Chapter Eleven: Yuletide

Though the sunshine filtering through the gauzy clouds was thin and weak, it caught and shimmered all along the frozen branches. Snow had subsided to a bitter cold that coated the trees each night in a layer of glittering ice. That fragile ice cracked and broke beneath Rúna's fingers as she grabbed a branch to hold it stead while the tied a length of twine around it.

The trees had been decorated over the course of the twelve days leading up to the Yule feast. Frozen branches were heavy with carvings and offerings of food for the gods and trees alike. Here and there, apples spiked with cloves gave the air a heady, aromatic quality as Rúna spaced out her own carvings. The sweet spice of the cloved apples mixed with the tang of the evergreen needles and the cold air into one smell that Rúna could only ever describe as winter.

"Rúna! Come help us over here when you're done." Hvitserk called across the clearing. The ice bit at her fingertips as she worked, tying the twine twice before letting the little wooden rune dangle from the branch. This one was chosen by Floki—Óss, to honor Odin—finely carved by his hand and dipped in the blood of the sheep they had sacrificed at home that morning. Helga had chosen Sol for her carved rune, and Rúna had picked Wynn. Inspiration and wisdom; sun and honor; harmony and kinship. Only when she had tied all three runes to side-by-side branches did she turn toward Hvitserk's voice.

He, Ubbe, and Sigurd were constructing the wooden structures that would be lit for the fires after the feasting. They arranged the branches into triangular shapes, with an open space for kindling to be placed in the middle. "Come help us hold so Ubbe can tie for us."

She took Ubbe's spot between the younger boys, having to stretch onto her tiptoes to place her hands where his had been. "How many are we making?"

"Five," Sigurd motioned with his head at another some yards away. "Four on the perimeter, on in the center. Are you sure you can help with the last three?"

Rúna rolled her eyes, indignant breath puffing in front of her face. "I help Floki build boats. I'm sure these logs aren't that heavy."

Sigurd shrugged in response, shifting the weight of the branches as he did so. Hvitserk gave an indignant noise, catching one before it could slide out of formation. "Rude. I like your hair that way."

Usually pulled back into a singular braid not unlike Ubbe and Björn's, most of Sigurd's hair was loose. The wavy, straw-blonde strands reached his shoulders, and was dotted here and there with small braids. It softened his features, as did the smile that had often been on his face as of late. His smile was there now.

"What about my hair?" Hvitserk asked, shaking his long braids about. Sandy brown and silky, Hvitserk's hair was so like Aslaug's own. She took pride in that, Rúna knew, personally styling her son's hair in intricately braided styles.

"I like your hair, too, Hvitserk," she said around her giggles. Ubbe was not amused when he returned with a length of rope, weaving it in and out of the branches to keep the structure steady. He worked fast, wrapping the leftover around the top before tying a thick knot.

"Save the showing off for the feasting, huh?" Ubbe clapped each of his brothers on the back. His sledding injury was nearly healed, only some scabbing remaining from the cut. "We've work to do."

But his scolding had little effect, the brothers and Rúna laughing as they gathered the logs for the next structure. It was Yuletide, hardly the time for the seriousness that plagued Ubbe. They made a competition of it, seeing who could retrieve the most. Hvitserk had always been competitive, his nature spurring him into action. Sigurd, however, was stronger; he was built stouter than his lithe brother. Though small, younger, and a girl, Rúna was quick on her feet even when hauling the weight of a log behind her.

"No one said you could take two at a time, Sigurd!" Rúna shouted at his back, glaring at the logs balanced on his shoulders. It took both of her arms for her to move a log on her own.

"No one set any rules either!" Sigurd tossed over an occupied shoulder. Hvitserk was running through the snow, having just abandoned his third log, when he skidded to a stop in front of her. Without a word, Hvitserk took the log from Rúna's arms and spun on his heel, passing Sigurd moments later. "Hey!"

"No set rules, remember, brother?" Laughing, Rúna turned and ran to get another log. She and Hvitserk began working in tandem, easily keeping pace with Sigurd's doubled up efforts. Still, in the time it took the three of them to build their next structure, Ubbe had already finished one on his own. He stood to the side, arms crossed but smile amused, calling out predictions and narrating their antics.

"Rúna's gotten brave, Sigurd! She's got two logs now. Oh, but Hvitserk is still only carrying one at a time!"

In the end, it didn't matter who won—mostly because none of them were paying attention when Sigurd dropped the final log in the pile while Hvitserk and Rúna's fell short. Björn's voice cut through the clearing, drawing all of their attention to the east.

"Whoa! Keep a tighter hold on your side, Guthrum." The sound of Björn and Guthrum's footsteps crunching over the frozen snow preceded them, as did the huffing noise of an animal. Rúna knew that Björn had been tasked with finding a suitable animal for the Yule blót sacrifice, but none of them could have anticipated the beast led from the forest by Björn and his adopted son.

A massive, snow-white reindeer was reluctantly walking between the two of them. He made Björn look small, antlers clearing his head by several inches. Those antlers caught and tore on tree branches as Björn and Guthrum led him forward, filling the clearing with cracking sounds of ice and wood.

The cold air burned down her throat and into her lungs when Rúna sucked in her breath in shock. Never had Kattegat had a white reindeer for the Yule blót, at least not to her knowledge. Every year Rúna had lived in Kattegat, a regular deer or a typically colored reindeer served as the sacrifice.

"We've been blessed this year!" Björn looked for all the world like an animal himself—a hulking bear in his shaggy, furry cloak. "Ubbe, come help Guthrum on his side. Hvitserk with me, and Sigurd help us clear a path. It'll be no small feat getting this beast into town."

Rúna and the efforts to construct the bonfires were all but forgotten in the icy clearing as all the brothers fell into line. She huffed at their abandonment of the work but couldn't blame them. Her own heart had raced with excitement at the thought of having the white reindeer for the final sacrifice and feast that night. Besides, she did the same moments later when she took leave of the clearing herself. Charting a different path through Kattegat, Rúna made a beeline for Ivar. She burst through his cabin door in a flurry of fiery hair and swirling cloak.

"Ivar! You'll never guess!" She found him beside the fire, bound legs outstretched before the warmth and a book in his hand. This one looked different from the bible he had been trying to read before. The covering was a dark, muted red and embossed with the image of a rose. He looked up from the pages with an expectant gaze, one dark brow rising in silent question. Rúna knelt beside him, holding her cold hands out to the flames. "Björn and Guthrum tracked a white reindeer for the blót tonight."

Now both of his brows shot up as surprise colored his face. It was quickly replaced by a wide, satisfied smile. "The gods must love Kattegat again."

Rúna was unable to muster the same enthusiasm as Ivar's at the thought. Siggy's pale, bloated face flashed through her mind, making Rúna shiver despite the warmth of the fire. She reached out, tapping the cover of the book still in Ivar's hand, looking for a reason to change the subject. "What is this that you're reading?"

"Trying to read," Ivar groused, turning the book so she might see the pages. They were filled with someone's handwriting in faded ink. Some of the ink was colored, looking like the dyes Rúna had made from plants and berries. "It's a Yule gift from Björn. The book belonged to that Christian Athelstan. He would write in it often. Look here, see? 'Ragnar', just like in Athelstan's Bible. Björn says here is his own name written out, and the name of his sister he lost. See? 'Gyda'. Lagertha's name is in this, too, as well as my mother's."

She ran her finger over Gyda's name, thinking back to that afternoon of play when King Ragnar had gathered her into his lap to tell her of the daughter he missed so. "Surely you can piece together more of the Saxon language now, no? You have a few new letters to work with from Aslaug, Björn and Gyda's names."

Ivar nodded, eyes drifting back to the book's pages in his contemplation. "We will see. I should have a lot of time indoors this winter to puzzle it over before spring comes."

His expression soured some at that, no doubt thinking about how much winter still remained before the snow would melt and the earth woke. Rúna reached into the lining of her cloak, where she had sewn a pocket into it. She withdrew a small package, tied up with pattern fabric and twine. "Your fifteenth winter. I'm sure you'll survive this one, just like all the others."

He took the package from her, but did not open it, setting it beside him instead. "I have your Yule gift, too," he said, turning himself to balance on his hands. Rúna waited while he retrieved a leather pouch from the wooden chest at the foot of his bed. He tucked it into his belt for carrying before making his way back to her.

The pouch had weight in her palm. She rolled it back and forth, trying to get a feel for the contents while she watched Ivar open his own gift. After Ivar had given one of his gloves to Ubbe, it had come away hopelessly blood-soaked and ruined. Rúna had made him a new pair, lined with fur to warm and pad his hands against the hard, cold winter ground. He smiled, slipping a glove over his wrist brace to test the fit.

That smile was all the compliment she needed. "Open yours," he said excitedly, carefully working the new glove free. She pulled the drawstring, opening the pouch and pouring the contents into her hand. The beads were cool against her skin, smooth and polished to show off the designs carved in them. Holding a larger one close to the firelight, she saw the snarling face of Fenrir looking back at her.

"For your hair," Ivar explained. "I carved them from the antlers of that buck I killed on the summer hunt."

Her joy caused her to forget her words for a moment, instead flinging herself across the small distance separating them to throw her arms around his neck. He caught her, hands splaying along her back. She could feel the shake of his laughter in his shoulders, the sound muffled somewhat by her hair. "So you do like them?"

It wasn't unusual for Rúna to touch Ivar, of course. Helping support his weight when he stood or practiced walking was as natural as breathing for her. They had always been comfortable with each other, but for some reason, a blush bloomed in Rúna's cheeks now.

"I love them," she enthused once she withdrew from him. "I'll wear them tonight!"

She was so excited over Ivar's gift and the white reindeer that Rúna forgot to be anxious about the coming feast. After returning home from the sledding accident, she hadn't told either Helga nor Floki about how Queen Aslaug had nearly struck her. Only Ivar's protection had stopped the blow. Since that afternoon, the queen had been cold to Rúna. She was thankful for the distraction of the Yule festivities, keeping the shift in Aslaug's demeanor toward her largely unnoticed by the others.

If Ivar had noted it, he didn't speak on it. Hvitserk and Ubbe had seen, she knew, but the pair had been given the cold shoulder themselves, all three blamed for Ivar's injury during the accident.

"I'll be there to see them. My leg is fully healed, just as Harbard said it would be." Rúna kept her eyes trained on her new hair beads, carefully placing them back into the pouch and tying it closed.

"I'm glad to hear it," she said mildly, trying to hide her discomfort over talking of Harbard. "Yule wouldn't be the same without you. And I think this will be the best one yet."

If Rúna were honest, she didn't think of her life before Kattegat often. Something about Yule, though, always brought memories back and made her thankful for all that Floki and Helga had given her. She had not even known what Yule was until joining their family. Winters had always blended away with the same daily routines.

It was not that she was ever mistreated at the brothel. In fact, when she revisited those memories, they were all happy ones. She had many jobs there, along with the other little girls. Bodil and Gisli had been her playmates, a pair of twin sisters with white-blonde hair and dark blue eyes. The three of them had done all their chores together—washing clothing and bedding for the older girls, foraging for dinner in the nearby forest, tending to animals and one another. At night, they piled into a heap of furs kept under the kitchen table. With Bodil and Gisli, she learned to count coins and judge the value of trinkets given in way of payment.

Sometimes, one of the older girls would gather the littles on her lap to comb through their hair and tell them bedtime stories. Details surrounding the older girls were fuzzy in Rúna's memories. Those girls tended to either be transient or more occupied with the men who visited the hut.

But she loved her days in Kattegat better. Even in the beginning, when she missed Bodil and Gisli every day before she and Ivar became friends, she knew living with Floki and Helga was better than living at the brothel. Within days, she had her own bed for the first time in her life, and it had become obvious that she wouldn't go hungry there in that seaside cabin. Helga combed and braided her hair for her every night, no matter how tangled it became during play with the boys. Floki made her laugh every day with his antics and storytelling while teaching her and Ivar all things Viking.

Rúna knew she had taken the place of another, Helga and Floki's natural daughter Angrboda. Helga used to tell Rúna about the little girl at night sometimes, when Helga would tuck her into bed. She knew Angrboda had only been three years old when she caught a fever and passed away. When she was younger, Rúna had been deathly curious about the girl she had replaced, but she never asked Helga about her. She learned that lesson the hard way when Helga broke down in tears once. Rather, Rúna had made herself be satisfied with the crumbs of information about Angrboda Helga offered from time to time.

She was sorry Angrboda had died, but every year at Yule when they gave thanks to the gods during the sacrifices, the little girl was always on Rúna's list. She liked to think that Angrboda had a hand in her good fortune of being taken in by Helga and Floki.

"Rúna," Helga's voice drew her from her reminiscing, stilling her hands along the braid she was completing, "are you nearly ready?"

"Yes!" She called back, fingers flying as she finished her braid and tied it off with a length of leather. Rúna added one of the smaller hair beads Ivar had given her before adding that final braid to the arrangement she had been working on. The twelfth Yule feast, the last of the celebrations with the biggest sacrifice, was a time when everyone strived to look their best. Rúna wasn't surprised at all to find Helga in her pale-yellow silk dress, the beading on the bodice as lovely as it had been at all the past Yule feasts. That lovely dress had marked the holiday as much as the sacrifices, feasting, and gifts had all through Rúna's childhood.

Rúna herself still wore her homespun wools, though she had chosen her dark green wool dress with white embroidery so that her dress would match her hair beads. Floki, as always, was unconcerned with the trappings of tradition. He wore the same style of woolen tunic and pants that he would any day. Floki in any other clothing wouldn't be the same. His cloak was likewise muted when compared to Rúna and Helga's fur-lined pieces. She was cozy in that fur cloak, especially walking arm-in-arm with Helga to the great hall.

Winter made Ivar exceptionally grumpy, but it never failed to bring a smile to Rúna's face.

The firelight turned her hair itself to flames, the white bone beads standing out among all the luminosity. Ivar sucked in a breath at the sight of them dotting her intricate braids. She really had worn them. Rúna trailed behind Floki and Helga, pausing a moment to look over Ubbe's shoulder at the game of dice he was playing with Guthrum. They would take a seat with Björn and his family, Ivar knew, just off to the side of the dais he, his brothers, and Aslaug would dine on.

Beside him, Aslaug reached for his hand, her long fingers cold as they wrapped around his. The queen had never been a warm person, and Ivar had inherited that temperament. He had never minded her cool touch; in actuality, he had always welcomed it with how often he suffered pain and fevers as a child. "You are set on coming to the sacrifice after the feasting, aren't you?"

Firelight glittered on his mother as well, catching on the beaded headband that circled her forehead. Large, shimmering earrings framed her face, as did jewels at her throat. Aslaug certainly knew how to play to her royal heritage.

"Yes, Mother," Ivar was certain he must have repeated himself a thousand times that day. "Ubbe will carry me. He is my legs, remember?"

When the brothers had all been younger, it had often been Ubbe's responsibility to carry Ivar when needed. He was the oldest and still the largest, though Sigurd was catching up to him in size. Already, Sigurd was as tall as Hvitserk. Aslaug smiled softly, eyes dropping down to their hands. "Yes, he is."

She didn't argue further, and Ivar knew he had won. He shouldn't have been surprised by that, though. Aslaug had never denied him any wish in his life. Seeing the quiet, resigned worry in his mother's features made Ivar's heart sink.

"They healer said my leg is fine now," he reminded her. "I will be alright, Mother."

"I know you will, my little warrior." It was a term of affection she had often thrown out when he was younger, especially when the pain in his legs made him weep and scream. As it slipped from her lips now, though, her eyes drifted along the crowd. They landed on Rúna, just as Ivar's had, and something in his mother's face tightened. So did her hold on his hand, though she didn't seem to notice she was now squeezing him.

Aslaug had been mad, he knew, when he had caught her hand and stopped her from striking Rúna after the sledding accident. It had been just that; an accident. There was no blame to place on anyone, not even Sigurd. No one had deserved to be hit over it; not Rúna, nor Ubbe, nor Hvitserk.

Would he have stopped Aslaug from hitting his brothers, if that had been where she had directed her anger? He couldn't say, but it seemed Aslaug had come to a conclusion on her own. "Perhaps I was wrong about that girl. She comes from low stock, never mind who has raised her."

Ivar cut his eyes at her, glaring. "Don't talk of Rúna that way, Mother. She is my friend."

Aslaug was quiet for so long beside him that he thought she might be ignoring him. Then she reached for her wine cup with her free hand, taking a deep pull and setting it down with a clink on the table. She let go of his hand then, withdrawing her own into her lap. "Yes, I'm aware."

Ivar felt his jaw clench, teething grinding against each other. He didn't like the look in his mother's eye. All his brothers were spread out around the great hall, taking part in the festivities before the feast. Yet here he was, sitting on the dais beside his mother, to her right side. That spot should have been Ubbe's by birthright, he knew, yet he always occupied the chair closest to Queen Aslaug.

Before he could give it much thought, Ivar pushed away from the table, chair legs scraping against the wood. He lowered himself to the ground, balancing his weight between his hands.

"Where are you going?" Aslaug asked, surprise coloring her words. Ivar didn't bother to answer as he moved forward, bound legs trailing after him. Stairs were difficult for him, but not impossible, and he was so used to the dais steps that it was nothing for him to navigate himself down them. Had Ubbe not taken Guthrum to learn gambling games with the other older boys, the seat beside Rúna would have been occupied by Ivar's adopted nephew. As it was, there was a gap between her and Björn—one Ivar felt no qualms in filling, hauling himself into Guthrum's chair.

"Hello, Ivar," Floki greeted, his characteristic slanted smirk on his face. There was a mischievous twinkle in his black-rimmed eyes, as always. "Björn was just telling us of the white reindeer he and Guthrum stumbled upon. Perhaps we'll see Odin as a wanderer with a long, snowy beard this night."

"Rúna told me about the reindeer." He turned to Björn, thumping his oldest brother on the shoulder. "A bear, a berserker, a reindeer. Is there any beast that can best Björn Ironside?"

"Perhaps this one!" Björn's massive hand all but swallowed little Hali, sitting in Torvi's lap, as he tickled his son's stomach. The baby erupted in a fit of giggles, turning himself toward Torvi to shield himself. Torvi herself smiled, smoothing back Hali's wispy, fair hair and kissing the top of his head. Ivar's stomach gave a strange squeeze watching them. He couldn't place the cause of the sudden wave of almost-sadness that washed over him. Turning to Rúna, he tried to block out Hali's continued laughter.

There was plenty to distract him. Hvitserk's voice cut through the din, calling good-natured taunts at Sigurd, who had begun strumming on his oud. The music weaved itself around the cacophony of voices filling the great hall, but he turned his focus on Rúna. "Walk with us tonight, to the sacrifice. Me and Ubbe."

Her wide, gray eyes slid to Helga and Floki, who had turned to watch Sigurd's playing. A quick glance over Rúna's head revealed that Sigurd was playing perched on the dais, fingers flitting over the strings to pluck out a jaunty melody. Rúna pursed her lips but didn't bother asking permission. "I will. I almost feel bad about it, though. The white reindeer. Wait until you see him, Ivar, he's beautiful."

Excitement lit her face from within, smile wide and almost nostalgic. Too soon, the smell of roast meat filled the great hall, mingling with the sharp, sweet scent of the Yule log burning in the hearth. Ivar's mouth quirked down, knowing he would have to leave Björn's table and retake his place between Aslaug and Ubbe. He gave a smile to Rúna before pushing away from the table. "I'm sure he is. I'll see you after the feasting."

Ubbe was so attuned to Ivar's habits that he had already pulled his brother's chair out for him by the time Ivar had made his way up the dais steps. Once he was settled, Ubbe even helped him push his chair in closer, something that could be a real struggle with bound legs. Ivar nodded to his older brother, trying not to look too long at the healing scab marring Ubbe's forehead.

As always, Aslaug had planned a delicious feast. There was honeyed ham and roasted vegetables, fresh buttered bread and dried summer berries swimming in thick cream. His cup of mead was never empty, thanks to Margrethe and the other slave girls. They moved around in swirls of skirts and busy hands, but Ivar hardly noticed them, just as he hardly noticed the taste of the food set before him. Sitting beside his mother that night was tense. Already waifish, Aslaug picked at her meal while stealing glances at Rúna.

Halfway through the feast, Hvitserk and Sigurd left their seats to heft the last of the Yule log into the flames. Yule logs were always massive; it took their combined efforts to get it into the hearth. They laughed as they did so, yanking their hands back before they ended up burned. Everyone's attention was drawn to their antics and that was when Aslaug leaned into Ivar to whisper to him.

"Tell Rúna to stop by the great hall after the sacrifice. I've a Yule gift for her." Her tone was as warm as the breath washing across his cheek. Ivar smiled, satisfied that his mother's foul mood seemed to have finally passed.

His good mood only increased when the feast was over and the short voyage to the sacrifice site began. True to her word, Rúna sought out he and Ubbe, falling in line beside them as they all made their way through the forest. Night was thick around them. Hvitserk, Floki, Björn, and some others carried torches to light the way, but the flames only beat back so much of the darkness. There was laughing and jests carrying through the trees when people tripped and bumped into one another in the near-dark.

"We will be the sacrifice at this rate," Rúna huffed after she tripped. Her hand reached out, seeking something solid to hold her steady. She found purchase on the fabric of Ivar's pant leg, clutching at the excess of fabric that could be found there. The cold air burned in his lungs at his surprised gasp. Unless it was in the pursuit of aiding him in some way, people didn't usually touch his legs. Having found her balance again, Rúna smiled up at him. Her teeth gleamed white in the dim firelight the torches afforded.

She didn't move her hand away. Not until they reached the clearing, which was ablaze with the night fires his brothers and Rúna had built earlier that day. Ivar wasn't certain he took one full breath until she let go again.

Ubbe settled Ivar on the stump someone had positioned for him, set close enough to one of the fires he would be warm without a cloak. Given his mode of travel, Ivar almost never wore any kind of covering over his clothes. Rúna's gifted gloves were the only winter wear he donned, unless you counted his fur-lined pants. "Are you comfortable?"

"I'll be fine," Ivar reassured him with a smile, clapping him on his shoulder. Ubbe wandered away to be with their other brothers, but Rúna lingered at his side. She had tipped her head back, looking at the vibrant green lights staining the sky. Here and there, the lights were streaked through with blues and purples.

"Remember how Floki taught us the lights are paths for fallen Vikings to follow to Valhalla?" Her whispered question manifested in a puff of steam in front of her face, the cold stealing her words. He didn't have to guess where her thoughts were. The lights were low that night, so low it felt like a good jump from someone with working legs might be able to brush their fingers along the lights.

The crackling and popping of the fire was comforting, but a chill still ran down his spine. They were both remembering the human sacrifice they witnessed as children, he was sure. He had felt the presence of the gods for the first time that night, and he felt it again now. She was still watching the sky when a sharp, animalistic huff caught Ivar's attention. There was Björn, leading the massive beast forward to where his wife and Aslaug waited.

"Rúna." He touched her hand to get her attention. "It's starting."

Björn held the reindeer at bay while Aslaug finished painting Torvi's face. She was rendered white as the winter snow all around them, parallel black lines running the length of her face. "Torvi must be freezing."

Rúna meant her dress—only a plain linen shift, expendable for a messy sacrifice. A shiver racked through Rúna as if she were in Torvi's place. She had been right about the reindeer; it was beautiful. The way it stood so stoically, eyes trained on Torvi, Ivar wondered if perhaps the beast had sense. Did it have any concept of the gods? The reindeer certainly didn't fight against Björn, though it must know it was in danger with so many humans close by.

"Gods of the AEsir and Vanir, you come to us at this Winter's Solstice," Torvi called into the night, pulling Ivar from his musings over the reindeer.

As a longship through an ageless, misty sea, reaching its port of call as helmsmen to our folk. Ivar knew the Yuletide sacrifice words by heart, having heard them every year of his life. Beside him, Rúna mouthed them to herself along with Torvi.

"Through eons you have watched us."

Floki and a few other men were making the rounds, quickly pouring horns of mead and pressing them into the on-lookers hands before Torvi could deliver the next line of the age-old prayer. Ivar and Rúna raised theirs just in time. "We lift this horn of mead to you, lords of the two horizons! Bequeath to us the token of your guidance."

Everyone drank heartily here, downing their horns in a toast to the gods.

Even the fire seemed to still when Torvi pulled the large, wickedly curved sacrificial blade from a bundle of cloth. The reindeer did not buck or fight when Björn led him closer. Torvi stroked the beast's head soothingly, making a low tutting noise at it just the way she did at Hali when she aimed to calm him. Shiny, black eyes didn't drift from her face, even when she sunk the blade into the reindeer's neck.

Rúna sucked in her breath beside him. She must have been thinking of that human sacrifice, so long ago, when his father had first gone missing. Her hand flitted from the folds of her cloak, seeking his own, just as she had that night when they were children. She clung to him as the thick river of dark, steaming blood began to pour from the reindeer's throat. The life's blood stained white fur and Torvi's shift alike, melting the snow beneath with its heat when the blood overflowed the confines of the collection basin.

"Now may the days grow ever longer." Torvi's voice still cut through the silence, but it was softer now, somehow. "May the light shine forth from the sky, turning the tide of winter."

"To you we now hail the sun's rebirth." The ending of the prayer seemed to slip from everyone's lips unbidden—a habit, a reflex. As it died before their eyes, the reindeer never made a sound. The air felt almost too heavy to breathe, until Hvitserk's voice wakened the crowd.

"Skol!" He shouted, earning enthusiastic shouts back. There were calls of 'Allfather' and 'Odin' as well. Aslaug and Björn dipped bowls into the collected blood amidst the lively ruckus, making their rounds to mark the faces of the crowd in blessings. Dipping two fingers into the still-warm blood, Björn drew a stripe first down Ivar's face and then Rúna's, murmuring the words of blessing all the while.

The blood felt tight on his face, drying almost immediately in the cold. Rúna still had hold of his hand, under her cloak. He gave her hand a tug, drawing her closer to him. "Stop by the great hall on your way home," Ivar murmured to her. "Mother says she has a Yule gift for you."

An odd quirk tugged at her mouth, but then she smiled and nodded. "I'll tell Helga."

And then she pulled away from him, taking the warmth of her hand in his with her, set on her course to find Helga and Floki. He watched her blend into the crowd, small form swallowed by all the vaguely familiar townspeople milling about. His gaze was still focused on movements he could no longer see, so that Ubbe startled him when he mussed Ivar's hair.

"Yuletide is finished for the year," Ubbe said around a yawn, words distorted. Björn had marked Ubbe on the same side as Ivar, twin blood streaks running from forehead to chin. "Let's go home, baby brother."

Ivar settled Ubbe's long braid over his shoulder, so as not to pull on his brother's hair while riding on his back. "Think we can get through this next year without any broken legs?"

"You'll be carrying me until you find someone to dump me on, broken leg or no." Ubbe's laugh echoed in Ivar's chest. The way Ubbe hefted him on his back, Ivar was able to rest his chin on the crown of the older boy's head.

"Hvitserk can start pulling his weight. Or your weight, rather. We'll get you a nice, young slave boy after that."

Or perhaps I'll walk, brother. He looked through the crowd, trying to catch a glimpse of Rúna's hair in the diminishing firelight afforded by the torches. The night fires had been left to burn themselves out in the clearing, to herald in the sun for the coming spring. He couldn't find her, but that didn't stop his mind from wondering if it was too soon to talk her into more walking practice. She'll argue it's too soon, but surely I can convince her.

It was a Yule tradition that Aslaug's sons return to the great hall on the twelfth night of feasting, all four sleeping in their shared room from their boyhood. But Ivar didn't let Ubbe carry him that far. Hitting Ubbe's shoulder, Ivar motioned toward the table the brothers would eat at come the morning. "Put me down, Ubbe. I'll wait for Mother."

"Suit yourself." Their breath puffed in the cold air. Margrethe had already put out the fire in the hearth of the eating hall. "I'll be warm in my bed, just like Hvitserk and Sigurd. Come to mine if you get too cold out here, yeah?"

"I will."

Cold did settle into him, starting with his feet. It was always his feet first. Through the leather of his boots and his wool socks, spreading up his legs. He shifted his weight, trying to move his legs a little, at least. Ubbe had left them unbound, but it had always been easier to move them when they were tied into one limb. For all their lack of muscle and fat, his legs had felt heavy his whole life.

MOVE! The inward shout did little to inspire his stubborn left ankle, refusing to roll. Frustration flaring, Ivar grabbed his pant leg and lifted the offending foot off the ground before dropping it—not gently. The pain was like sewing needles piercing his skin and lodging deep in his bones, stealing his breath from his chest and clouding his sight with a red haze.

The pain had him curling in on himself, which Aslaug must have mistaken for his being cold. Her arrival in the great hall had gone unnoticed by Ivar until a thick blanket was wrapped around his shoulders, his mother's hand smoothing his hair. "Ivar, love, you might've woken Margrethe to build a fire for you."

"I'll survive a little chill, Mother." He watched her move around the table he sat at, lighting candles to give the room some light. The blanket was comforting; Ivar pulled it close around his shoulders. His eyes slid from Aslaug and her candle lighting, gaze fixing on the doors as he waited for Rúna. She didn't make him wait long; soon enough, there she was, slipping through the door and closing it quietly behind her.

"Rúna!" Aslaug's voice was soft, measured. "Come quietly, the other boys are sleeping."

Sparing a smile toward Ivar, Rúna did as Aslaug bid her, stopping just short of the table. The candlelight painted her face golden, save for the stripe of sacrificial blood still running from forehead to chin on the right side of her face. She folded her hands demurely before her. "Ivar said you had a Yule gift for me, Queen Aslaug."

"Yes, wait here a moment with Ivar, won't you?"

"Of course." She dipped her head in deference, almost eliciting a laugh from Ivar. He waited until Aslaug disappeared behind the curtain hanging in the doorway of her bedroom before clasping his hands before him in mockery of Rúna's deference.

A corner of cloak swatted at him in retaliation, mirth lighting Rúna's eyes even as she tried to scowl at him. "Behave, Budlungr."

He merely smiled wider. Rúna only ever called him 'prince' in jest. Aslaug returned before he could trade barbs, carrying something folded over her arm. Fabric, obviously, but it wasn't clear that the bundle was a considerable length of fine, silvery-blue silk until it was laid before Rúna.

"You are coming up on fifteen summers, Rúna. It is time you had a young woman's dress."

Eyes wide with surprise, Rúna's gaze flitted between the silk before her and Aslaug's waiting figure. "Queen Aslaug, I—"

"Will accept the gift graciously." Aslaug smiled here, face softening. "I want you to have it, Rúna. You will have something fine, now, to wear by the next midsummer blót."

"Yes, Queen Aslaug. Thank you. Truly." Obedient once more, Rúna carefully folded her new silk and tucked it under her cloak to protect the fabric from any wayward snowflakes. "I am so grateful."

Aslaug moved forward, still smiling, but Ivar caught the way Rúna flinched ever-so-slightly at the queen's raised hand. She only cupped the younger girl's cheek, though. "It will bring out your eyes. Floki and Helga are waiting for you, I'm sure. You had best be home and warm in your bed."

A wave of the hand was all the farewell Ivar got as Rúna retreated from the great hall. He smiled up at his mother, pleased that she would give Rúna such a gift after the sledding incident. The queen cupped his cheek just as she had Rúna's, stooping to kiss her youngest son on the forehead.

"Your bed is waiting as well, my love."

He took the blanket with her, crawling aptly through the growing dark while Aslaug blew out the candles. Ubbe had left the bedroom door open for him.

"Scoot over," he whispered to Ubbe's sleeping form, earning a grunt in response. But his brother rolled enough to give Ivar room to haul himself into bed after slipping his boots from his feet. He relaxed into Ubbe's warmth, rolling himself in Aslaug's blanket as his head found the pillow.