Chapter Sixteen: Benediction
The sun-warmed grass was sweet and fresh, late spring sunshine warming the crown of Rúna's head. Wildflowers perfumed the air, as did the drying berries beside her. Sewing embroidery along a new set of bedsheets for Floki and Helga was not really engaging work, but Rúna was happy to simply be. To sit in the sunshine and enjoy that simple activity.
It had been weeks since the sickness had come to Kattegat. Weeks since she had recovered.
She sighed over her sewing, coming to the end of her length of green thread. Tying a sturdy knot, Rúna clipped the string with her teeth before rethreading the little bone needle. The vine pattern was one she had completed time and again; it didn't take her attention. Neither did shooing the occasional bird away from the berries. She and Helga always dried the earliest berries. Not as sweet as those in later season, but it got replenishing the winter stores done quicker.
"Go on," Rúna chastised a particularly bold black bird. "There's plenty of berries for you in the forest and the meadows."
But her words carried no weight to the creature. Instead, the bird tipped its head to the side, making a croaking noise that almost sounded inquisitive. She laughed, plucking a few berries off the sheet and tossing them to the bird. "Fine, have some. I suppose there's plenty more for me, too."
That drew the attention of other birds, so that one became two became five. They lined up before her, waiting for their turn to snag a tossed berry. Polite little things, Rúna mused, tossing berries to each bird in turn. They snapped up the treats with clicks of their beaks.
Unbeknownst to her, Floki was watching her from the doorway. He leaned there, arms crossed, amusement clear on his features. Helga came behind him, wrapping her arms about his waist and resting her head on his shoulder. "What is she doing?"
"Communing with the birds." Floki turned his head, planting a kiss to Helga's temple. She sighed happily, squeezing him a little tighter.
All the berries Helga and Rúna had gathered for drying were lost to the birds, but neither of them minded.
Queen Aslaug called for a blót of thanks when the sickness finally left Kattegat. That was some weeks passed; Floki and Rúna had completed a second boat and begun a third in that time. Well, Floki got the bulk of the credit. Rúna helped where she could, but she tired easily and required frequent breaks. Helga pointedly suggested spending more time inside, sewing or resting, but Rúna could not stand anymore days confined indoors.
They counted the plumes of smoke that smudged the sky each day, trying to get a feel for the death taking place in town. Only two days into this new habit, they realized there were too many smoke trails marking the dead for them to count.
Ivar had not been permitted to come back after the day he snuck away to see her. Though she missed him, it was easier to miss him when she was busy.
This blót fell too early for the midsummer celebration. No one was prepared for celebrating just yet, anyway. Though it was early summer, Rúna wore a wool underdress and a light green overdress embroidered with gold and white flowers. Fall and winter clothing, but the fever that had burned through her left a stubborn chill weeks later. She plaited a single braid to frame her face on one side, dotting it with the hair beads Ivar had given her.
Even Torvi, she speculated, would be at a loss as to how to dress her hair with it so short. Helga had to take some more off to even it out once Rúna was well enough to leave her bed.
Floki gave her the rope to lead the goat they were taking with them for the sacrifice. "The least of what I could think to give the gods for the kindness of returning you to us. Hopefully they are not sick of goats by the day's end."
She felt a little bad, that this goat should give its life because hers had been spared.
Everyone well enough to attend was crowded into the meeting ground, a space left empty between the great hall and the first stalls of the market. Ivar could be hard to spot in a crowd, sitting as he usually was, but eventually Rúna's gaze landed on him. She turned to Floki and Helga immediately.
"Go with Ivar," Floki permitted before she had even opened her mouth. He took the rope from her, grinning. With a sheepish smile, Rúna turned and hurried through the crowd. Rather than sitting upon the bench, Ivar had raised himself to his knees and was leaning his elbows on the wood, chin pillowed in his hands.
"How unfortunate that there's nothing here for you to sit on. Such neglect." Rúna sat on the bench herself, back to the scaffold that had been erected for the sacrifices, so she might face him instead. The sun was shining that late morning, glossy against his dark hair. He had to squint his eyes when he tipped his head up to look at her.
"It does seem inexcusable." He smiled up at her. "You would think the good people of Kattegat would have more of a heart for their resident cripple."
Her answering smile was brighter than the morning sun, her arms just as warm when she sprang forward to hug him. "I've missed you."
Perhaps if they had not been in town, in front of so many eyes, they might have held each other for longer. Ivar liked to think they might, anyway. But she withdrew herself too soon, rocking back on the bench and giving him and almost-nervous smile.
Taking her hand seemed like the best way to soothe that uncertainty from her smile, so he did, and gave it a squeeze. "I missed you, too."
A cool hand on her shoulder drew Rúna's attention away from Ivar, looking over said shoulder to see Queen Aslaug. Her bejeweled hair shimmered in the morning light, glittering far more than her tight eyes or strained smile.
"It seems you are well recovered, Rúna."
"I feel much better," Rúna smiled genuinely. "Thank the gods. For Ivar and Sigurd, as well."
"Yes, both of our families were fortunate." Aslaug ran her fingers lovingly through Ivar's hair. "Though I worried, I kept faith my strong sons would survive."
Aslaug touched Rúna's hair, skimming her fingertips over the crown of the young girl's head. "It is a shame about your hair, Rúna. It was your most redeeming trait."
Forcing a smile, Rúna made her voice light. "It will grow back."
"Indeed." Queen Aslaug mimicked Rúna's tight smile with one of her own. "Though I am not sure your complexion will much improve."
When Ivar and Rúna had been small and spent much of their time outside, Rúna had a smattering of freckles across her nose and cheeks. They had faded, much to the delight of both Helga and Aslaug, as she had grown. But her days in the sun had reinvigorated the freckles, as well as bringing out streaks of burnished gold in her hair and tanning her face and hands.
"It will be winter soon enough," Rúna countered, keeping her tone light. "I'll be indoors plenty, then."
"I suppose." As always, the queen was dressed in silks. It was obvious she wouldn't be performing the sacrifices that day. No; that would fall to Björn. Aslaug excused herself with that very reason, needing to help Björn prepare. She withdrew from them, a dark blue waif cutting through the growing crowd.
Rúna rolled her eyes at the queen's back before turning again to Ivar. Her hand was still clasped in his. She gave it another squeeze. "I never much minded your braces, Ivar," she told him, before turning to watch the first of the sacrifices. With a grunt of effort, Ivar hauled himself up onto the bench. He swung his legs up by the laces of his bindings to right himself forward beside her.
The sacrifices weren't anything they hadn't seen before, just on a larger scale with so many families giving thanks and honor to the mercy of the gods. Margrethe and other slave girls dipped bowls into the trough of collected sacrificial blood, passing them around the masses. On the scaffold, Björn proffered a bowl to Aslaug so she might take a dainty sip of the blood before he took a mouthful himself. Sometimes, the sacrificed blood was worn. Other times, consumed. Eventually, one of the bowls made their way to the pair on the bench.
Ivar held the bowl steady for her while she drank, the blood hot and salty in her mouth. Blóts where the blood was drunk were not Rúna's favorite, but she drank obediently before they passed the bowl on.
Sitting beneath a warming sun next to Ivar in the heart of Kattegat, it was impossible not to believe in the healing of the gods.
With the town solidly on the mend, Rúna had some of her freedom back. Helga still didn't want her lingering in the market, but she was permitted back to the great hall. She went as often as she was able, around her chores and boat work, filling her free time with Aslaug's tasks and visits with Ivar.
They snuck off to the forest during one such visit, finding a berry patch to sit in. Not strawberries, to Ivar's chagrin, as it was still too early in the season. But the black and red berries were juicy and sweet on their tongues, the sun hot on the crowns of their heads.
"You know," Rúna mused, holding a blackberry up to the light to watch the sun's rays glint off the skin, "we haven't had walking practice in some time."
She glanced down at his legs, long and straight and bound before him, turning her head just in time to catch him pursing his lips and furrowing his brow. "Sigurd…"
"Would have told by now, if he had a mind to. Have Queen Aslaug or Ubbe said anything?"
A reluctant shake of his head.
"Then they do not know. They would've put a stop to it if they did."
He could grit his teeth and set his jaw, but he couldn't argue with her logic. After a pause, Ivar loosed a sigh. "Fine. You're right."
"So," Rúna smiled, unable to contain her excitement, "when?"
"Today." Popping the last of his berries in his mouth, Ivar rolled himself onto his hands. "Might as well get it over with, no?"
All the way back to Kattegat, Rúna had to resist the urge to run. Doing so would have left Ivar in her tracks, unable to crawl fast enough to keep pace. She forced herself to take controlled, even steps though her excitement had her soaring on the inside. Once back to his cabin, Rúna wasted no time. She dropped to the floor beside him, fingers flying through the routine of undoing his bindings. Taking hold of his booted foot, she expertly slid one and then the other off his legs.
There was no need to ask where his leg braces were; she already knew they were kept in the trunk at the foot of his bed. She crouched to retrieve his crutches from beneath, chattering all the while.
"I have a good feeling about it today," she told him. He sat back, bemused, allowing her to fuss over him.
But when she lifted his leg at the knee to slide a leg into the waiting brace, he couldn't help but ask, "Why does it not bother you?"
She paused, peeking up at him and blowing a wayward lock of hair out of her face. "What do you mean? Your legs?"
Color rose in his cheeks, not so much a blush as a flare of anger, red crawling up his neck and over the line of his jaw. "Yes."
"Why would your legs bother me, Ivar?" She asked, setting back to her work of fitting the braces to his legs. "They're just another part of you, like your blue eyes and your wit. I'm only bothered that they bother you. Ready?"
Her bright mood came as no surprise to him. Rúna had been nearly exultant every day since she had recovered. Grabbing hold of his hands, she hardly waited for his nod before helping raise him to his feet. She kept hold of his hands steady him while he rocked his weight back and forth. Only once he felt balanced did she move away, quickly passing him his crutches.
Biting his lip, Ivar hesitated, getting a feel for his body and the crutches. Tossing the left crutch to the side, he shook his head and motioned for her to take its place. "It's been too long. I'm too stiff."
"Well, we can fix that," she countered, easily taking up his weight on that side. They walked together in this way, back and forth along the length of the cabin. As the number of laps increased, there was some loosening in Ivar's rigid leg joints. He only needed her for the first four rounds before switching to supporting himself on his crutches on both sides.
Even on a good day, the crutches were harder to navigate. Rúna was attuned to his needs, able to adapt to when he needed more support or more space. His crutches, though, were just objects that more often than not refused to bend to his will. Using only he crutches was slower as well, but more independent.
Without Rúna's more solid support, he couldn't always take separate steps. It was easier to move both crutches forward at once and then swing his legs to follow. He chose the latter. Crutches forward, legs together. The one advantage of his stiffer left leg was that his left foot almost always landed straight. His right had a tendency to fall outward; he had to take a moment to align right with left before moving on.
All the while, Rúna stood to the side watching closely for any signs he may fall. Sometimes, at his prompting, she would put obstacles in his way: a chair from the table, scattering his few books, laying out a blanket from his bed so the floor was rendered slippery.
Four with her support, an additional eight without. A good number of laps about the room before Ivar let himself fall heavily into a seat at the table. He poured himself a cup of mead and drank heartily before wiping the sweat off his brow. "Enough for today. Let's play hnefatafl."
Rúna righted the room while he caught his breath, unlocking the door and throwing open the window to let the summer breeze in. There was no harm now, once his crutches were tucked away. It was rare, but not unusual, for Ivar to wear his leg braces rather than his bindings. Extra work was involved—namely manually turning his left leg with his hand when he turned in his chair, the right following the movement of his body more easily.
"Set up the board for us?" Color was high in Ivar's cheeks from the exertion of walking. His mead cup empty, he reached next for the water pitcher while Rúna got the board ready for a new game. "You've been… exuberant lately."
"Cheating a plague death will do that for you," she quipped, but her face clouded over as she turned on of the game pieces in her hand. Ivar's set was well carved, details of each piece still vibrant despite the wear of their hands over the years. The particular piece she was mulling over held a stringed instrument in its wooden hands. "There is one thing, though. I think I should tell Sigurd about my goddess dream."
"Sigurd?" To date, Rúna had only told Ivar about her dreams she'd had while sick. She had worried telling Helga and Floki about Angrboda might upset them. The need to tell Sigurd, of all his brothers, was baffling. "Why?" A second more puzzling and he made the connection. "Oh. Siggy. Still, Rúna?"
"I think he should know." Rúna set the piece down, shrugging. "That she's happy with Hel and has Angrboda to play with. That we did right by her."
"I don't see why either of you continue to have such a care." He took up some of the pieces, distributing them across his side of the board. "She was nothing to you and hardly anything to Sigurd."
Rúna fixed him with a disparaging look. "I know how you feel, but it is different for us, Ivar. Sigurd fond her drowned and dead. We carried her out of the river and buried her together. She's…"
"Long dead."
"No!" She shook her head, loose hair flying about her face. "I mean, yes, she is. But what I was trying to say is…Siggy is something we have carried between us, Sigurd and I, our whole lives. It would be nice to finally put her fully to rest."
With a sigh, Rúna made the first move of the game and continued, "I know you and Sigurd hate one another—"
"I do not hate Sigurd," Ivar protested, making his first move quickly. "He just makes me so angry I cannot see. Sigurd has always blamed me for taking Mother's attention and has mocked me my entire life for being a cripple, but he is still my brother. Speaking of brothers, you do realize Björn has never been so affected as the two of you bleeding hearts, and Siggy was actually his daughter."
Rúna pursed her lips, taking her time before answering or moving another game piece. "That is between Björn and the gods, but I know how I feel, and I think Sigurd feels the same. So, if it will give his bleeding heart the peace it has given mine to know Siggy is happy and well in her second life, then I will tell him."
She said it resolutely, punctuating her intentions with the click of wood on wood as she eliminated one of his pieces with her second move.
Midsummer had come around again by the time Rúna was able to catch Sigurd alone. He was always easiest to find at feasts, so long as you followed the music. Silk skirts swished around her legs as she cut across the celebration field, making a beeline for the figure of Sigurd perched on a protruding tree root, dappled in green-tinged sunlight as he strummed a tune as carefree and bright as that summer day.
"Where's your harem?" she teased, stopping a few feet short of him.
"Where's Ivar? He is usually following you like a lost puppy."
"Rude," Rúna reached out to tap him on the head. "He is shooting arrows with Hvitserk."
Not that Ivar had been given much choice in that. He had been seated with Floki and Björn, the piece of Mediterranean map positioned with a map charted from Norway to England, trying to determine the best course to take next spring. The delay came at Floki's insistence—Rúna and I have spent too many days on those boats to lose them to winter seas. Hvitserk had snuck up on Ivar, crouching low and taking him about the waist, lifting him easily as he straightened and throwing Ivar over his shoulder.
"C'mon, Little Ivar, I need an archery partner." With Ivar's laughter fading away, Floki occupied with Björn, and Helga fawning over both little Hali and Torvi's swollen belly with Aslaug, Rúna took her opportunity to find Sigurd.
"But you are here." Sigurd didn't stumble even when he drew his eyes up to her face, fixing her with his unusual gaze. "You tend to follow him like a lost puppy as well."
Despite her grimace, Rúna held her hand out to him. "Come on a walk with me, Sigurd-Snake-in-the-Eye. I've something to tell you."
"Just sit down," he said. Motioning to the open space of ground beside him.
"We both know Aslaug will have my head if I ruin this silk with dirt and grass stains."
After a moment's hesitation, Sigurd placed his hand in hers and allowed her to pull him to his feet. He left his oud leaning against the same root he vacated. "You do look nice."
Rúna's hand fluttered at the ends of her hair self-consciously. Still too short to braid, Helga had fashioned a headband of flowers for her to wear instead. They crowned her with their petals, holding her hair back from her face. "Thank you. Ivar told me the both of you dreamed of Ragnar while you were sick."
They cut a path around the edge of the field, away from any ears that may overhear. "I think our father must be dead. Ivar thinks it means he is coming back… but Ivar is crazy. Surely you know that?"
"People say the same thing about Floki, but I think their minds just work in ways most people don't understand," Rúna countered coolly. "But I did not seek you out to discuss your brother nor my father, Sigurd."
When she dressed earlier that day after her morning chores, the silk had been a cool whisper against her skin. Now, with her heart picking up speed under a summer sun, the silk felt stifling and hot. How does Aslaug stand to wear this every day? "I had peculiar dreams, too. Siggy was in one of them."
The dead girl's name gave him a start beside her. Though she no longer held his hand, she still felt his small jump of surprise. Rúna spoke quickly, determined to finish before he could interrupt. "Not just Siggy, but Angrboda and Gyda, too. Siggy and Angrboda was with Hel in my dream, and Gyda with Freya. I… am not sure it was a dream so much as a vision, but perhaps I am crazy, too. Either way, I wanted to tell you that Siggy was there, and she was well and happy, playing with Angrboda all through the forest. If it was a vision, then she isn't alone and she is happy and taken care of. I wanted you to know."
Sigurd had stopped walking, but she didn't realize until his hand circled her wrist and pulled her to a standstill. She turned to him, looking up into his open face. Sigurd never hid his expressions; she could see the confusion and hurt and hope in the mismatched eyes. She tried to give him a reassuring smile and felt her chin wobble instead.
"I think, maybe," her voice was suddenly shaky as though it may fail her, "we can finally bury her. For good."
His newly grown facial hair tickled her cheek when he pulled her to him, hugging her hard. Rúna wrapped her arms about his waist, knowing this embrace held all the years of grief and misplaced shame and regret they had carried between them over Siggy's death.
In between shots, Ivar watched Rúna from the opposite side of the clearing. A slight figure in blue next to Sigurd, who nearly blended in with the sun-bleached grass between his straw-blonde hair and earth-toned clothing. He didn't have to guess what they were discussing as they meandered along the edge of the celebration.
Their shared fixation on Siggy baffled him, but Ivar had to admit that Rúna's shoulders lifted as if a weight had been removed as she talked to Sigurd. Her steps were lighter, moving through the tall grass with ease.
"Ivar! Your turn, man. Pay attention." Squashing down a wave of annoyance, he swiveled on his stump and raised his bow. He and Hvitserk were leading in this little archery competition, not that he was surprised. Most of the older men were drunk off mead. Even though the drunkard kept insisting that Hvitserk move Ivar's stump back farther, he had no problem sinking his arrow deep into the heart of the target.
Hvitserk clapped him hard on the shoulder, thrilled over their continued—if easily won—victory. It wasn't even good mead they were drinking over here, sour in his mouth when Hvitserk gave him the horn they were sharing. "Why are we drinking this piss and toying with drunks, Hvitserk?"
Hazel eyes sparkled at him, head nodding toward the left. Somehow, the growing pile of coin laying in a patch of dirt had escaped Ivar's keen eyes. "You like easy coin, don't you, Ivar? Ubbe and Sigurd would have been too high in morals to help their brother out."
Ivar smirked in return, squeezing his brother's arm. "Hvitserk, Hvitserk." He shrugged, eyes lighting up in excitement. "I suppose we should finish what we have started."
Rúna and Sigurd slipped from his mind, focus shifting to this game of Hvitserk's. Arrow after arrow, the brothers moved through the competition with ease. Coin was tossed into the pile by each defeated competitor until the pile grew sizable and there was only one duo standing between them and the prize. The final team was bested with the same ease as all the others and Hvitserk scooped the coins up from the dirt to the tune of defeated groans. He passed the coins to Ivar to sort into even piles between them on his lap, unable to keep the gloating grin from his face.
"Deftly done, brother," Ivar himself had a hard time keeping from laughing. "Rúna and Floki will find it funny even if our other brothers do not."
"What of Guthrum? Think our nephew would find humor in it?" Lifting his head, Ivar fixed a glare on Hvitserk's bemused face.
"And why would I care what Guthrum thinks?" Hvitserk only smiled wider in reply, stepping away to clear Ivar's line of sight. Some yards away, Guthrum's lanky frame was visible over top of Rúna's flowered head, a blush obvious in his cheeks. They were too far away to make out any words, but that blush and the nervous smile that had overtaken Guthrum's face was enough to make his stomach roil with a sudden wash of acidic anger. He would have pushed himself off the stump were it not for the hard squeeze Hvitserk gave his shoulder.
"Björn would be upset if you killed Guthrum right in front of him, Ivar," he said between his laughs.
"I would not kill Guthrum," Ivar countered with a huff, collecting Hvitserk's half of the coins and passing them off. Rúna had turned from the younger boy at this point, face calm as she began to cut across the rest of the clearing toward them. "Maim, perhaps, but not kill."
Her face broke out in a grin as she drew closer, plucking a coin from the pile in Ivar's lap. "What is this, ill-begotten treasure? I was watching the two of you. You know, if you weren't among the number of resident princes, that little game of yours might not have gone over so well."
Still smiling, she flipped the coin with a flick of her thumb. Ivar caught it square in the center of her palm. Only then did she notice the sour set of his features. "What is the matter with you?"
"I made him drink bitter mead," Hvitserk smoothly covered. "You know how bad mead puts Ivar in a mood."
A cool, silvery glare was thrown Hvitserk's way, but Rúna didn't comment. Rather, she offered to tuck Ivar's coins in her pocket for safekeeping before reminding them that the sun was dropping in the sky and it was nearly time to return to Kattegat for the evening feasting. The day of sacrifice, drinking, and game playing under the warm summer sun was coming to a close.
On a typical Midsummer evening, that would mean congregating with family. Rúna's always joined Aslaug and her sons in the great hall, as did Björn and Torvi. There was a shout from Björn, drawing the attention of all present.
"We've guests when we return to Kattegat!" It was not Björn's voice making the announcement once the din died down but rather Queen Aslaug's. "King Harald Finehair is paying us a Midsummer visit. We should all hurry back to welcome him."
The name was one Rúna had heard before. After all, Floki loved to tell stories of his raiding days, and King Harald had been a member of the party that journeyed to Frankia shortly before King Ragnar's disappearance. But she had no face to put to the man's name; he had been in Kattegat last after she herself had taken up residence there, but she couldn't remember meeting him that somber evening when Ragnar's disappearance was revealed. Ivar and Hvitserk grinned beside her, however, joining in their oldest brother's cheer of skol!
"You heard Mother," Hvitserk bent at the waist, waiting for Ivar to throw his weight over his shoulder. "We had best hurry back, huh, Little Ivar? Come, Rúna. Walk with us."
There was an air of excitement infecting the entire crowd as they journeyed through the sunset forest. Though it could hardly be comfortable, slung over Hvitserk's shoulder the way he was, Ivar kept his head craned upward, describing King Harald to Rúna as she followed behind.
"…tattoos all down his face." Ivar said, finishing his description of the middling man who ruled the neighboring Viking kingdom.
"He wants to be king of all Norway," Hvitserk threw over his shoulder—and Ivar. "Says that's the only way he will win the love of some princess."
Rúna scrunched up her nose. "King of all Norway? That is the condition she gave him? It doesn't sound like she thinks much of him."
When Hvitserk shrugged, Ivar moved with him. "Well, I suppose there is a lot people will do for love, no? Björn killed Torvi's first husband for her hand. Our father forsook Lagertha for our mother. I suppose being crowned queen of all Norway is a reasonable asking price, at least for King Harald."
To Rúna, it seemed obvious that there was no love on the part of the elusive princess in this arrangement. How King Harald, who everyone seemed to hold in high esteem and respect, did not see that, she had no idea. She supposed it didn't matter much; this night was about Midsummer, not King Harald's peculiar love affair. Spirits were high all throughout the short journey back into Kattegat, men welcoming the incoming ships with shouts as they rushed to the ports.
Aslaug and Björn went to the ports as well, but Rúna followed Hvitserk and Ivar to the tables set out all around the great hall. A dais had been built for Aslaug and her sons to dine on, but Hvitserk deposited his brother's weight on a smaller, out-of-the-way table outfitted with dice and cards. "Here, entertain yourselves."
Rúna rolled her eyes at Hvitserk's retreating back before winking at Ivar. "I suppose Sigurd is not so keen on sharing Margrethe."
Neither of them needed to guess what it was Hvitserk sought by disappearing into the crowd. Across the table from her, Ivar scooped the dice into a cup and turned it upside down against his open palm. "How fortunate for him that King Harald brought his people—and their daughters—to Kattegat," he said as he shook, taking a surreptitious glance-over of Rúna. The pale blue silk set off her summer tan and the silver in her eyes. "You wouldn't have happened to bring a coin purse, Rúna?"
"It's in Floki's pocket," she smiled abashedly. "Helga insisted we should sew any into this dress." He smirked in answer, tossing her half the coins he had won in the archery competition with Hvitserk. The dice followed soon after, clattering across the table. An influx of people was soon surrounding them, but Ivar and Rúna were already entrenched in one of their bouts of competitiveness. Neither paid any mind as the crowd flowed around them just as ale and Aslaug's honeyed wine began flowing into cups.
Dice was not Ivar's favorite game. He preferred games that relied on strategy rather than luck, mostly because he never seemed to have much when it came to blindly gambling. Rúna's stack of coins soon stretched taller than his own, much to her amusement.
"You are losing all your gold, Budlungr," she teased, adding two more of his coins to her stack. "Some kingdom you'll have, at this rate."
Someone had started a fire not far off, contained in a circle of rocks. Though summer, the nights still carried a chill more often than not. The warm glow of the flames danced across her bemused expression. He sat a moment, drinking her in, before ducking his head and considering his defeat.
"In the sagas," Ivar began, plucking up the dice one by one to deposit back into the cup, "the seemingly defeated kings always have a glorious triumph story over all that have dared to wrong them."
Rúna pursed her lips, watching his hands as they shuffled the stack of cards. Ivar's glorious triumph wasn't to come to pass, at leas not yet. A warm hand on Rúna's shoulder had her turning and looking up and behind her to find Hvitserk smirking there. "Mind if we join your cozy table? I've found some old friends of yours, Rúna."
He took a step to the side, revealing two girls with identical pale blonde, silky hair and bright smiles standing behind him. Though it had been a decade, give or take, since Rúna had seen them, she knew the girls instantly. She pushed away from the table and Hvitserk both, embracing each of the girls in turn.
"Bodil! Gisli!" When last they were together, all the girls had been around the same height. Now the twins were tall and willowy, their pale hair shining in the firelight and flowing down their backs. The length of it had Rúna again tugging at her own cropped hair.
"Rúna! Let us look at you," Bodil took her hand with a familiarity that paid no mind to the years that had separated them, spinning a giggling Rúna before her. "Look at her dress, Gisli! Our new friend Hvitserk was not lying when he said she spends her time with the princes of Kattegat now."
"Nor was he lying about her physical labor," Gisli tutted, cupping Rúna's face between her hands. "Her face still looks like the night sky, dotted all over with stars."
"As if you never sat with your face upturned to the sun until you burned, trying to get the same," Rúna reminded her. Gisli pouted at being called out, twirling a strand of Rúna's hair around her finger. "It used to be as long as always, but I was sick… it had to be cut, to help with the fever."
Though Bodil had commented on her silk dress, both twins were dressed much the same. They wore jewelry as well, jewels glittering from their ears and along their throats. Aside from the flowers in her hair, Rúna was otherwise unadorned.
She led them to the small table to crowd around, the twins sitting on either side of her while Hvitserk plopped himself down beside Ivar. When she glanced at him, Rúna saw that all the ease had drained from Ivar's shoulders. He was rigid now, back ramrod straight, with a carefully blank look on his face as he looked over her childhood friends.
"Bodil, Gisli, this is Ivar, Hvitserk's brother. Another of Kattegat's princes." She introduced him with his title genuinely, not like when she poked fun at him by calling him budlungr. Her hope was that his royal status would keep the twin sisters polite should his crippled legs come as a surprise to them.
"And the prince Rúna happens to spend the most time with," Hvitserk tacked on, a mischievous light making his eyes shine. "Should you ever need to find Rúna, more often than not, you need look no farther than Ivar."
The girls smiled sweetly at him and Bodil leaned across the table to snatch the stack of cards Ivar still held. "We've heard stories of Ragnar's sons ever since we came to Tamdrup and happened upon King Harald's court a year ago. Both of us have been endlessly curious to meet the lot of you."
"Hmm," Ivar hummed, bright eyes scanning over each girl in turn. "And what is it that you have heard of us?"
"Of the one they call Björn Ironside, mostly, though we have since learned he is married," Gisli pouted again while her sister began divvying up cards between the five of them sat around the table. "Though his wife is big with child…"
"Torvi could still have your head. She is a shieldmaiden, trained by Björn's mother, Lagertha," Rúna cautioned. "I would leave that son of Ragnar alone, if I were you."
"Of the younger," Bodil continued, "we have heard that Ubbe is like Ragnar come again, but I suppose we wouldn't know, would we, Gisli? We never did meet your phantom King of Kattegat. Hvitserk, you are next oldest, no? Of you, we have heard you are the most fun. It is why we sought you out. They call the next Sigurd-Snake-in-the-Eye, and someone told us he is the one playing the music you can hear tonight. And then the youngest, Ivar: formidably strong and smart."
Rúna loosed a sigh of relief. If Bodil and Gisli were aware of his handicap, Bodil, at least, had the good sense not to let it be known that was his identifying characteristic. Hvitserk, on the other hand, lacked such tact. He threw an arm around Ivar's shoulders, pulling the younger boy nearly out of his seat.
"Ivar's got a fancy name, just as Sigurd. You mean to tell me you haven't heard it?" Rúna and Ivar both glared at Hvitserk, but his smile never wavered. There was a pause. Gisli looked determinedly down at her cards, refusing to budge her gaze. But Bodil, she met Hvitserk's gaze before sliding her dark blue gaze to Ivar's scowling face.
"Ivar the Boneless," she said lightly. "Though I hardly see how that is all that he should be known for, sitting across from him now and having seen how he makes our old friend Rúna laugh and smile. Surely that is not all you see your younger brother as, Hvitserk? Boneless, and nothing else?"
Put on the spot, Hvitserk reached for Ivar's cup of ale and took a long pull before shaking his head. "Of course not. I have been bested by Little Ivar far too many times to see him only as his legs."
"Good. I, for one, would like to see this intelligence in action. I am not one for modesty, so I have no qualms bragging that I am something of a heralded card player in King Harald's taverns." Rúna could have hugged Bodil in that moment. Her words had coaxed a smug smirk from Ivar, easing some of the rigidity from his posture.
True to her word, Bodil played well against Ivar, but in the end she was the one handing coin over top the table. Ivar stacked his winnings in a mirror of Rúna's own victories before lifting his cup to take a celebratory drink, only to find it empty. He glared at Hvitserk again, just as Rúna leaned across the table to pluck the cup from his hand.
"Perhaps I can talk Margrethe into giving us a whole pitcher."
"I will go with you," Bodil rose alongside her. "Gisli, I know you prefer to flirt with kings, but surely princes will do for a spell."
With that same familiarity, Bodil slipped her arm into Rúna's. "Now, who is Margrethe?"
"Queen Aslaug's slave girl." Rúna nodded toward the dais, where Margrethe was laying the table in preparation of the feast. Aslaug outfitted Margrethe with good, dyed fabric for her dresses. The last thing the queen would want is for her slave to look unkempt. Margrethe looked more than passible in her dark green dress, with lengths of matching ribbon weaved into her braids. Rúna dropped her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "Sigurd is in love with her. I am sorry to say that he is likely another prince you wouldn't find luck with."
Bodil sighed with put-on dramatics. "Our prospects dwindle further. Don't fret your pretty head, Rúna, we will leave your Ivar alone as well. He is a handsome boy, if a little rough. Though I suppose he would be, when people seem to constantly remind him of what he already knows."
The words 'your Ivar' had such a startling effect on her that Rúna found she barely knew how to make her mouth work to ask Margrethe for the pitcher of ale. She gave it to her easily enough, but stooped to caution in her pretty, lilting accent, "Do not let Queen Aslaug's sons get drunk, please. She wants them presentable for dining with King Harald."
"We will help them drink it," Rúna promised, taking the ale-heavy pitcher from Margrethe's hands.
"If Queen Aslaug has a slave girl, why are you waiting on Ivar?" Bodil asked, eliciting a blush from Rúna.
"I usually do not. He can do anything and everything he wants for himself, but his way of moving about is… unusual, I suppose. Ivar's legs cannot support him unaided for long, so he crawls, but he does not much like to do so in front of strangers. Sigurd says he slithers like a snake. Ivar wears straps that binds his legs together, to make it easier for him to move about, and that's why he has braces on his hands as well. He would have fetched Margrethe himself if I hadn't taken his cup."
"I see." They were at the table once more. If Bodil had any other thoughts on the matter, she kept them to herself. "Let's play again, with teams."
"There are five of us," Ivar pointed out, taking the pitcher from Rúna to pour himself a new cup.
"Oh, I don't much like playing, myself." Gisli gave a wave of her delicate hand. "I will keep score and make sure there is no cheating."
"Ivar and Rúna cannot play together on the same team," Hvitserk declared. "Trust me, it's no fun leaving those two to conspire together. There is more sport in pitting them against each other in card games."
"Then I will play with Ivar," Bodil decided, shooing Hvitserk from his seat, "and you with Rúna."
The teams were formed with a shuffling of bodies, Ivar deftly dealing cards to the four of them while Gisli kept to her word and scrutinized his hands. These matches between the two teams drew out longer than the one-on-one game Ivar and Bodil had played against each other. Rúna and Hvitserk found themselves on the losing side more often than not, despite her best efforts.
"You look like you are in pain, Rúna," Ivar teased, tipping his cards so that Bodil might have a better look at them.
"I am. My back hurts from carrying this team." Hvitserk gasped in offense, but Ivar threw his head back and laughed. Any points they had gathered in each game had been credited to Rúna's hands of cards.
"You can carry Ivar's fat ass without your back hurting!" Hvitserk exclaimed.
"He is boneless," Rúna reminded him. "That makes for a much lighter load than these continuous defeats thanks to your lack of card strategy."
This Kattegat, filled with the life and energy of two combined Viking courts, was a far cry from the tragedy that had plagued the town just weeks before. Now only bonfires sent smoke up into the sky, no funeral pyres or thoughts of illness in sight. Too soon, a booming voice cut through the revelry to announce the time for feasting.
Rúna turned toward the dais to see a small-ish man, shorter than Queen Aslaug, arms raised high and a wide smile on his face as he beckoned the celebrators to the feast. Just as Ivar had described, he had tattoos all down his face. Despite his size and smile, something seemed a little off about the man.
"That is King Harald?" She asked, tidying the table absentmindedly before rising to go.
"Yes, he holds a lively court," Gisli told her, face lighting up. "He loves feasting and game playing and hunting. Sometimes he and his brother sing together."
Gisli ought to know, having spent a year in King Harald's kingdom, but something about his dark gaze had Rúna questioning just how seemingly simple the man appeared. She shook her head, clearing her thoughts. "Come with me, Bodil, Gisli. You can dine with my family. We always sit with Björn, but these two will be wanted up on the dais."
The look Hvitserk and Ivar exchanged was not lost on Rúna. A raise of eyebrows in silent question, a shake of the head in answer, and then Ivar pushed himself away from the table and bent at the waist to lower himself to the ground. "Clear me a path amidst these drunks, won't you, brother?"
Bodil, Gisli, and Rúna watched them go. "I suppose it is a little snake-like, though I don't see how that matters if it works. Now, this family of yours. Show us the way, Rúna."
Guthrum blushed throughout the feasting, with Bodil and Gisli across from him and flirting shamelessly, much to everyone else's amusement. Björn clapped his elder son on the back, balancing Hali in his lap. Torvi's was considerably taken up by the child she carried. Floki and Helga were amused and charmed by the twins in equal measure, if the mirth of the boatbuilder and his wife was any indication.
Ivar watched this all from the dais, drinking in Rúna's bright smiles. Now and then, she sought his gaze and threw one of those smiles his way. He liked her friends, he decided. Perhaps there was a certain open-mindedness that afflicted all those who grew up in brothels. Neither Bodil nor Gisli had treated him any different—or with any pity—over his crippled legs.
Only Rúna had ever done the same.
The pity that tainted even his mother was never present in Rúna. Not even when he needed her help. Not even when he was raging inside at his own perceived weakness, always amplified by his hatred of his condition.
It was too bad the twin girls were free women. He would have preferred to have them around, rather than Margrethe, who never quite met his eye and always scurried away from him.
"Look," Hvitserk drew his attention. "Perhaps Guthrum will see his fourteenth year after all."
The young boy was staring into his plate, but it was plain to see how his neck reddened with fresh embarrassment. Gisli sat across from him, laughing into hand. The twins knew they were pretty. It was obvious to see in how the each used it. But Ivar found Rúna more captivating to look at, smiling and whispering to Helga. Aslaug had been right about that shade of blue; it set off both Rúna's hair and eyes, and the silk followed the curve of her waist and hips, only hinting at the shape of her legs.
A shape he knew well, thanks to all the times he had seen her in trousers for training. Her legs were strong, he knew, with shapely thighs and muscled calves. What a trick of the gods, to send her to him when he himself would never have legs half so strong as a girl he loomed over in size.
"With good behavior, he might even make it to his fifteenth," Ivar agreed. He took a long pull of ale and forced himself to take his eyes from Rúna, turning instead to the story King Harald was telling.
Rúna was a cruel trick from the gods, indeed.
A/N: Whew! I didn't mean to be gone so long! I was sick for a bit there (not Covid! I had a test, and it came back negative, but it was a stressful few days). I made this chapter a little longer to hopefully make up for such a long absence.
Thank you for all the new favorites and follows! Ugh, my heart gets so unbelievably happy every time I see a notification. This story is so FUN and I love that others are enjoying it.
And thank you to Puffgirl1952 the 2nd, mickypants, and Nightwingstress for the lovely reviews! Oh, and, mickypants: I love the 'it's cold but there's only one blanket' idea... I already wrote a scene for it that we will be seeing in a few chapters. ;)