"Are you ready?" the second god asked.
The first god looked at him in surprise. It had been some time since his companion had spoken; a moment ago, he had been sleeping, snoring quietly while the horn of mead in his hand tipped further and further over.
Oh well, it looked like he wasn't going to see him pour mead all over himself after all. Not this time, anyway. "Ready for what?" he asked.
Something was wrong…
Ivar shivered slightly in the chill as he shifted position in his bed. He reached out, eyes still closed, to find the blankets and furs that he must have kicked aside as he slept, but no matter which direction he reached, his hand found nothing but air.
Irritated, not yet ready to be awake, and certain that if he could just cover himself up again he would be able to get a few more precious minutes of sleep, he made another attempt.
Again, nothing.
There was something else too; his bed felt far too hard underneath him. Hard, and uneven. It took a moment, and a step closer to wakefulness, for him to remember that he was not at home and that his soft bed was very far away. Still, it didn't feel like the floor of the cabin either. The bearskin that he lay himself down on each night was gone, and instead the ground felt cold, almost damp to the touch, and uncomfortably uneven. Something hard and sharp dug into his right thigh where he lay on it.
That wasn't the only discomfort that he felt in his legs, though.
They ached.
It was a familiar pain; one that he had known his entire life. He shifted his position slightly on the ground, taking some of his weight off of the sharp thing underneath him, and frowned at the growing discomfort. Perhaps the weeks since he had last felt it had made him more aware of it than he might normally have been. He could never block it out completely, but he could put it out of his mind for a short while of he needed to. Right now, that felt impossible.
Two contrasting emotions clashed inside him as hope and despair warred for dominance. He wanted this. He did. He had wanted it from the moment that he had woken up and found himself in the wrong body. He wanted to be himself again. He wanted to be Ivar.
Only…
Only, it had been wonderful not to be in pain. Not only that, but not to have to worry, even on the good days, that tomorrow would be worse. He had walked unsupported for the first time in his life. He had wriggled his toes into the cool, slimy mud as he had stood barefoot in the lake. He had stood tall and strong as he had swung a sword through the air, just as he had always dreamed of doing on the battlefield
But he had never taken the opportunity to run…
He had feared that when he was himself again he would regret the things that he had not done. He supposed it was inevitable, but he hated himself for it anyway. He pushed the feeling aside to deal with later. For now, he may have more important concerns. The last time he had woken up like this, he had found himself miles from anywhere with a long journey ahead of him. If the same had happened now, it would be better to get started sooner rather than later.
He allowed his eyes to open and looked warily around to find, to his relief, that this time, he had not been moved while he slept. He was outside, true, but he was outside the cabin, by the remains of the fire he had been warming himself on earlier that morning as he and Sigurd had talked.
A short distance away, he caught motion out of the corner of his eye. He turned to look. A blanket moved slightly on the ground as Sigurd began to stir. His brother rolled over in his half-slumber and showed his face, and what Ivar had already known was confirmed, leaving no more room for doubt.
Ivar sat up. Only, he didn't. His legs lacked the strength they would need for him to move like that, and he got half-way into a sitting position before he realised his mistake and lowered himself back down to the ground again. Feeling silly, and thankful that Sigurd hadn't been awake to see him, he tried again, this time not relying on his legs but instead pushing himself up into a seated position using his hands.
While he had been sleeping, the fire had burned down to nothing but ash, and he shivered in the weak morning sun. His clothing felt a little damp, and he remembered Sigurd soaked through by the dew that had covered the ground. Still more had settled while he had slept, and most likely damped him even more.
It was odd, but he didn't remember falling asleep. One minute they had been sitting together watching the sky begin to lighten on the horizon, the next, he had been waking up on the ground. It appeared that somehow, they had both drifted off as the sun had come up.
At the time though, he had been in Sigurd's body, and Sigurd in his. He remembered draping a blanket around Sigurd's… around his own shoulders as his brother had shivered in the night air. Somehow, as they had slept, Sigurd had taken the blanket back again, and was now curled up underneath it, eyes tightly closed and his head resting on his arm. There were no rocks jabbing into him as he slept. No pain in his legs, either. Sigurd was probably enjoying the best night's sleep he had had in a while.
Ivar felt a surge of irritation at that thought, as well as a sudden, overwhelming need to wake him up. Remembering to balance himself with one hand on the ground behind him, he reached out with the other hand, grabbed his brother by the shoulder, and shook him hard.
"What…?" Sigurd sprang to instant alertness, eyes wide and muscles tense, as though ready to defend himself from an unexpected attack
He locked eyes with Ivar, and relaxed instantly. As Ivar watched, his brother's expression morphed in quick succession from shock, to relief, to anger at being woken, to confusion, and then, finally, to uncertainty.
"You…" he began, then stopped and glanced around.
His eyes darted from side to side as he took in all of his surroundings before he looked at Ivar again. Instinctively doing what Ivar had forgotten to do at first, he placed both of his hands on the ground and pushed himself into a sitting position rather than relying on the muscles of his stomach and lower body to do the work. He briefly glanced down at his legs, flung aside the blanket that had wrapped around them as he had slept, then looked back up at Ivar again.
"I…" he tried again, then when that didn't work, "We…" He gave up and stared at Ivar, eyes wide as he searched for the words he was looking for.
Ivar waited a moment, before he finally took pity on his brother and nodded once, slowly, in confirmation.
With his expression uncertain, almost distrustful, Sigurd slowly raised both hands to his own face, and began to explore his features. Ivar watched as his brother's fingertips traced his brow, down the sides of his face, and the shape of his nose, before finally running through the poor attempt at a beard that he had started to grow during the winter. Finally, he raised his hands higher to touch his hair and then ran his fingers down one of his braids.
When he was finished, he looked at Ivar again. "Is it real?"
That was a good question, actually. Up until now, he had assumed it was, but what if he was wrong? What if it was all happening inside his head? He glanced around himself quickly. Everything seemed real. He could feel the breeze on his face, and smell the remains of the fire. On the hill, where they had tethered them the day before, he could see the horses standing patiently, and in the distance, he could hear birdsong. Surely if he had gone mad and he was imagining this, he wouldn't bother to put so much detail into the fantasy.
He shrugged. "I think it is," he said, because that was the best that he could do.
"Because I had this dream a few nights ago," Sigurd added. "The night before we came out here. I thought that was real, too. Until I woke up." He looked around warily, as though he didn't trust the reality that he was experiencing.
Ivar hesitated. The last thing he wanted to do was assure Sigurd that it was real, and then be proven wrong. He knew, of course, that that made no sense. If it wasn't real, then neither was Sigurd, and the real Sigurd would never know. Still, he had his pride. He glanced around, searching for anything that might prove it, one way or another. As he did, he moved slightly and his legs responded with a short, sharp, shock of pain that moved quickly from his left knee, up his thigh, and into the small of his back. He winced, drawing in a sharp intake of breath, then nodded. "It's real," he said. Surely his mind didn't hate him enough to imagine that.
Sigurd frowned, still looking unconvinced. He was sitting straight-legged on the ground, both hands planted palms-down behind him. He sucked in his bottom lip and chewed it nervously. "You're sure?" he asked.
"As sure as I can be," Ivar told him.
Sigurd nodded, staring intently at his feet, tentatively he began to move one foot from side to side. He moved slowly, hesitantly, as though he didn't trust his legs to follow his commands. Or maybe he just didn't trust that it wouldn't hurt.
His experiment a success, he glanced quickly over at Ivar, but looked away again the moment Ivar met his eyes. He took a deep breath, exhaled slowly through pursed lips, then with a look of concentration on his face, began to bend his knee, pulling his foot towards him along the ground. "I think you might be right," he said quietly, then allowed his leg to straighten again. he stared at his feet again, then took a deep breath and sighed. Not a sigh of relief, more one of dissatisfaction.
Ivar watched him for a moment, waiting for reality to sink in, and for him to react; some sign of celebration or relief, perhaps a smile. Instead, Sigurd stared forward listlessly, as though he didn't know how to react. Ivar waited a few moments more, then cleared his throat. "You should smile, Sigurd," he suggested in a conspiratorial whisper. "Or else the gods might think you are disappointed."
"No," Sigurd shook his head in quick denial. "No, I'm not. It's just, this means that you…" He stopped, hesitated, then glanced quickly around. Quickly, but still moving as though he did not trust his own legs, he used his hands to push himself closer to Ivar, then wrapped his arms around his brother, squeezing him tightly.
Ivar stiffened in surprise. His first instinct was to wriggle free and counter attack. He suppressed the urge, and forced himself to relax. When Sigurd didn't stop, Ivar lifted one of his own arms and wrapped it awkwardly around Sigurd. "This is what I wanted," he reminded him.
Sigurd didn't reply, and for a moment, the two of them sat together, by the remains of the fire, embracing tightly.
"So, this is where you two disappeared to."
Ivar flinched at the unexpected voice. Instinctively, he pushed Sigurd away, embarrassed to have been caught hugging his brother. He might have felt bad for that, if not for the fact that Sigurd reacted in the same way, pulling himself away as though Ivar's touch burned. Ivar looked in the direction of the comment to see Ubbe standing by the door of the cabin. Behind him, Hvitserk was emerging, looking in obvious interest in their direction.
"When we woke up and saw that you were missing, we were worried," Hvitserk added.
Ubbe grinned. "Not out of any concern for you, of course. He was just hoping you hadn't got up early and finished off the leftover food already," he clarified.
Hvitserk rolled his eyes, but didn't bother to dispute the accusation. He elbowed Ubbe playfully in the ribs, then pushed forward toward his younger brothers, who were still sitting on the ground by the long-dead fire. "So, what's going on?" he asked.
That would be a question to answer. Ivar glanced at Sigurd, not really expecting him to have an good reply, but hoping nonetheless. Sigurd shrugged helplessly, equally lost for ideas of any reasonable, believable explanation that they could give.
"Nothing," Sigurd said, after a silence that stretched far too long.
"Uh huh," Ubbe said, sounding unconvinced. "Why don't I believe you?"
"Really," Ivar assured him. "Nothing is happening." It was true; nothing was happening anymore. They no longer had anything that they wanted to convince their brothers of, no secret that they desperately wanted to share but were unable to. There was nothing unusual happening, they were simply Ivar and Sigurd; two brothers who had fallen asleep outside under the stars by the warmth of the fire, and who had woken to find that the world had been put back to rights.
Ivar just wished that he had been given more time to think before their brothers had blundered over asking questions. He was sure that given a few moments to process what had happened, and a few more to get their stories straight, he would have been able to come up with a completely believable excuse.
Of course, given a few minutes and the chance to talk things through, their brothers probably wouldn't have caught them in such a difficult to explain position. It was just typical that Ubbe and Hvitserk had chosen that moment to show up and ask questions.
"Well, whatever it is, I don't like it," Ubbe told him. "I don't trust you two alone together."
Ivar rolled his eyes at that. "No? You must not have heard then." He glanced once more, quickly, at Sigurd and quickly rolled his eyes; a private joke between him and his brother. "We are getting along much better suddenly. Everybody has been saying so."
Hvitserk and Ubbe shared a glance, then Hvitserk frowned. "You two?" He shook his head. "I don't think so."
Was he serious? Ivar stared at him, incredulous. "We have spent the past two weeks trying to convince the two of you, and everybody else, that we are not getting along. Now that I admit that we are, you refuse to believe that too?"
Ubbe folded his arms, apparently taken aback by the vehemence in Ivar's tone. "I don't think anybody was ever serious about that, Ivar. I mean, come on, you and Sigurd getting along? You must think I'm very stupid."
Ivar scowled. Ubbe was right, that was exactly what he thought. A surge of frustration threatened to overcome him. It wasn't the accusation that he and Sigurd didn't get on, not exactly, anyway. After all, they had never been friends, and to say so was hardly an insult. No, what got to him was that his brothers didn't believe him. Again.
After everything that the gods had put them through, he had thought that they might at least give him that. Maybe his brothers would never believe what had happened to them, but why did they have to forget the one thing that they had believed?"
A hand touched, and then wrapped tightly around his wrist. Ivar looked down to see Sigurd gripping his arm. Ivar's hand had already formed itself into a fist, ready to punch somebody, and for once the target hadn't been Sigurd.
Sigurd gave a barely perceptible shake of his head. "Don't," he said. "Bad idea."
Ivar turned the full force of his scowl onto Sigurd. He was right, of course. Starting a fight with Ubbe was a terrible idea even at the best of times. Doing it here, at the cabin, where he didn't have his own space to sulk in afterwards, was just stupid.
Anyway, fighting with one brother over his ability to get on with another was completely ridiculous.
He relaxed his fist a little, and nodded to indicate to Sigurd that the danger had passed. Sigurd released his grip on Ivar's wrist while, out of the corner of his eye, he saw Ubbe relax too.
"So…" Hvitserk ventured. He glanced at each of his brothers in turn. "Breakfast?"
Despite everything, Ivar felt his stomach begin to sit up and take notice at the mention of food. He started to get to his feet before he remembered that he no longer could. Embarrassed, he glanced around furtively, but none of his brothers appeared to have noticed. Instead, he reached for the strap that should be tethering his legs together for ease of movement, and found it absent.
He shot a frustrated glare at Sigurd who, to his credit, appeared to immediately realise what he had done wrong. He shrugged apologetically. "I was in bed," he said. "I didn't think to put it on again before I came out here last night. Do you want me to go and get it now?"
Ivar shook his head. It wasn't as though it was a huge problem, and it was one that he could easily solve by himself. He didn't want people to think that he needed them to do things for him. Even if it was Sigurd's fault that he needed to get the thing. His brother hadn't known that they were going to switch back.
"Get what?" Hvitserk asked, then frowned and looked at each of his younger brothers in turn. "What's really going on with you two?"
"Nothing," Sigurd answered, a little too quickly to be believable, in Ivar's opinion. He was still sitting on the floor, as though he had forgotten how to move in his own body.
Hvitserk shrugged. "If you say so," he said, sounding unconvinced. He reached down and offered a hand to Sigurd.
Ivar watched as his brother hesitated, looking up at the offered hand. After a moment, he accepted the offer and climbed a little uncertainly to his feet. He glanced down at them as though he didn't quite trust them to carry him.
Ivar felt a stab of sympathy. He remembered the feeling.
As Sigurd continued to look down in something like amazement at the ground beneath his feet, Ivar turned away and began to move himself along the ground in the direction of the cabin.
"Are you happy now?"
The first god frowned, confused. "Should I be?"
"Well, you have been telling me that I needed to end my little experiment, and there you go. They are both back where they belong."
The first god frowned. He ran his fingers over his beard thoughtfully, then nodded. "But it was just starting to get interesting," he said.
The second god laughed.
"I suppose it was about time though," the first conceded. "I was beginning to think that you really were going to leave them like that forever."
"And so were they. That was the point."
The first god nodded. He supposed his companion was right
The second god hesitated, then shrugged, looking embarrassed. "Although to be honest, I didn't mean to leave them quite so long. I fell asleep in the middle of it for a while. This mead is stronger than I realised."
"It is a perfectly normal strength," the first told him. "You probably shouldn't have drank an entire barrel."
The second god laughed, then poured himself another drink. "True enough," he admitted. "Now then, the small matter of our wager…"
"Yes," the first agreed, then waited, arms folded, for the second god to continue. When he did not, the first god frowned. "Yes," he repeated. "So…"
The first frowned. "You can't just 'disagree'," he said. "We had a wager, and now we need a result, otherwise we are in exactly the same position as when we started this two weeks ago."
"Well," the second god said. "I am confident that I have won, but there is a way that we can find out for certain."
"And what is that?"
"To watch, of course, and to see what happens."
"To watch? The first god stared at his companion incredulously. "Are you telling me," he asked, "that after all the time that we have spent watching these two as they went through this ridiculous experiment of yours, we will now have to wait again, for years this time, to see the outcome?"
The second god laughed and shook his head. "Of course not," he said. "I think it will become clear to you very quickly that I have won, but if you don't want to wait, it would be easy enough for you to look at what the Norns have in store for them now. After all, you already knew their fates when you selected them. Surely you can tell whether they have changed."
The first god scowled in irritation, while the second grinned in amusement that he had not thought of it himself.
"Well?"
The first god's scowl deepened. He got quickly to his feet, kicking out the chair from behind him as he stood. The half-full horn of mead still in his hand landed hard on the ground as he threw it, splattering its contents all over the floor. The horn cracked under the force of his throw.
"I take it that means I am right?" the second god asked.
Without giving him any kind of a reply, the first god turned and walked swiftly out of the room, treading through the spilled mead on the floor and leaving wet footsteps as he went.
"Oh come on," the second god called after him, through his laughter. "Don't leave me in suspense like this! And by the way, maybe you shouldn't be commenting on other people's tempers!"
The first god turned back when he reached the door. His huge, overpowering presence and anger bearing down on the second god even from such a distance. "Next time," he said, "I will win."
With that, he turned again and left the room, leaving the second god staring after him for a moment, before he, too, got to his feet and scrambled for the exit.
After all, he had won bragging rights, and he intended to use them.