CHAPTER SIX

White Hair woke Ivar the following morning not long before dawn. He pushed himself up, feeling as though he'd not slept. His dreams had been a mix of his mother's death, their attacks on England so far and her. He glanced over to where she lay. Her back to him and buried deep in the furs, Ivar scrubbed a hand across his face as he glanced to White Hair standing in the entryway.

Helga was asking for him; Floki was acting strange. With a nod, he told White Hair he'd be out soon. He dressed as quietly as possible, not wanting to disturb Nora sleeping nearby.

Only once he opened the tent flap did he glance back to where she was. He still felt the strange sensation of guilt gnawing at him from where he'd accidentally cut her last night. It was unusual to worry so much about another. He didn't feel like this toward his brothers, only once had this feeling occurred and it was here in England, as he'd realised Ragnar wasn't returning to Kattegat with him, that it was their last moments together.

He stepped outside and winced a little at the cold as it made his bones ache. White Hair sat on his stump. "Keep an eye on the girl."

There was a silent nod in response. He needed to find Floki and find out what was going on. Helga looked uneasy as she waited outside for him by Fenrir and his chariot.

"He is up to something, but he will not tell me what."

Ivar smiled as he reached up a hand to take hold of one of hers, squeezing it. "Then let us find him and see what he is up to."

Helga smiled, nodding. Ivar climbed into the back of his chariot and helped her up onto it. She directed Ivar across the camp, towards the far edge of it. Floki rarely stayed in the heart of camps, preferring to stick to the fringes.

As they approached, Ivar saw Floki at work building what looked to be a boat – quite a smaller boat than his usual ones. He drew Fenrir up, frowning as he glanced back to Helga who shared a similar expression.

"He has been like this all night. He has not slept."

He motioned for her to climb from the chariot. "I'll talk to him." Helga nodded, moving to talk to Fenrir quietly as Ivar crawled towards Floki and his latest invention. "Floki! Why are you building a toy boat? Huh?"

Floki didn't turn to face him, continuing with whatever he was doing though he replied in a solemn voice, "It's not a toy. It's a one-man boat. I don't need the help of anyone to sail it."

Ivar frowned as he watched Floki from below, that worrying gnaw in him reared up. Why the need of a boat only a single man could sail? What good of it for the open seas where a storm could easily pull it under? What was Floki intending?

"And where do you think you're going to sail to?"

Ivar watched him shuffle across the half-made boat to where a raven sat. "To where the gods decide." It was said so quietly, Ivar struggled to hear it.

Floki intended to leave England. The gnaw turned into a pain in Ivar's chest, he frowned as he lowered his gaze. Why? What had happened in so short a time that Floki wanted to abandon their ransacking of England and retribution for Ragnar? How could he convince him to stay?

"I don't want you to go," Ivar said, aware he sounded like a small boy not wanting something taking away from him. "I still need you in the fight against the Christians. My brothers are too soft, and you know that, Floki."

The remark made Floki glance his way for only a moment. Ivar scowled, biting his lip as he felt the pain in his chest give way to anger, and frustration. These were things he knew well. It wasn't like when Ragnar left. Floki had helped Ivar in so many ways since he was a boy that to think of never seeing the crazy fool again until they reunited in Valhalla made him angry.

He didn't want to lose the man who had been more present in his life than his own father. The anger subsided briefly giving way to despair, and sorrow, as he imagined the journey ahead without him.

"Please?" he said, softly, "You know that you are like my real father."

There was a harsh sigh from the older man working above and Ivar glanced up at him, Floki stopped what he was doing and approached, crouching at the edge of the boat to meet his gaze closer. Ivar was prepared for the lecture to come, the look on Floki's face said more than words needed.

"Your real father was Ragnar Lothbrok. The most famous man in the world. Don't you ever forget that Ivar. Or the gods will punish you."

How could he? He'd journeyed to England with Ragnar and been abandoned then, as he had been abandoned when only a small child. Ragnar had picked him last because everyone else had refused him. Ragnar might have tried in those final months with him, but it didn't change the life Ivar had experienced. Floki and Helga had been there with and for him for far longer. The threat of the gods punishing him didn't scare Ivar, what more could they do to him when they had made his legs useless as if by some divine jest among themselves to watch him suffer.

Ivar hated the sudden swell of fear that gathered deep in him as Floki told him to let him continue his work. Were they all set to abandon him? His mother, his father, all their people shunned him but maintained respect because he was a son of Ragnar, but he knew deep down that they would abandon him to wolves if given the chance.

Now, Floki was abandoning him, along with Helga he presumed. He glanced toward the woman who had been nothing but kind to him all these years. She had never dissuaded him, always talked to him, and made him feel welcome. These two people were his family, even his brothers kept him at arm's length for many things.

"You cannot leave me." He felt the sting of the tears and hated himself for it. "My brothers…" The words got caught in his throat. He scrubbed the back of his arm across his face to wipe the stray tears that fell. "I will be too lonely."

Floki was there, coming to him as he sobbed. Leaning his forehead to Ivar's, the older man gave him a moment before he spoke. "Helga and I must leave, Ivar. We have nothing left here, the girl is dead, Helga almost died. This world no longer interests me. That is why I will submit myself to the tides and the winds, and the will of the gods, come what may."

The finality of Floki's words broke Ivar. He wasn't going to convince him to stay. He found what little voice he had and spoke words he'd never say to another. "My heart is broken."

Floki drew him in, saying something that Ivar didn't really comprehend as he let him sob into his chest. There was little that could comfort Ivar in that moment. He was losing something he'd thought was forever fixed to his destiny.

Nora slept like the dead, though it felt like she needed a few more days of straight sleep to fully recover from everything. She'd given up hoping that waking up would land her square back in her bed, the past week, and a bit nothing more than a crazy, long dream. She lay beneath the warmth of the fur, comfortable and unwilling to move.

There were sounds of movement outside the tent walls, so it had to be morning, though what time she couldn't guess. She rolled onto her belly, glancing up and across to where Ivar's bed was. It was empty.

"Small mercies," she mumbled hoarsely to herself as she sighed and stretched.

Light pierced the far wall of the tent as the flap opened somewhere beyond her feet. She stayed still, not moving to look at who was entering. The sound of him dragging himself let her know it was Ivar. What did she do now it was morning? Was she meant to be up and serving him? What did he expect of her? She was lost in thought when she heard the soft sniffle from nearby.

Nora almost rolled over at the tell-tale sign of someone crying but stopped herself. There was a foreign word thrown out into the silence of the tent rather harshly. Probably a curse by the way it was said. Then the sound of more sniffling.

Nora didn't know what to do. It felt like she was invading on a private moment she shouldn't be witness to in any form. She figured it was better to tear the band-aid off in one rough go than be gentle. Lord knows, they'd not been overly gentle with her this whole time.

She yawned, stretching and heard the sudden pause behind her as she pushed herself up onto her knees and stretched her arms over her head. Thankfully the fire was burning so it provided some light as she rubbed her hands across her face before glancing around, pretending like she'd just woken up.

Ivar sat at the table with his back to her. She smiled a little at the awkward placement of his legs, meaning he'd turned around quickly to avoid her gaze.

Too late to act all tough now little Viking she thought remembering how calmly he'd walked through words with her, and how he'd seemed apologetic about cutting her last night. Her hand went up to the small nick on her throat. It would be fine in a few days, it might have terrified her initially, but he'd done minor damage compared to what she imagined he'd be capable of.

She climbed to her feet and padded over to the table. Ivar's back visibly tensed as she drew closer. She skirted round so she was opposite him before she eased herself down. He didn't look up at her but she did notice him adjust his legs and so she simply folded her arms on the table before her, clutching her elbows and waiting patiently. She had nowhere important to be.

Ivar turned around, wincing at the awkward position of his legs. He was almost caught crying by the woman. His anger and sadness over Floki and Helga's impending departure loomed over him all the way back to his tent but it had only been once he was safely inside that he let the tears of frustration escape.

It was her yawn that alerted him she was awake and in a moment of panic at having someone strange see him cry, Ivar presented her with his back and kept his head down, cradling a cup absentmindedly.

She came round to sit opposite him without a word. He didn't want to look at her, didn't want her to see he was upset. This was what embarrassment felt like. He couldn't escape this time like he had with Margethe that time. He'd been able to threaten her into compliance because as brazen as she had become from bedding three of the five sons of Ragnar, she was still a slave who knew how easily Ivar could discard her.

Nora wasn't a slave though; she didn't seem to have that slight fear of him others did. It meant he couldn't simply threaten his way out of his.

"Cup."

The sudden word in his language coming from her made his head snap up. He stared at her with a confused frown. She was holding one of her hands out between them and he glanced down at it and then back up at her face, still unsure of why she felt the need to show off that she could say a word to him now.

After a moment, she rolled her eyes and shook her head, leaning forward to pluck the cup he held from his hand. He was too confused to do anything but watch as she filled it from the pitcher nearby and then set it down and pushed it back toward him.

Ivar looked down at it, and then back up at her. She wasn't looking at him though, she was simply filling another cup. The smallest twitch of his lips into a smile came when he noticed she held a chunk of beard between her teeth while using her hands to fill the second cup. It was such an unusual sight.

She glanced sidelong at him, and he quickly looked down, drawing his cup to him and drinking. What game was she trying to pull on him? Was there a game here?

They settled into silence as he drank. The language barrier was a small saviour in this moment as it meant she couldn't pry.

Nora didn't want to pressure him. He didn't seem like the kind of person to express things to others. Hell, she wouldn't understand him anyway. He was quiet as he drank, and she let him be as she chewed on the beard that had been left at some point before she'd woken.

Instead, Nora decided she would talk, even if he couldn't understand her. "Crying usually means something bad has happened, right?"

He paused and looked up at her, that visible frown of confusion on his features making him appear far younger than he was. She shrugged a shoulder at him, saying, "I might not know what upset you, but sitting around moping doesn't fix the issue. If the issue isn't fixable well, being productive gets the issue off the brain."

Now, he was staring at her like she had two heads. Nora sighed and dropped her head onto the table. That hadn't made things better. She looked up at him after a moment. He was leaning his head in one hand, staring down at her.

"We really need to work on this language barrier."

Nora sighed and pushed back onto her knees and glanced around. There was no paper lying around, and she wasn't so silly to imagine writing was something everyone had access to in this time. What on earth was she meant to do to get over this barrier quicker?

Ivar was intrigued. He didn't know what she was rambling on about but the quick way she spoke, in that strange accent made was nice to here. He really needed to get the language difference out of the way. He needed to be able to communicate with her.

She was looking around when the tent flap opened, and White Hair ducked his head in muttering something about it being time to break camp. Ivar acknowledged him and he disappeared as Nora glanced back to him, the curiosity evident.

He pointed in the direction of where she'd been sleeping, to her clothes that she'd so causally stripped off last night. "Get dressed."

It took her a moment, but she seemed to understand as she nodded and then climbed to her feet and left the table. He used the time while she dressed to scrub a hand over his face and hopefully make himself look less upset. The last thing he wanted was for his brothers to notice and press him.

Nora didn't leave Ivar's side when they finally emerged into the cool morning air. She had basically gotten his request to get dressed properly and done so. It was strange to step outside and have multiple eyes turn her way. It made her feel very small. If Ivar noticed, he gave no indication of her discomfort. His horse and chariot were ready and waiting.

His bodyguard a towering presence behind her. Was he simply Ivar's second in command, or his personal bodyguard? She wasn't sure how positions in armies in this time worked. He could be both. Either way, Nora glanced around at him and smiled. He didn't smile back, Nora gathered he wouldn't, but it was the sudden grip on her arm that made her smile fall. He pushed her towards Ivar's chariot.

As he was getting her into the damn thing, Hvitserk, Ubbe and Sigurd approached. She didn't say a word as she moved to sit back where she had yesterday. Her back and knees were going to hate her at the end of this, but she had little choice or say.

"Floki is not coming with us." The tight grip on Ivar's chest tightened as Ubbe spoke. He nodded refusing to look at his brothers.

"He and Helga are traveling elsewhere," he said. He gathered up Fenrir's reigns. "The gods will protect them." He hoped. For once, his faith in them was shaken. They had strange paths laid out for some of them. Bjorn was understandable, but Floki no longer having interest in this world anymore worried Ivar. Was he intending to sail to the ends of the earth and cast himself over the side?

He glanced down to Nora who was leaning against the side of the chariot. Why did the gods throw this woman in his path though? What use would she be to him?

"We need to cover as much ground as possible between here and York," Ubbe remarked, tapping the rim of the chariot, startling Nora who glanced up which a frown before she muttered something in her language.

Ivar nodded, straightening up and moving Fenrir into a walk.

Nora hated this mode of travel. Every little bit of rough ground, she felt it. She tried not to shift to much, tried to pass the time away by slipping in and out of sleep. There wasn't much else she could do. Talking to Ivar to pass the time away sounded ridiculous. What did they even have in common that conversation wouldn't feel awkward?

The feigning of sleep let her consider how she might find her way back to where she came from, she thought of time travel shows, books and all that jazz that she'd consumed over the years.

Outlander had its own method, the magic stones. Nora hadn't stepped into or touched magic rocks.

Time machine, well, that was self-explanatory. Her car crashing didn't count as a time machine, or at least she didn't think it did.

What if there was no explainable method? What if she'd just been in the wrong place, at the wrong time, and been caught up in a supernatural event. How would anyone find her? She didn't want to think about what was happening back in the future. It was then that she remembered The Butterfly Effect.

Her eyes shot open, and she glanced up to the young Viking lord above her. How much damage had she already done by simply crossing paths with these people? What would happen if she died here? Would she wake up in the future with everything back to normal?

She took in a deep breath and let out a heavy sigh as she glanced at the road behind the chariot. Soldiers marched through the cold, overcast day without complaint even when the thunder started to rumble overhead.

Well, least the past England was like the present; unpredictable weather and almost permanently overcast lately.

When the first drops of rain started to fall, Nora huddled deeper into her jacket. She didn't need her clothes getting soaked but there was little she could do if they continued to march.

Her knee ached, a dull reminder of an old injury and a painful loss she'd never quite recovered from. The chariot hit a rock and Nora grumbled as pain shot up her hip as the floor jerked. She wanted to walk.

Ivar was deep in his thoughts, remembering the farewell of Floki and Helga earlier that morning as everyone had said their goodbyes. The sound of foreign words filtered into his thoughts, and he glanced down to see his new companion frowning and huddling in against the rain. He glanced skyward; the storm wasn't intending to let up anytime soon. If they stopped to camp, they'd be caught until it ended and potentially open prey for the English if they braved and pushed hard to catch them.

He didn't want to stop. The chariot suddenly shifted, and Ivar glanced down to find Nora pushing herself to her feet. He followed her rise, confused as to what she intended to do. She nodded to him and then dropped out the back of the chariot before he could grab hold of her.

Nora didn't make a run for it as he expected, instead she started walking close to the back of the chariot near White Hair's side. The large man had a hand on his axe at his hip and Ivar held a hand up to stop him.

"Let her walk if she wants, she won't get far if she foolishly tries to run."

The man nodded; his steps slowed until he dropped behind the girl. Nora walked stiffly at first and Ivar realised that sitting as she had for so long yesterday and today in the chariot had not been good for her. He'd had little choice at first.

She didn't look his way, simply walked, arms wrapped around herself and looking ahead. He smirked a little, she was surprising and keeping him intrigued. If she survived the hours left of the march, he'd be impressed. He wasn't holding his breath though over it. She wasn't a warrior, whatever she was, she didn't look built for this kind of life.

"If she falls, carry her," he said to White Hair before turning back around.