A/N: don't own don't sue
Lyrics at the beginning are from Follow You by Bring Me the Horizon
Follow You
Chapter Three
My head is haunting me and my heart feels like a ghost
I need to feel something, 'cause I'm still so far from home
Cross your heart and hope to die
Promise me you'll never leave my side
Show me what I can't see when the spark in my eyes is gone
You got me on my knees, I'm your one man cult
Cross my heart and hope to die
Promise me you I'll never leave my side
'Cause I'm telling you, you're all I need
I promise you, you're all I see
'Cause I'm telling you, you're all I need
I'll never leave
So you can drag me through Hell
If it meant I could hold your hand
I will follow you 'cause I'm under your spell
And you can throw me to the flames
I will follow you, I will follow you
Come sink into me and let me breathe you in
I'll be your gravity, you be my oxygen
So dig two graves 'cause when you die
I swear I'll be leaving by your side
So you can drag me through Hell
If it meant I could hold your hand
I will follow you 'cause I'm under your spell
And you can throw me to the flames
I will follow you
Saga held the Queen's gaze, her expression calm and serene but certainly not as deferential as Aslaug would like. She had enough experience of mind games and manipulation to know that if she showed her disapproval, Ivar would be more fascinated by this witch than ever. She gestured vaguely for the girl to take a seat. She was certainly pretty enough to have bewitched her son. Slightly too unusual-looking to be conventionally beautiful with her seductively sweet heart-shaped mouth, snub upturned nose and flawless pale skin. She looked almost like a doll, until you met her gaze. Such odd eyes. So big they seemed to leap from her face, perfectly shaped with long feathery black lashes. Such a startling shade of green that they almost didn't seem real. Eyes like that could pierce your soul. Her son had eyes like that.
She had been hearing stories for weeks of the mysterious witch, young and beautiful and wise, and had dismissed them as gossip. But when the stories started to swirl of the witch spending time with her sons, more specifically Ivar, she had started to take notice. Once it had become obvious that the gossip leaned more towards truth than idle fantasy, she had sent the Seer a summons to send his little charge to the Great Hall to meet her Queen. Saga had dutifully arrived, flanked by Ubbe and Hvitserk, who presented her to their mother and then whisked her away into the crowd and deposited her with Floki for safe-keeping.
Aslaug glanced at Ivar as a thrall filled her goblet. He was talking to Hvitserk and Bjorn, on the surface entirely focused on his brothers' words as Ubbe gestured with his tankard, but Aslaug knew her son. She could see that his head was cocked slightly towards the witch, his brilliant blue gaze flickering over her profile at regular intervals. For her part Saga was poised and graceful throughout the feast, conversing with her neighbours politely and from all appearances handling the crude banter of the raiders with ease. Aslaug thrust her goblet out again expectantly, staring across the hall broodingly.
Saga was well aware that the Queen was watching her every move. She ignored it. She had been somewhat curious to meet the famed Queen Aslaug, but it had been a disappointment. She was not Saga's idea of beautiful; she was all angles and sharp edges. From the tales Saga had heard, she had expected Aslaug to have a formidable presence. It was very disappointing to find a bitter woman too fond of having a drink in her hand.
"Saga."
She turned to find Ubbe. His eyes were sparkling and his cheeks were ruddy with alcohol. Ubbe was always surprisingly pleasant and when he was drunk he was positively joyful. Saga laughed as he elbowed her neighbour, grumbling, out of his seat and sat beside her.
"Prince Ubbe."
Ubbe laughed, grabbing a nearby slave and hauling her closer so she could fill their goblets. He pushed the full goblet into Saga's hand.
"Pah, don't call me Prince." He flapped a hand in the air, pulling his face at her.
"You are a prince." She pointed out with a laugh, sipping her ale. "Are you not?"
Ubbe cocked his head, taking a slug of his ale thoughtfully. A bawdy joke caused the table around them to erupt with jeers of laughter.
"Only in the same way you are a witch." Ubbe said around the noise.
She blinked at him, her smile flickering and he frowned.
"I meant no offence." He leaned towards her, his handsome face honest and open. "I only meant because of what you can do, you are known as a witch. I am a prince, only because someone says it is so."
He leaned even closer, his eyes like sparkling jewels from alcohol excess but earnest. Saga held his gaze, his eyes as vividly blue as his brother's and yet nothing alike at all. Ubbe's eyes were windows into his thoughts, always broadcasting his inner turmoil. Ivar's were indecipherable. Whether blazing with anger, dark with pain or crystal clear with rare good humour, it was impossible to read anything deeper from them.
"By that reasoning, you are only married because someone says it is so." She pointed out, aware in the back of her mind that they were being watched by various interested parties across the hall.
Ubbe's eyebrows raised, his teeth flashing through his beard in a surprised grin. He did not know how to respond. She was too clever, only Ivar could keep up with her word games.
"I believe your wife may take issue with that line of thinking, Ubbe." She did not miss the tiny shiver he gave as she spoke his name.
Ubbe frowned in confusion, as if he'd forgotten his wife entirely and Saga smiled. She had already been chased out of one village, she did not particularly want to cause any trouble in this one. No matter how tempting.
Word spread quickly around Kattegat that Ivar was in a murderous mood this morning and, as he slithered his way out of the royal quarters and through the town, he was given a wide berth. He'd had a furious argument with his brothers and then his mother and had very nearly broken the arm of a poor thrall caught in the crossfire. His chest was pulsing with rage as he forged his way into the trees, determined to distance himself from anyone who could enrage him further. He wondered idly when his relationship with his mother had changed. Once she had been the only person able to calm his violence, now he was increasingly irritated by her smothering. Treating him as a child when he was a full grown man. His brothers did it too, excluding him from things like he was too delicate. The very thought made his whole body clench with rage and he bellowed his frustration.
"Who's there?"
He paused, squinting through the grasses and bracken ahead of him. He had strayed a little from the path and was near the small lake where children were taught to fish and swim before they ventured into the sea. He crept closer without responding, his sharp eyes scanning through the fallen branches. He caught a flash of white in a blur of blues and greens and he shoved a log out of his way impatiently.
"I know you're there and I have no patience for perverts."
Ivar almost felt a smile on his face at the danger in her voice, she seemed very capable of causing damage should she choose. He toyed with the idea of just watching her as he studied her through the branches. She was knee-deep in the water but had clearly been fully submerged at some point, given that her thin white shift was plastered to her body like a second skin. Her hair was knotted on top of her head to keep it dry and her hands were full of dripping leaves. Ivar wanted to toy with her, his earlier anger dissolving into morbid curiosity. He had never seen the witch fearful, nothing seemed to scare her, and he was surprised to find how desperately he wanted to watch her face contort into terror.
For an endless silent moment, he considered her fate, then his curiosity got the better of him and he crept out of the bushes. Her eyes landed on him immediately, even though he was slightly camouflaged by his dark clothes. A range of emotions flickered over her pretty face, but not fear.
"Hello, Prince."
There was no fear in her voice either, but there was certainly something. Ivar crawled to the edge of the lake where a big basket sat beside what must have been her clothes. He could smell her scent on the pile of sky-blue material and the soft leather breeches. The basket was full of plant-life, water seeping slowly from beneath it. So she wasn't bathing, she was gathering. She stepped closer to the basket and tossed in her handful. He studied the way the thin material clung to her body as she moved, the plump curve of her breasts and the swell of her hip. He glanced at the basket and she smiled. There were droplets of water on her lips, her eyelashes star-fished.
"Some ingredients grow in inconvenient spots."
Ivar didn't reply, he was fascinated by how calmly she stood before him, all but naked, and not the least bit nervous. She turned away from him and focused back on the water, wading a little further away from him. As she dipped into the water, the damp shift became saturated again and he found himself unable to move. She knelt to dig up what she needed from the bottom of the lake, causing most of the shift to cling tighter. He could see the dark spots of her nipples through the thin material and his whole body tingled. She waded out of the water with her hands full, depositing the clumps of vegetation into the basket beside him. He could only stare. He'd seen naked women before, naturally, but there was something about how unabashed she was, tall and proud and certain in her beauty. It made his belly churn in an uncertain way.
"You shouldn't be alone."
She blinked at him in surprise as she wrung out the water from her shift, tugging the material tight against her thighs to do so and exposing a tantalising length of bare thigh.
"I can defend myself."
He looked pointedly at her dagger sitting amongst her discarded clothes and she blushed, heat creeping up her chest and neck. He expected her to dress but she merely tugged on her huge cloak over her wet shift.
"You need to throw that."
She looked at him warily, her eyes darting from his face to the knife.
"It's a good knife." She said defensively, tying her dry dress and breeches into a parcel so she could carry them.
"Do you know how to impale a man in the neck with it from over there?" Ivar asked bluntly, nodding his head towards the water where the ripples from her departure were starting to fade.
She eyed him in contemplative silence before admitting that no, she could not. Ivar looked at her, his unfathomable face a handsome mask.
"You would teach me?"
Ivar cocked his head, the faintest smirk dancing over his lips and she felt her thighs tingling.
"I could."
She narrowed her eyes suspiciously.
"And what would you require in exchange, Prince?"
A thoroughly wicked smirk slid across his face and she felt her belly squeeze.
"I think I would have a favour, witch." His voice had dropped slightly and she shivered, hypnotised by those dangerous eyes. "Something I can call on when I have need."
She pondered for a moment, feeling a little like she was deciding whether to sell her soul or not. His eyebrows lifted impatiently.
"On two conditions." She finally said, watching interest flicker in his blue eyes. "I will not commit murder for you, and I will not bewitch a woman for you."
Ivar bared his teeth in a wolfish grin that sent a bolt of heat directly to her core.
"You think I need assistance in either of those things?"
She bit her lip, a little shocked by the needle of jealousy in her chest. Before she could think better of it, she held out her hand and the deal was struck.
"You are using your shoulder too much."
Saga fought back the urge to lose her temper, praying to the Gods for patience. As if he could read her mind, Ivar was grinning when she turned to him. An unpleasant grin.
"How does one use their arm without their shoulder?" She asked through gritted teeth.
Ivar rolled his eyes at her stupidity and she clutched the knife tighter reflexively.
"You are a poor student."
Saga bit back her retort. She knew he was goading her on purpose and she would not give him the satisfaction of losing her temper.
"Try again, the knot on that second tree."
Saga turned away from him, took a deep steadying breath and lined up his instructions in her head. She followed through step by step but the knife still bounced off the thick trunk and fell glittering into the leaves. Ivar let out a shout of mocking laughter which she let roll off her as she crossed the clearing in search of her knife.
They had been practising her knife-throwing skills for days now and she was certainly not getting any better. Her aim left a lot to be desired and she seemed to have no talent for letting go of the blade at the appropriate moment for it to strike the tree. She had a niggling feeling that Ivar's presence was too distracting for her to absorb his instructions. She could sense him behind her as she worked, his lean body propped on a fallen log to give him enough height to see her mistakes. She could feel his wicked eyes running over her body as she moved. It made her skin feel raw and needy and it put her on edge.
"Come here." He ordered and she felt goosebumps breaking on her skin at the commanding tone of his voice.
The more time she spent with him, the more fascinating he became to her. His moods were so liquid, flowing one into the other with no warning. Though he'd threatened her often during their brief acquaintance, he'd yet to actually feel dangerous to her. In fact he'd never even touched her, much to her dismay. She stomped over to him, thrusting the knife at him ungraciously. He ignored it. Perched on the fallen log he was the same height as her and she marvelled again at how beautiful he was, the high cheekbones and the exquisite curve of his mouth, as usual curled into a sneer.
"Turn."
She shot him a look at being ordered around like a dog, but graciously turned. She felt his hands on her shoulders and she jumped in surprise. His hands were warm and strong and she felt her breath quicken. He pulled her backwards until she hit the log, his breath stirring her hair and his hands warm on her shoulders through her dress.
"Move this leg back." He touched her thigh lightly and she swallowed a gasp, obediently following his instruction.
He talked her through the correct position, each touch lighting up her body as he manipulated her limbs.
"Now, draw this arm back."
His hand slid from her shoulder to her elbow to her wrist and her whole body trembled. She had enquired discretely around Kattegat but had heard nothing of any women gracing Ivar's bed chamber, no servants being utilised for bed sports, no ribald ribbing among the men about conquests. She had wondered if he favoured men but those enquiries had gone nowhere either. She found it fascinating how powerfully she was attracted to this man, when he seemed to care so little for bed-play. It was probably for the best, she could not afford any trouble. Still, his rough touches and commanding instructions were turning her loins to liquid regularly.
Forcing herself to concentrate, Saga listened to his words rather than the entrancing sound of his voice and successfully managed to fling the knife deep into the targeted knot of the tree.
"I did it." She laughed, watching the knife quivering securely.
She whirled triumphantly towards him, freezing when she realised how close they were. His hypnotising eyes were inches away from her, she could almost taste his arrogant smirk on her lips.
"Try it without me holding your hand." He sneered, his breath warm on her cheek.
She rolled her eyes and turned away to disguise a flush starting on her throat. She attempted the throw again on her own but failed, snatching the knife from the leaves in frustration. Ivar looked down on her smugly from his perch and she met his gaze sulkily.
"Try again."
He indicated for her to take up her position beside him again. She was more prepared for his touch this time, but it still made lightening shiver over her skin.
"You're tensing your body before you release the knife." He criticised.
"If someone was attacking me, I would be tense." She snapped, thrown off by his proximity.
"You must learn to react, regardless." He was almost murmuring now, his voice as hypnotising as his eyes.
He leaned closer, his breath hot on the back of her neck, and she heard him breathing, inhaling the scent from her braid. She shuddered and his fingers dug deeper into her arm, painfully deep.
"Stop thinking and act."
He let go of her suddenly and she almost stumbled, realising she'd been entranced by his touch and his voice. Taking his advice, she flung the knife without really concentrating. It slammed deep into the trunk, a little off-centre but deep enough to make an impression.