Chapter Thirteen: Growth

Spring. It was always a beautiful season for Kattegat, and three of the sons of Ragnar, their adopted nephew, and a certain redhaired family friend were all inclined to agree. The sun was warm and gentle on the crowns of their heads as they raced through the meadow. Ivar sat at one end atop a stump, arms flung wide on either side. Pairs of runners charged through the sweet new grass, aiming to be the first to touch Ivar's hand on their side.

Rúna's cheeks were stained red as her hair, panting breath burning in her chest. She had already bested both Guthrum and Hvitserk in their footraces. Ubbe was her only undefeated contender. The meadow was long and wide, their strides stirring insects as they ran. A stitch began to pull in her side, but she forced her legs to move faster. Ubbe was taller, covering more ground in each of his strides, but Rúna was lighter.

Guthrum and Hvitserk's yells rang dully in her ears, overtaken by the roaring of her blood in her pounding head. She had run her races with the other two back-to-back. Though tired, Hvitserk had egged her on to take Ubbe's challenge immediately. There was regret in this choice, now, but she refused to give up.

Her hand slapped against Ivar's, the hard leather of his wrist brace stinging her palm.

"It's a tie!" Hvitserk shouted, smile falling into a small frown. "I am glad we didn't make a bet, Guthrum. We would both be losers."

"A tie after she had already run two races." Ubbe clapped her on the back, hard, as if she were one of the boys. "I'm lucky I got that tie at all."

Ivar smiled at her, reaching past his brother to give her arm a congratulatory squeeze. He offered his water skein to her and she drank deeply, the water cooling her too-hot chest and tasting like an elixir from the gods on her dry throat.

She smiled back at him, lips glistening from the water. Her hair was plaited into three braids, and those plaits braided together, dotted all around with the bone beads he had given her at Yule. Those beads seemed to wink at him in the spring sunshine. "That was fun," she was still smiling, but sunk down into the grass beside him to rest her legs.

There was a certain someone missing from their day of training, though the only 'training' completed so far was the racing. While his broken nose and bruised face had healed, Sigurd's feelings following his last fight with Ivar had not. He had refused Ubbe's invitation to join them.

"Let's take a break." Ivar bent forward, easing himself off the stump as Hvitserk laughed.

"And what do you need a break from, Little Ivar?"

A cold, blue glare preceded his words. "From your mouth, brother. It's not half so smart as you think it is."

But Hvitserk only laughed again, dropping to the ground where he stood with no protesting. Instead, he reached into his bag, withdrawing a thick cloth stained dark in some places. Ubbe and Guthrum sat as well, forming a loose circle. Hvitserk revealed his bounty to them; honeycombs, dripping with dark, sweet gold.

"Björn and I found a hive yesterday," he explained, passing pieces around. "Spring bees are something fierce. It took forever to smoke them out to get these combs."

The honey was sticky on Rúna's fingers and between her teeth, but it coated her mouth in decadent sweetness. Grass swayed around them in a soft spring breeze. Ubbe was the only one still thinking of their training. "Rúna, you should spar with Guthrum. The two of you are not so different in size, so you should be well-matched. Hvitserk, you and Ivar can face off."

"I suppose you are an expert swordsman, then?" Ivar asked, prompting Ubbe's crooked smile that was so like the one King Ragnar used to wear.

"The three of us will trade off," he amended.

"And Ivar's helping me with axe throwing today, too," Rúna added, nodding toward their pile of weapons they had shed for the races.

"Guthrum," Hvitserk cut in, sucking the last of the honey off his fingers. "How old are you again?"

"Thirteen. Why?" The young boy batted a dark curl from his eyes. He wore his hair pulled back, but the running and wind had mussed it.

"Old enough, then. I've something to tell you all." Hvitserk dropped his voice to an almost-whisper, as if they might be overheard in their clearing. It caused the others to lean in. "You know the slave girl Sigurd has been coupling up with? Margrethe? Well, I decided I should be a good older brother and see what it was about this girl that has Sigurd so spellbound."

"So you had sex with her?" Ivar asked earning himself a pout and handful of grass in the face from Hvitserk.

"Thank you for ruining the reveal, Ivar, but yes. I did have sex with her." Ivar turned to Rúna, palm open and waiting, but she only slapped his hand.

"I didn't bring coins with me to training. I was not anticipating losing a bet today," she scowled at him, making Ivar grin.

"You should be prepared for all eventualities, Rúna." She rolled her eyes at him, turning her gaze back to Hvitserk, who seemed to have forgotten how to close his mouth.

"The two of you had a bet on me?" Ivar waved his brother's shock away with his hand.

"Don't laugh, Ubbe, you were included as well. It applied to either of you. I bet it was a matter of time before another of my brothers shacked up with Margrethe, but Rúna put more faith in your sensibilities."

Rúna shrugged, giggling at Hvitserk's mock hurt and Ubbe's annoyed expression. Not to mention Guthrum's burning blush taking residence in his cheeks. "I'll pay you tomorrow, Ivar."

"I would give you details," Hvitserk soldiered on, "but Guthrum is already red just from hearing the word 'sex'. Björn and Torvi would not be thrilled with us if we returned their child traumatized. Perhaps I'll demand a charge to know more since Rúna is just handing out coin lately."

"It's you who should be handing out coin," Rúna countered, eliciting a long-suffering sigh from Ivar. He had heard this spiel before from her—often. Though she knew he didn't agree with it, Rúna had no problem reiterating her view. "And Sigurd. Margrethe likely could have bought her freedom by now between the two of you."

"She didn't have to sleep with either of us!" Hvitserk argued.

"She might have said no, if she didn't want to," Ubbe agreed, making Ivar nod alongside his brothers.

"Guthrum, listen and maybe you'll come out of this conversation smarter than your brothers. Margrethe is a slave girl. She can't say no to any master she serves, let alone a prince!"

"You have told us no to various things for years," Ubbe pointed out, Hvitserk nodding his head emphatically.

"A point I've made, too, brother." This was nothing new for Ivar. He and Rúna had argued in circles over this countless times since Sigurd had first sought out Margrethe.

"I'm not a slave," Rúna reminded them. "I might anger any of you, but I can say no anytime I want because I'm not in your service. There's no obligation for me to submit myself to any requests from any of you unless I choose to."

"But Margrethe is a slave, not a prostitute. I don't have to give her coin. You should know how a brothel works, Rúna, and last I knew Margrethe isn't running one."

"She wouldn't be able to, being a slave." Rúna was not going to let them forget their place of power over Margrethe. "And you have no contract binding you to pay her, I know that, but considering she can't say no and you're soliciting her for something she may not want to do."

Here, Hvitserk's face broke into a goofy grin, his eyes clouding over in memory. "Trust me, Rúna, she wanted to. I don't think any woman would make those noises when they didn't want it."

Rúna blew her breath, rising from the grass and brushing stray blades and dust from her pants. "Come, Guthrum, before I hit your uncles. Hvitserk, you do not know anything about a brothel if you think a woman can't feign pleasure to appease a man."

Ivar's laughter followed her through the meadow just as Guthrum did. She chose a spot clear across from the brothers for their sword practice. Though just thirteen, Guthrum was an inch or so taller than her. He may not have been Björn's natural son, but the boy's lanky limbs promised a height that could rival his father's looming frame. They used old, blunted swords for most of their trainings, but Rúna opted for the sword Lagertha had gifted her. She didn't have much practice with it, having only used it when training with Ivar.

"Real swords?" Guthrum asked her, paling a little. She smiled at him.

"I won't truly strike you. It is easier to practice with your true sword than you think. Just be mindful that they are sharp, so you don't forget to dodge if a stroke comes too close."

Ubbe had been smart to pair Guthrum and Rúna together. They were well-matched, despite the size difference. Rúna was accustomed to training with Ivar and his heavy blows. Seated, as Ivar always was during their spars, he maintained a considerable reach and his incredible strength was undeniable, but he was still easier to dodge than Guthrum. The boy's long limbs had her backing away time and again, sword strokes too quick to get hers up.

But Guthrum was pressed as well. He obviously hadn't fought someone so much smaller than him before; Rúna's darting and quick footwork got him cornered several times over. From Ivar, she had learned to block and to do it quickly, to take any opening you saw to get a blow in. From Guthrum, she was learning the dance of sword fighting, since Guthrum had more freedom of movement. The two went on until they tired themselves out, calling off their sparring and sitting in the grass to watch Ubbe, Ivar, and Hvitserk.

Ivar's training was different, obviously, catered to his abilities. Ubbe came at him from one side, Hvitserk poised to strike on the opposite. "Surely he cannot fend off both."

Rúna smiled at Guthrum's assumption. "You would be surprised. Ivar's legs do not stop him from being Viking."

It was true that Ivar's swordplay was best when he was seated, but he could manage from the ground as well. He not only blocked Ubbe's blow, but he countered with one of his own so powerful that he knocked Ubbe's sword from his hand. Then he ducked low to avoid Hvitserk's swipe, dropping his sword and then himself, recovering his weapon as he rolled and pushed himself to his knees, aiming a blow that would have taken Hvitserk's legs clean off beneath him had it been real.

The false mortal blow to Hvitserk had given Ubbe enough time to recover his sword. He went for a deadly downstroke, but Ivar rolled away before planting his sword into the earth, grabbing the grip in one hand and pulling himself to his feet, unsheathing his knife with the other. Ubbe was still turning, his side open for Ivar to feign a stab that would have sent the blade between his brother's ribs and into a lung.

Ivar smiled, the sweat from his efforts plastering his cropped hair to his forehead. His eyes were bright with self-pride as Ubbe and Hvitserk clapped him on the shoulder. Rúna was proud, too, the feeling swelling in her chest as she took in his strength and quick thinking to prevail over two able-bodied opponents.

He is not the fox, she thought, smiling so wide her cheeks burned with the happiness of Ivar's triumph.

Helga was right, Rúna was spending much of her spring in the tunics and pants she wore for training. Only sometimes she wore them on the beach and into the forest, helping Floki fell trees and harvest wood, which was worked into planks for boat building.

"More weight in the middle, I think."

The season was still tender and new, the earth slowly waking after the winter. Nights were still frosty, leaving the mornings filled with silver-plated grass and mist. Rúna moved through that mist as the sun continued rising, hauling rocks to place in the center of the long plank of wood they were shaping. Floki adjusted the ends, crouching to inspect the angle of the curve. They worked together to adjust the weight and endpoints until Floki was nodding, satisfied. "There. We will leave these here to set and dry in the sun. Helga is up now, I'm sure. Let's go break our fast, we'll return to our work after."

She followed him back across the beach to their home, slipping through the door to find Helga had already filled the cabin with savory scents. Helga plied the two of them with porridge and sausages, bread slathered with butter and honey, a thick cup of mead for Floki and fresh milk for Rúna.

Floki had pulled Rúna from her bed before the sun was up, giving her hardly enough time to dress. Helga tutted over her sleep-mussed braids, untying the cords holding them together and working her fingers through the auburn strands. "Floki," she admonished.

"She's building boats, not attending a feast." Still, Helga sectioned and braided Rúna's hair while she ate. Rúna sat as still as she could while Helga took the long braids and wound them around her head before taking a hair needle and cord to sew them into place.

"Her hair is so long, it's a wonder it didn't end up in the way and hacked with an axe by accident." Floki pursed his lips and raised his eyebrows dramatically, gaze flickering between Helga and Rúna. The latter gave a rueful smile.

"You did nearly get one of my braids, once, when we were cutting trees this morning." They had worked by the light of the stars and a bright, setting full moon before the sun rose. If they were to keep Björn's timeline of leaving by midsummer, they would need to work on the boats every possible hour.

Floki narrowed his eyes, but the glimmer there betrayed his playfulness. "I'm outnumbered." He raised his hands palm-up in surrender. "At least your lovely hair will survive this battle, unlike myself."

The sun had risen fully by the time Floki and Rúna left the cabin, burning away the last of the mist and frost. Back at the worksite, Floki ran his hands along the length of planks they had set to shape earlier, monitoring how they dried. He nodded to himself before setting Rúna to fitting and hammering pieces of the boat frame together. It rose skeletal around them as they worked, looking ghostly without the hull and deck.

"Rúna, do you think Ivar will join us today?" She shook her head at his question, stretching on her tiptoes to help support the beam Floki was fastening.

"He was showing off at training yesterday." Her own muscles were sore and resisting her movements as she worked. A rueful smile overtook her lips, grey eyes shining with mirth. "He even stood up. I would be surprised if he was even awake yet."

The sun was nearly to the center of the sky, midday bright all around them. Floki giggled, motioning with his hand for her to move down the boat frame. "I wanted to get the mast raised on the other boats. I was hoping Ivar would be by and could help you, but we'll save that work for when the lie-about is feeling better. How did he ever manage to get on his feet on the training field?"

With a giggle, Rúna described the way Ivar had used his planted sword as leverage. "If it had been a real fight, he would have won hands down. Guthrum was quite shocked. I don't think he had ever seen Ivar in action before yesterday afternoon."

"It's a wonder how he managed to get his feet under him in his bindings. Or did he wear his braces?"

"No, his bindings."

Father and daughter worked in tandem, continuing to discuss Ivar. Rúna told Floki of Ivar and Sigurd's recent fight, leaving the older man shaking his head. "They haven't had such a physical fight in some time."

"I know," Rúna scowled, expression souring. "It was because Sigurd walked in on Ivar's walking practice."

This information gave Floki pause. "Rúna…Sigurd has not told Aslaug of this, has he?"

She shook her head. "As far as I know, he hasn't told anyone. If Ubbe or Björn knew, I think they would have asked me about it. And Hvitserk might have teased Ivar by now."

"The queen would be angry to know of such things," he reminded her. "She allows Ivar to train and hunt with his brothers, yes, but it was enough of a fight to get her to agree Ivar freedom from his cart. If she knew he was taking the 'unnecessary' risk of trying to walk…"

He didn't need to finish that sentence. Rúna knew how angry Queen Aslaug would be—even Ivar was aware. There was a reason he kept his crutches beneath his bed. "I know. I know. But he's doing so well, Floki, at least on his good days."

Floki caught her by the wrist, to draw her attention. "Just be discreet. I know how Ivar yearns to walk. He is strong and smart, but the pain of both his legs and being different clouds his better senses so often."

Rúna knew Floki was right in his concern. She only nodded in response. "Good girl. Now, we need to make sure this frame is seaworthy before we build around it. Walk the boat for me, Rúna."

This was something they both did, Rúna first and then Floki. Reaching up, Rúna grabbed hold of the frame and pulled herself onto it. She held her hands out for balance, placing one foot directly in front of the other on the beam, journeying along to check for buckling or unevenness in their work.

From the beach, Floki watched Rúna as she walked the boat. Though he always felt a fierce pride for this girl who had become his daughter, sometimes he couldn't help but compare her to the daughter who had come before. Angrboda had only been three when she passed; Rúna was six when she came to live with them. Where Angrboda had a crown of Helga's flaxen hair and Floki's dark eyes, he could not say which of her natural parents had given Rúna her flaming mane of red hair or those cool gray eyes. Little Angrboda was always a toddler in his memories, but here Rúna was nearly a woman grown.

She had always been small, but strong. Training, boat building, and assisting Ivar had given her musculature that couldn't be hidden in her tunic and pants. Rúna had the figure of a shieldmaiden, but would Angrboda have been the same? Helga was not one for fighting, and Floki had always loved that about her. His wife was a serene reprieve from his Viking warrior life. Would she have raised their natural daughter the same?

These thoughts often ran through his mind. He wished there was some way to get answers, but even the Seer could only cast the future for the living, not the what-ifs of the dead.

He knew one thing for sure: whether Angrboda had lived or Rúna was fated to be his only daughter, had he been able to raise her again, he would not have allowed Rúna to take this precarious place in Aslaug's eyes.

Sometimes he wondered if the girl even realized that the queen viewed her as something between a slave and an eventual wife for her youngest son, flipping between disdain and respect depending on how favorable she found the girl on any given day.

Floki had to quickly drop the scowl such thoughts brought on, training a smile onto his face when Rúna turned back to him.

"I think it's strong enough," she called down to him, jumping from the frame to land easily in the sand. "I wish Ivar was coming today, though. Then we could sail the finished boats across the fjord to dock."

Angrboda would have had Rúna's love for the sea, he was sure, at least. He tapped the daughter the gods had allowed him to keep on the nose before shooing her off to other work. "Soon, Rúna. We will be on the waters sooner than you think."

Spring also brought with it a time of planting. The little garden the family kept was soon sorted and tended outside Floki's cabin. Most of the residents of Kattegat kept personal gardens, but there was also a huge, communal field that needed sowing. The field had been Ubbe's idea, an homage to King Ragnar and his farming roots. Aslaug and her sons used this farm field, with the extras feeding the poorer of the residents.

Rúna, Helga, and Floki joined the royal family in the planting of this field every spring, as did Lagertha. She brought Astrid with her that year, making for twelve—thirteen, if you counted little Hali napping and strapped to Torvi's back—working the earth. To no one's surprise, Rúna and Ivar worked together. While she toiled the earth, Ivar dropped the seeds in neat rows and covered them with dark, rich earth.

It would fall to Margrethe and the other slaves to tend the growing field throughout the spring and summer. Autumn harvest would be their task as well, but the planting belonged to those Aslaug considered fit.

Rúna and Ivar worked a long row together, a line of wheat that would extend the entire length of the field, talking all the while.

"You'll sail with us, won't you? I know you hate the water, but it's just around the fjord. There's no obstacles and the sea is calm this time of year. Nothing will happen." But still Ivar grimaced at her reassurances. There was not much that Ivar feared, but the open ocean was one.

"Perhaps," was all he would promise.

"Let's go to King's Crown later. I'll show you from above, so you can see the water all the way to the sky's edge. There's hardly enough waves to usher the tides, Ivar."

She might have goaded them more, but they were interrupted by Lagertha. She smiled at them, spring breeze ruffling her blonde locks. "Hello Ivar, Rúna. Guthrum was telling me about training with you all while we planted. I should like to have you come training with Astrid and myself before we leave Kattegat, Rúna. I want to see these skills with your sword myself."

Lagertha's smile left Rúna demurring beneath it. The young girl ducked her head, smiling herself and agreeing to go training when the famous shieldmaiden bid her. Likewise, it left Ivar teasing Rúna as soon as Lagertha took her leave.

"I do not see the sense in blushing over Björn's mother," he groused. Rúna kicked a dirt clod at him, sending it bursting harmlessly against his arm.

"I apologize for being excited over being invited to train with the most famous shieldmaiden in all Norway," Rúna shot back. "All the travelers bring stories of her, and King Ragnar, and Queen Aslaug."

She tacked Ivar's mother to the end of that list mostly to appease him. It was the truth; Aslaug was famed for her beauty, her warrior parents, her success with Kattegat after Ragnar's disappearance. But Rúna had never found the stories of Aslaug so interesting as she did tales of Ragnar and Lagertha.

"I suppose."

Rúna nearly kicked him—lightly, of course—for his continued sourness, but she changed her tack instead. "King's Crown. After dinner tonight."

They would all eat in the great hall, she knew, as was spring planting tradition. It would be easy enough to slip away with Ivar afterward, to trek the cliff before they lost the sunlight. The pair did exactly that, after a call to Freyr to bless the field they had planted with a bountiful harvest, when the games were brought out after dinner and all were distracted. Rúna had to hold her skirt aloft in her hands while they climbed, the clicking of Ivar's spikes keeping time beside her.

This particular cliff overseeing the fjord was named King's Crown for the jutting of vertical rock on the top. It had always been called so, as far Rúna knew, though it wasn't until after Ragnar's disappearance that his sons had come here to carve the runes of his name into the rock. She had chosen this particular cliff for the practicality of the rocks, though, not Ivar's father's name marking it in memory.

"Ready?" She asked once they were close enough. Ivar nodded, sheathing his spikes at his hip and sitting, grabbing hold of his bindings to pull his legs straight in front of him. Rúna crouched behind him, wrapping her arms about his chest, beneath his own. Ivar pushed off the rocks with his hands, helping her pull him upright. Once he was vertical, Ivar was able to reach out and grab hold of one of the rocks, but with his legs bound he could not stand alone for long.

Rúna stayed behind him, stretching on her tiptoes to peer over his shoulder. This brought them practically cheek to cheek, looking out over the calm waters of the fjord. The dark sea stretched out to the setting sun, burning the sky and water alike in shades of orange and red. Salty air washed over their faces and Rúna breathed deeply. She had always loved the smell.

"See? It's like that all day. There's a reason spring and summer are the best seasons for sailing. And it's not a long journey, truly, just around the fjord to the dock."

Ivar chuckled, the sound vibrating in his back. He brought one hand away from the rock, laying it upon hers where they were clasped around his chest. His fingers were warm over her own.

"I'll not have you beg, Rúna. Yes, I will go."

She dropped her tiptoe stance, pressing her face to his broad back just between his shoulder blades and smiling into the fabric of his tunic.

"But if I vomit, it will be on you."

"If you vomit on me, Ivar, I will throw you overboard."

A/N: I am so in awe and thankful for all the attention this story is getting! I want to get in the habit of thanking every new review at the end of each update. Y'all have been so kind, it really feels like a little Viking-loving community. Since it's been a while since I did a thank you, I'll list everyone who has reviewed so far as I'm posting this!

Guest, Lovebuggy, TeatimeTurbulence, Guest, trouvaille, Courtney-Tamara, mickypants, Puffgirl1952 the 2nd, and 23 thank you all so much! I hope you continue on this ride with me.

And thank you to everyone who has followed and favorited this story as well! Y'all really have no idea how excited I get for every follow, favorite, or review notification. I love all things historical and finally writing a historical fic has been so. much. fun. I can't wait to continue!

Also, I'm having to adjust some things in the pacing. I had always taken Ivar for younger than he apparently is in Season 4b. Fansites I've looked through place him at 16/17, so I will do the same. But in the current pacing of my writing, he's only 15, so I'll have to fill another year in Kattegat with Ivar & Rúna before Ragnar returns. I know in this chapter Floki and Rúna are building the boats and Björn plans to leave during the summer, but don't worry-I have an idea to stall these plans. Not all the plot points from the show will be used/followed, however I think we would all agree that Ivar's journey to England alongside Ragnar is huge for his character, so that will definitely be featured soon!