Ivar felt his bare skin scraping against the rough and gritty ground below him. His eyes slowly started to open, but he couldn't focus on anything. Nothing in his body seemed to work right. He wanted to take in a deep breath, but he couldn't. He had the need to cough, but he couldn't do that, either. Panic suddenly settled in and his eyes flew open. Gasping for air, he tried to fight back against those who dragged him. Damned crippled legs. If only they worked, he would have been able to thrash them around and create enough force to alert someone that he needed to be turned on his side.
Ivar was going to drown on dry land.
"Wait! Stop!" Hvitserk's voice rang out amidst a cacophony of moans, groans, and choking. "He needs help." Running to reach his brother, Hvitserk saw Ivar's face turning blue, and the panic-stricken look in his eyes. He quickly turned his brother on his side and began pounding on his back.
Ivar coughed harder than he had ever in his life. Tears streamed from his eyes as an ocean full of water escaped his lungs. He took audible gulps of air in between coughing and choking before he rolled onto his back.
"Thank you, Brother," Ivar extended his hand to Hvitserk who in turn helped him slowly up to a sitting position. He looked along the shoreline for any remnants of their fleet. "How many boats survived?" He asked breathlessly, straining his eyes against the sun to look out into the ocean, "Hvitserk?"
Shaking his head, Hvitserk licked his lips. "Was he on the boat with you?" Quickly darting off, Hvitserk went back to the water's edge. "Was he on the boat with you, Ivar?" He yelled back to his brother. Frantically scanning the beach, he called out, "Ubbe! UBBE!"
Ivar began to crawl along the beach and overturn driftwood and other debris as it washed ashore. "Ubbe!" He cried out. He was weak. His arms felt like they were about to give out at any second. Crawling on sand was a feat within itself, but doing immediately after almost drowning made it almost impossible. His muscles were still starved of oxygen. His head was swimming. His breathing nor heart rate had yet to return to a normal rhythm. Every now and again, he was still coughing up saltwater. But, it didn't matter - Ubbe was somewhere among the wreckage.
It was no secret that Ivar would have killed anyone of his brothers for his own ambition. He was Viking, after all. But let it never be said that he didn't love them. He would chase any man or god throughout all of Midgard to avenge them. He didn't hate any of them; not even Sigurd. His death had been an accident. He just wished that they saw things his way and valued him as more than their burden. He wanted to be treated as their equal - one of the Sons of Ragnar. He didn't want to be the little brother that they had to cart and carry around. The one that no one listened to. The one that they thought was too reactionary. He wanted their respect and their love, "Ubbe!"
He happened to glance over to see Hvitserk running into the water to overturn a floating body. Ivar couldn't bear to see if that body belonged to Ubbe. It couldn't be Ubbe. He knew that in his broken bones.
Crawling away from the water, Ivar continued to overturn driftwood. He happened upon a pile of wreckage and started to riffle through it until he finally discovered a body. He sat up and pulled his legs around in front of him. Using as much strength as he could, he turned the limp body over on its side. "He's here. Hvitserk! Help me, he's here!" Ivar tried to move his own body out of the way to lay Ubbe flat. There was a huge gash on his head and a wooden stake embedded in his stomach. He did not appear to be breathing. "Ubbe? I've got you, Brother," he said softly, cradling Ubbe's head.
"Is he alright?" Hvitserk asked out of breath, as he ran over to where Ivar sat. He helped get Ubbe flat and assessed his damages, "Ubbe. Can you hear me?" Falling to his knees, Hvitserk put is ear to Ubbe's mouth checking for breath sounds. Is this the air or him breathing?
"Is he alive?" Ivar asked, trying to see around his brother's head. "Hvitserk?" He pushed his brother to side and began to slap Ubbe's face. "Wake up, Ubbe. Odin did not see us victorious in Wessex to have you die here." He looked around briefly to get a sense where here was.
Hvitserk touched the stake that impaled his older brother and noticed how anguish danced on Ubbe's face. "He's alive," he said hurriedly, looking up at Ivar. His brain scrambled trying to figure out what to do next. "We need to remove this. I'll try to find something to keep him warm. Keep pressure here," he pressed his hands just to the sides of where Ubbe was hurt, to show Ivar where to hold.
"You need to find some herbs to fight a fever," Ivar said, holding his hands on Ubbe's body. If he could walk, he would have run to find the herbs himself. He was not a healer by any means, but he had spent enough time with Helga to know what herbs would fight fever and which ones would fight infection.
Hvitserk didn't want to leave Ubbe. He was not only his brother but also his best friend. He didn't know what was worse; leaving Ubbe who might possibly die while he was gone, or leaving him with Ivar. He loved his little brother. There was so much about him that he admired; his strength, tenacity, and keen mind were just the small list of attributes he could name about Ivar. But as much as admired him, he also felt consternation. Ivar was not to be trusted. He had this rage that boiled just below the surface and when he was piqued, his anger knew no bounds. "I'll be back soon. Take care of him, Ivar," he said.
Running at breakneck speed, Hvitserk made his way from the shore to a slope. He needed to find a forest or thicket of some kind. Although he had limited knowledge of herbs, he knew what to look for to make a salve that would save off infection from Ubbe's wounds. How he wished he had spent more time with Floki and Helga as a child. But, as it were, he was too busy running around with Ubbe and desperately trying to raid with Ragnar. Ivar was the one that gained all of the benefits of herbal, spiritual and blood magic from the elders. But, Ivar's body couldn't carry him as fast as Hvitserk's could.
Did he even know what to do with the herbs when he found them? Short of chewing them and placing them into the wound, he wasn't quite sure what else there was. He had been hurt and healed numerous times as a child and on the battlefield, but he had never been the one doing the healing. He always had Ubbe for that. His older brother was the one that took care of him. Ubbe took care of all of them. With Björn being so far apart from them in age, he seemed more like an uncle while they were growing up. They didn't grow close until they were all grown men. It was always Ubbe that acted like the oldest brother – he was the glue that kept them all together. What would he do if he couldn't save Ubbe?
He couldn't afford himself time to think that way.
Finally, Hvitserk made it to a clearing. He walked quizzically around and found himself at the edge of a stone pier. This pier overlooked a lake. and just on the other side of that lake was a city. Putting his hand on the hilt of his sword, he anxiously looked around for any signs of vegetation, while keeping a close eye on the people across the water. He needed to stay out of sight. He didn't want to alert anyone to their location; especially with more than half of their fleet presumably missing at sea and the other half wounded on the beach. Hvitserk took a few steps back to hide in the shadows as he watched the people mill around aimlessly.
He had no idea where they were. Judging from the way they were dressed they were not English or Frankish. Even the low-born people of Wessex and Frankia didn't wear clothes like these. Besides, the weather was much too warm. And, there was no way they landed in Scandinavia. These people weren't Viking. They didn't look, smell or feel Viking. Maybe they had made it to the Mediterranean with Björn.
"Not now," he chided himself snapping out of his revelry. Fully concentrating on his mission, he ran from the pier and found a dirt road. He ran for a solid five minutes looking for something, anything that he could use to help Ubbe. Exhausted, he stopped and looked behind him to see how far he had gone. Then he turned back to see how far he still had to go. Before long, he found himself turning around in a complete circle. He let out a frustrated cry toward the sky. He was going to fail. His brother was going to die and was going to be his fault. "Freyr, please."
When he opened his eyes, he looked down to see a fine-tipped blade pointed at his throat. Swallowing hard, Hvitserk held up his hands.
"I don't want to kill you, but I will," A girl who could be no more than five feet tall said, standing stock still. Her round brown eyes never leaving his green orbs as she held him at sword point. She never flinched or drew herself into a fighting stance. Instead, she remained calm and carried on her conversation. "Who sent you?"
Hvitserk looked at the small girl who couldn't be more than a year or two younger than Ivar. She didn't seem to be afraid of him. Her sword hand wasn't shaking, nor did she seem to blink while talking to him. But she should have been afraid. He was far bigger and stronger than him, and the sword she held was a thin thing. How much damage could a puny weapon like that do? He glanced around quickly to assess if there were others with her. When he didn't hear or see any other movement, he assumed she was alone.
He raised his hands slowly and looked her in the eye. He couldn't understand the words she said to him, but he spoke to anyway. "My brother," he panted, "I have to help him. I need herbs."
"I can't understand what you're saying," she said looking Hvitserk in the eye. He was almost a foot taller than her. Handsome enough, with a gentle face. Blond hair, green eyes, with a thin mustache and the beginnings of a beard. He was young – somewhere between the ages of her brothers Jon and Robb. His clothes were strange. Maybe he was a Wilding that had escaped and made it all the way down to Braavos. "We have a problem. I need to leave Braavos and you've seen me. You could tell them I've left. I can't have that." Tightening her grip on Needle, she pushed the blade tip ever so slightly into the fleshy part of his neck, enough for a small trickle of blood. The sight mesmerized her.
Hvitserk smiled at the way she stared at him. She seemed captivated. He always seemed to have an effect on women. Even young, skinny, doe-eyed girls, who were trying to kill him, it seemed. Only, she wasn't trying to kill him. She wasn't attacking; she was trying to scare him. That was her first mistake.
In one fluid motion, he grabbed her sword by the blade, cutting his hand in the process. He pulled her toward him hard enough for her to bounce against his chest. He quickly spun her around disarming her pressed his forearm against her neck. As she started to pull against him, he pulled out his own sword and held it against her face. "I will slice your head from your shoulders if you don't help me."
Settling herself, she took in a deep breath and closed her eyes. "A girl has no name," Arya Stark said aloud and went with Hvitserk willingly.
"What is this, Hvitserk? I send you to get herbs, you come back with a girl?" Ivar looked at his brother confused. He watched as his brother pushed the small girl down onto the sand next to Ubbe. "Is she a healer?"
Arya surveyed the scene. They looked to have been shipwrecked. In total, there were about 20 men and women, possibly more, all strangers from what she could tell. From the pieces of their boats that had washed ashore, she had never seen anything like them before. She didn't understand the language they spoke or their crude weaponry. They had to be Wildings. They certainly smelled like Wildings. But, what were Wildings doing this far south?
"She was the only person I found," Hvitserk bent down next to the trio. He snapped his fingers in front of the girl's face to bring her attention to his brother. Watching her closely, he shrugged at Ivar, "I grabbed her and brought her with me."
"Ubbe does not need a woman! He needs to be healed," Ivar could feel his blood start to rise. Did Hvitserk think this girl was going to fuck Ubbe back to health? "Did you at least get the herbs?"
Arya looked at the young man sitting on the ground for permission before she touched the sleeping one. When he looked upon her with piercing blue eyes, she lowered hers to look at the other's injuries. She noticed he had a large gash on his head. The wound wasn't actively bleeding but it would need to be sewn. She had already noticed he had an object sticking out of his belly. That would need to be removed immediately or he would be dead in a matter of hours.
This was not in her problem. She was supposed to be leaving Braavos, not getting involved with a bunch of Wildlings. But what if were Jon that needed help and someone left him for dead? She want someone to take pity on him and show him kindness. It wouldn't have to take long. There was a Maester in Braavos that she knew - she could easily procure mustard seed, nettles, and bread mold to make a poultice to stop an infection and get Milk of the Poppy to ease his pain. She could be in and out before Jaqen H'ghar or The Waif could find her to continue their Game of Faces.
Shaking his head in defeat, Hvitserk refused to meet Ivar's eyes. He could that tell his youngest brother was giving him that look. That, I don't believe you look. "I couldn't find anything. All I could find was her. But she should know where to find herbs." He pointed at Arya, "I can't understand her and she can't understand me. I brought her here to show her that we need help."
Ivar carefully looked at the girl for some sign of recognition. Was she going to help Ubbe? Was he able to be saved? She wasn't giving away anything with her face. She kept her thoughts and emotions very closely guarded but did not appear to be afraid. She was young and small, and very plain. She must have been poor judging from the simple frock she wore, perhaps a slave. Her shoulder-length brown hair looked greasy and her large brown eyes were huge in her sunken face. If Ivar had to guess, this mousey looking girl was probably a beggar with no home and no family. This girl should not be too much of a problem.
"So, let me get this straight, Brother. You went to find herbs but instead, you found a girl. And you brought her here to our camp, where we are temporarily defenseless. So she can go back to her people and tell them where we are, and they can come back with an army?" Ivar looked at Hvitserk, the back to Arya. Did he have to do everything, himself?
Ivar took a deep calming breath, "It's alright, Hvitserk." Turning his head back to Arya, he gave her a beautiful, warm smile, "After you save my brother, I am going to kill you."