where Ivar was meeting with the young Frankish nobleman and they all nodded deeply at my approach.

"I hope everything is up to your standards, Galleren." I said, glancing around the house. "If you need anything, please don't hesitate to ask."

Galleren smiled warmly at me. "Everything is perfect so far, your Grace. Thank you for your hospitality. Your husband and son have done a very fine job welcoming me here." He nodded at Bjomolf and I was struck with the fact that they were pretty much the same age. Bjomolf smiled back at Galleren, but Ivar was a lot more guarded.

"Galleren here was telling us about his life in Frankia." Ivar explained. "His family are apparently known to visit Rollo and his family."

I only knew Rollo from the stories the Ragnarssons told me. Hvitserk was the only one to have sailed with him, before the war to avenge Ragnar's death. But I nodded along and glanced around, taking in the different Frankish hovering around.

The Frankish men were all rather young, with the oldest looking close to thirty. Galleren was obviously the youngest. The whole party only consisted of ten men, far too small a party for a highborn young man. Galleren was currently talking about speaking to Rollo and getting very interested in Vikings, but I was doing a good job of tuning him out.

Iorek had wandered off and rejoined Thyri and Miroslava, and the teenaged girls had found the eastern man they'd been looking for.

The man had deep brown skin, and his eyes were black, I could tell from over here across the room. His black hair had a curl to it and it was tied back rather neatly. He looked young, like every other man in this traveling party, but he was definitely closer to Galleren's age, maybe around eighteen. He was nodding politely at my children and their friend, seemingly answering their questions. I must've been staring for a bit too long because Galleren cleared his throat.

"That, Queen Runa," Galleren got my attention back. "Is my companion Siraj. He and his family came to Frankia from past the Byzantine Empire. Siraj has been my companion since I was ten years old. I assure you, he's rather harmless."

"I wasn't worried about him hurting anyone." I said.

"How far east is the Byzantine Empire?" Ivar asked, a spark of curiosity shining in his eyes.

Galleren frowned. "I believe Siraj is from farther east. Past Jerusalem, for sure. The Byzantines only extend-" He stopped when Ivar decided to limp over to Siraj instead. Bjomolf narrowed his eyes at his father and quickly gave Galleren a quick apology before heading after Ivar.

"Forgive Ivar," I said, turning back to Galleren. "He's probably plotting out to sail to the Byzantines now."

Galleren looked vaguely interested in that statement. "Have you ever sailed with him? I imagine you could go on many adventures."

I smiled at that. "I've sailed with him a couple of times. Afraid I don't handle it fairly well. I'm not that good a Viking, you see."

Galleren chuckled in amusement at that and for a long silent moment we watched Ivar strike up a conversation with Siraj. From beside him, Thyri and Miroslava looked embarrassed that Ivar had gotten involved and I smiled to myself before glancing sideways at Galleren.

"Do you know who I am?" I asked. Galleren blinked and glanced around at me, looking very surprised at the question. I waited patiently for him to answer me with a cautious smile on his face.

"You are Runa." He said simply. "Queen of Kattegat and wife to Ivar the Boneless." Now his brow furrowed, knitting a dark 'V' right above his bright green eyes. "Why do you ask? Should I know you?"

"No." I said, keeping my eyes firmly on him. "I suppose you wouldn't. You're the son of a Frankish nobleman. Why is the son of a Frankish nobleman coming all the way up here to write?"

Galleren flashed me a smile and I was struck by how young he was. He had to only be a few months older than Bjomolf. "I explained myself when I came before you and your husband, your Grace-"

"Please don't call me your Grace." I cut him off. "Every time you say it, it reminds me of people I don't have business remembering. And Northmen don't really use the phrase anyway. Why are you here, Galleren of House Laurent?"

He gaped for a moment like a fish out of water. "I-"

"I knew you were lying the moment you explained why you came." I started. I threw a glance at Ivar to make sure that he couldn't hear. "You don't know this about me, but I've spent more than enough time in Wessex and among the people who like to read outside the Viking world. And common folk normally cannot read, Galleren. Surely someone from your standing would know that."

Galleren was not good at hiding his facial expressions. He looked very nervous for a long moment and something happened to my vision that for a moment made me think I was going mad. A fog was gathering around Galleren. The more nervous he looked, the thicker the fog got.

I squinted at Galleren, the fogginess hovering over him; it looked like it blocked his vision, but his eyes were still very clear and focused if not terrified. When he finally made eye contact with me, I saw it clearly all of a sudden.

"You're lost," I said blankly. Galleren froze and stared at me, the fog around his face clearing up slightly. "You're looking for yourself."

Galleren looked like I had just reached out and slapped him unprompted. He struggled to shake himself back to calmness. "No no, your Grace! I am as...I am as...I know who I am, Queen Runa."

I sighed quietly. "I assume you do. I know nothing of who you are or how you feel. I don't know why you're really here, seeing as the nobles and priests wouldn't be that interested in reading about how Northmen live. I know only what the gods decide to tell me."

There was a long hush. "Can you tell me about them?"

"The gods?" I asked. "Why would a Christian highborn want to know?"

Galleren kicked the ground. "All the text surrounding your people says that you worship bloody gods that demand you murder each other for sport. I...want the truth."

I looked him up and down. He seemed to be honest now. "Come to the Great Hall tomorrow for dinner and I'll explain all you want to know about the gods."

Galleren nodded at that, but he still looked nervous from being called out. He looked over to Ivar's back. "If you know, then why haven't you told your husband yet?" He asked without looking at me.

"Because Ivar would crucify you for lying and I want to know why you're here." I said darkly. "You don't have to tell me right now, Galleren of House Laurent. But get better at lying. There are people here better than me at finding the truth."

Galleren swallowed audibly but nodded in agreement. He extended his arm and I took it, and the young man walked me over to where Ivar was still interrogating Siraj. When we got there, Siraj looked to Galleren and his dark eyes were pleading for help.

"Siraj, this is Queen Runa." Galleren introduced us. "I see you've already met her husband and children."

"I hope they haven't been bothering you too much, Siraj." I said politely. He smiled politely back and shook his head, making sure to tell me that my family weren't bothersome at all.

"I may be sailing to the Mediterrean next summer." Ivar told me. "If Siraj is still here, he has promised he'll come along to show us the best way."

Siraj nodded. "It would be nice to see my homeland again. I haven't been since I was-" He looked down to Iorek and smiled. "Since I was about your age, young man."

Iorek blinked at the sudden attention and he narrowed his eyes rather aggressively at Siraj, not knowing what he said. I glanced at Thyri and Miroslava and immediately saw the two girls hanging on every word Siraj was saying. I instantly knew why they had wanted to come down here by themselves and I smirked to myself.

I quickly invited Siraj to come with Galleren tomorrow night and he accepted. Ivar and I left after saying goodbye. I raised my eyebrow at Thyri and Miroslava but decided not to try and purposefully embarrass them. Iorek stayed with Bjomolf and my eldest immediately fell into a conversation with Galleren. Ivar and I walked slowly back towards the city walls.

"What do you think of them?" Ivar asked immediately as we moved up the streets.

"I think they're here for something else, but who can tell." I replied evenly. "What about you?"

"I don't trust them." Ivar said without hesitation. "Why would Frankish come all this way? The only reason they do is to try and make us Christians."

"Religion seems to be the last thing on their mind. Galleren wants me to tell him about the gods tomorrow."

Ivar glanced at me. "Did he know about you not being born around here? About you being Saxon?"

"I don't think he knows." I said honestly. "If he did know about Augusta of Wessex, I'm sure he's under the impression that she's dead. Augusta's been dead for a long time now, Ivar."

He nodded morbidly and quickly reached around to squeeze my shoulders. "Not to me. You're always going to be Augusta to me."

I smiled at that and patted him gently, still walking and half supporting his weight. "Whatever these Frankish want, Ivar, we'll handle them. There are very few of them. I'm pretty sure the whole family outnumbers them."

Odin had told me years ago that change was coming. I'd been waiting for that day for a really long time now. Was the arrival of these Frankish the beginning of that change?


A/N: So my classes are all online now, this week is spring break, and my work is closed for the next two weeks because of coronavirus so I'm just gonna keep writing as much as I can and rewatch Outlander until the world decides to stop being chaotic. Stay safe out there, dear readers.