Master of My Sea


So, before I begin, I want to address two reviews regarding how I should have put a translation to English over the Icelandic dialog in the prologue. Already messaged one person, but unfortunately the other is a Guest so I can't. I've also updated the prologue to explain this in the author's notes so people know before reading.

Addressing the Icelandic and no translation in the prologue:

I didn't include the translations on purpose. There was intent on it. It sets the tone, and gives and element of realism. You're not supposed to know who/what the man is or who/what the woman is when you initially start reading. I like to foreshadow and throw in a bit of mystery in my stories, because I'm not a fan of transparency, it makes a story boring. But I don't like to make things over complicated, because I don't want to make readers confused throughout the entire story, which is my biggest pet peeve with a tv show or a movie. If I wanted you to know what they said, I wouldn't have put it in Icelandic in the first place. If someone who reads my fic DOES understand Icelandic, that's completely fine, but I know most won't. Eventually, the prologue will be addressed again, but not for a while.

Hope that clears that up!

Huge thanks for the reviews, the alerts and favourites, they're all greatly appreciated! Don't want to leave the Author's Note super long up here, so everything else I need to say will be at the bottom. Enjoy!


chapter four:
THE OPTIC BATTLE


Aslaug watched with intense scrutiny as her estranged husband walked into the hall with a child on his back. Once the king reached the table, the girl slid off him and on her feet in a swift movement, then casted a quick glance around the table before lingering on her son, Ivar, and then finally landing on Floki with a tight lipped smile. The queen's eyes narrowed at the girl before moving her leer towards Ragnar.

"You've brought a guest to our table," she stated, but it came out as an accusation, one that she was not thrilled about. Ragnar had been not himself and he had been even less interested in their marriage ever since Ivar was born (However, it became worse after the incident with Siggy), which made everything he did questionable. Ever since he returned from Paris, he had been a complete stranger, and not to mention Aslaug was aware of the absence of her exotic slave she had bought months ago. The slave's relationship with the King of the Danes was also not lost on Aslaug. However, Ragnar knew better enough not to bring his lovers or other unwanted company to the table. For him to bring what appeared to be an orphan child into their home made Aslaug suspicious and on edge, especially since the appearance of this girl unnerved her in a way she could not explain. Her familiar yet unfamiliar face put a bad taste in the Queen's mouth, like a bitter memory that she had tried to suppress for years emerging from the depths of her mind.

"I did," Ragnar looked at his wife with a wide-eyed challenging look that seemed so much more daunting now that there was no affinity in it.

Floki moved his eyes from his long lost friend and then rested on the girl who seemed to have moved her glare back at Ivar, who in turn, glared back. The boy's grip tightened over the string that slung over his shoulder, which pulled the limbs of the bow closer to his body.

"Kára, shouldn't you be home with your mother?" Floki asks the girl, low enough to make this exchange between them both, but Aslaug's keen ear heard every word.

"You know this girl, Floki?" The woman ask, her sharp eyes moved from her husband down the table to the shipwright.

Floki, looking like he had been caught when his fingers in the honey pot, turned to the queen and gave a brief nod. "I do," he said, his eyes moving from Aslaug to Ivar. The air was thick with awkwardness, one that not even Helga was immune to. The woman sat nervously next to her husband, playing with the hem of her sleeves, watching Floki intently, waiting with baited breath for his full response.

Deciding to play it safe, Floki merely replied with the truth, but not the entire truth. "She is the daughter of a friend."

"Her name is Kára Ulfsdóttir," Ragnar opened his mouth without care, and then moved to the head of the table. Floki sighed through his mouth and shut his eyes at his friend's brazen admission.

Ragnar's fingers brushed against the back of Kára's shoulder, indicating for her to follow him. She did so reluctantly, as well as regretting her decision to allow Ragnar invite her to supe with him. Every pair of eyes followed her as she tailed the king to the head of the table.

Aslaug's eyes seemed to shift from one of suspicion to one of genuine surprise and slight fear, but only for a second. Her eyes followed the girl acutely; the closer the girl came to passing by her, the more the candlelight glowed against her features and it at last dawned on the queen by the vibrancy of the girl's hair, who she was.

A servant had pulled a chair up to the head of the table for Ragnar to sit, but Kára had remained just behind his shoulder in the light of the Queen's open stare.

"You are… Hulda's child?" Aslaug asked out loud, her words coming out unsure of her eyes and ears.

The girl opened her mouth, but it was Ragnar who had answered for her. "Yes," he rolled his head to rear his gaze back to his wife. "Is that a problem, wife of mine?"

Kára's eyes flickered to Ragnar and then to Aslaug who seemed to be avoiding something; like the faces of the past that now turned their scrutinizing gaze in her direction. Even the sons of Ragnar seemed utterly confused and tense, sitting there at the table with spoons halfway to their lips, and their collection of blue orbs darting between each parent. Floki and Helga merely remained at the side lines, silent and contemplating swallowing their meals whole and dashing out of the Longhouse.

Both king and queen were tangled in a silent duel; their eyes sharp and blue, but under the hearth light, they both danced with yellow sparks. Aslaug was the first to pull away to look at Kára, her eyes turning kind and a smile gracing her face, but it seemed almost forced in a way that did not seem characteristic to Aslaug.

"You are most welcome at our table, Kára Ulfsdóttir."

Kára bowed her head, "Thank you, my queen."

Satisfied, Ragnar turned to his right, and told his sons to move over, they obliged with some hesitance, especially from Ivar. Once the move was made, Kára eased herself in the spot next to Ragnar, across from Aslaug and next to Ivar. Before she could even help herself to the food, it was the king who served her plate, giving her a generous portion of stew into her bowl before he served himself. This action, of course, had not gone unnoticed by the members of his family and friends who sat beside him, but for Kára it just seemed unnecessary. She did not need a parental figure to serve her food, especially one that was not her father.

"Kára, I believe you have not met my sons," the king began, as he then moved to his plate. "Ubbe, Hvitserk, and Sigurd. Ivar," he paused and looked at the son in question. "You already know."

Aslaug had not touched her plate since the arrival of Ragnar, but it was now that she felt her nails sink into a bread roll, while imagining it was something else. Her eyes lifted up from the torn loaf and onto her youngest son and the girl who sat beside him. "You've two met before?"

"Floki took me to see the Red Woman," Ivar answered without raising his eyes from his stew.

"She gave him that bow!" Hvitserk was one to speak after, motioning over to the weapon that his brother still carried. The poor middle child was oblivious to the topic being the most awkward of them all, for only four who sat at the table knew the truth of what conspired behind it, and those four knew better than to speak of the actual reason how Ivar obtained it. It would spare humiliation for Ivar, as well as possible consequences for Kára by the hands of Queen Aslaug.

Kára's knuckles went white as it gripped the horn of warm mead in her hand; she had to hold back every muscle in her body, including her tongue, from reacting or saying anything about it. It wasn't her house, it wasn't her family, and to top it all off, she was seated next to a king, his queen, his sons, and old, respected friends. Out of all who sat at this cursed table, it was Floki and Helga who she was more familiar with. The couple had remained friends to Hulda, while the rest of the village accepted her isolation and only came to her in times of need and not for social visits. Instinctively, Kára looked up at the shipwright for some kind of help, if he could provide anything.

"That was very kind of her," Aslaug commented through her teeth.

"It is a special gift," Floki finally spoke, having caught Kára's pleading gaze. "Though, the table is no place for weapons."

"But I was told to keep it safe," Ivar protested, his fingers curling around his prize. Kára, of course, noticed this and also noted his words with curiosity.

"Floki is right," Aslaug added sweetly, looking at her son adoringly. "It would be just as safe in your room."

Ivar rolled his eyes in defeat, but did not protest any longer. He rolled his head under the string and gave the bow to an awaiting servant, who promptly took it to the boy's room. Once it was gone, he planted his elbows on the table and resumed consuming what was on his plate. Beside him, Kára's muscles remained tense, but at least her fists had become loosened and she was willing to open her mouth to shove food inside it without making some comment about Ivar.

Silence unfolded amongst the company, save for the sounds of slurps, and wooden plates and bowls hitting the table. Kára found comfort in this, since she had grown tired of optical challenges across tables and unheard conversations spoken through glance, and glares. It seemed that was where most of the unbearable tension had truly stemmed from. With everyone so engrossed in their food, it was evident that all those at the table were aware of how uncomfortable they all were at that moment.

The quiet did not last forever, though; Aslaug had finished her bowl of stew and found herself looking at the girl across from her, allowing her mind to reel on about how much Kára looked like her. Except for her eyes… she had her father's eyes, if the queen could recall. What sat across from her was an opportunity to open up old wounds, or peer into friendship she once had a decade ago. Either way, it would be painful, but there would be more harm allowing sore wounds to fester.

"How's your mother, Kára?"

The girl had paused, caught off guard by the sudden talking as well as it being addressed to her. Slowly, she swallowed the potato in her mouth before she answered, "She is well."

"That is good."

The redhead licked her bottom lip and reached for her horn of mead, but before she could take a sip, she found herself asking: "Queen Aslaug, I hope you don't mind me asking: how do you know my mother?"

The vibe shifted a bit in the Longhouse following that question; eyes now raised from their food and found themselves darting between faces once more. Even Ivar peaked over his bread to look at his mother, his attention showing his interest in the answer as well.

Aslaug smiled at the girl's innocent question, "We were very close, when we were girls," she answered, and found herself staring at her fingers. "It was me, Hulda, and her sister, Sigrún. Their mother was my foster mother, so I lived with them as if they were my sisters. My parents died before I knew them properly, so they were all the family I had and knew. But, we grew older and were lead to seperate paths. But fates did not keep us apart for long, for when I came to Kattegat, pregnant with Ubbe, I was reunited with Hulda."

Kára had listened intently, having forgotten that she and Aslaug weren't alone at the table. It wasn't often that Kára heard stories of her mother's past, especially since Hulda refused to talk about it. Even from Ragnar, what he knew about Ulf, albeit little, earned her undivided attention. "Mother never told me that," Kára found herself saying out loud. "She's never talked about her sister, or you, or… anyone."

Ivar couldn't help himself but to look at the girl sitting next to him with some interest. He, himself, didn't know this tidbit about his mother's past either. He doubted that his brothers knew, since it was Ivar who spent the most time with Aslaug. He's heard stories of his grandparents, and the game of wits that she and Ragnar played the day they've met, but she had never talked about her life as a foster child, or how she was once friends with a witch. It did surprise him that his brothers knew of Hulda before him, but perhaps it was because they were older than him, and well, were not bound to the Longhouse and the hip of their mother. In light of this new information, though, it seemed that Kára was no different to Ivar in that regard. She was bound to that house in the woods, bound to the hip of her mother, and completely, utterly isolated from everyone. At least Ivar had his brothers, had servants, had friends like Floki, and even had a father. Kára had no one other than Hulda. The mention of the Red Woman's sister was also curious, but judging on how his mother had stated she was only reunited with Hulda meant that something happened with the other.

"What happened to Sigrún?" Ivar asked suddenly.

Aslaug's attention went from Kára to her son, and opened her mouth to speak, but Ragnar had interrupted crudely. The king made a loud slurping noise as he brought the bowl to his lips and drained the gravy and broth, and then put down the bowl before he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. Everyone looked at him, though he didn't seem to notice until he reached across the table to snag a piece of cheese from the platter, blinking in surprise once he realized everyone's eyes were on him. Ragnar pulled back and rested back in his chair, content on eating his cheese and zoning out once more.

Aslaug returned her attention back to Ivar, ignoring the interruption and putting on a sad smile. "She died in battle a long time ago," was her simple answer. "That was all I was told."

"At least she died an honourable death," Ubbe spoke his opinion, earning a small smile from his mother, and a side glance from the redheaded girl. "Was she a shieldmaiden, like Lagertha?"

Kára, still silent, moved her head from Ubbe towards the queen, awaiting the answer. The woman nodded, "She was, and a very exceptional one. When we were girls, she defended Hulda and I from a dangerous man who wished to do monstrous things to us." Aslaug took a moment to cast her eyes to her fiddling fingers. "Unfortunately, Sigrún died much too young. I believe she must have been just a few years older than you, Ubbe."

"Do you think she was reincarnated as a valkyrie?" Finally Kára had spoke, and her question had caused everyone to pause what they ate and looked expectedly at Aslaug. Ragnar instead kept a leveled, dilated stare at Kára as she spoke these words. His eyes seemed to glaze over as he drifted off to a distant memory, only to be snapped back into reality when his wife began to speak.

"Well," Aslaug placed her arms crossed in front of her as she bowed her head to look at the little one. "That is a question only the gods could answer. If there is anyone on midgard that would know, it would be your mother."

The redhead gave a hard roll of her eyes, "My mother won't tell me shit."

There was a chorus of sniggers across the table due to the girl's foul language, all except for the older women of the table. Helga held her hand over her mouth, but Aslaug seemed less than amused by the vulgar tongue. Alas, Ivar was the who laughed the loudest, and seeing a smile on her youngest face was enough for the Queen not to fuss over it. Well, that, and she could not berate a daughter of Hulda, knowing the possible ramifications.

x x x

Aslaug remained in the great hall that night, sitting upon her throne and holding a horn of mead in her hand. Her eyes stared unblinkingly into the hearth before her, her ears only paying attention to the crackles of the wood. She did not hear Ragnar sit next to her in his own throne, but it didn't startle her, nor was she unaware of his presence. After nattmal that night, the children had remained at the table playing tafl until one by one they began to tire. Once Ubbe had left to his shared bed with his brothers, the only two that were left were Ivar and Kára, who stubbornly played until there was a loser. They both dozed off on the table before one was declared.

Once their eyes flickered closed, Ragnar pulled himself off from his spot on the floor next to the hearth and gently picked up Ivar, which had surprised Aslaug. Her husband rarely touched their youngest son, possibly out of guilt or disgust for what he was, what he was born to be, all because Ragnar did not heed her warning that night they conceived him. His efforts of trying to be a father towards Ivar were a vain attempt in moulding the boy into something that Ragnar wanted him to be, but the child was incapable of being. The simple gesture of lifting him was innocent and normal, despite Ivar being larger than he was even a year ago. Aslaug felt a ghost of a smile graced her lips as she observed this rare and sweet sight, only for it to disappear the moment that Ragnar used his other arm to scoop up the girl as well by the waist, and held her high enough that her bare feet did not touch the floor. Ragnar then carried the two into Ivar's room behind the fur barrier.

"Why did you bring her here, Ragnar?" Aslaug's voice was almost a whisper, enough for it to be almost unnoticeable, but the viking heard it over the sound of the crackling fire.

"She was hungry," his voice match hers in volume, but was coarser.

The woman scoffed and tore her head away from the fire to look at her husband, "You did it on purpose."

Ragnar didn't look at her, but instead at his dirty finger nails. He had a little smile on his bearded face, then let out a soft laugh. "Not everything I do, is to annoy you, wife of mine. Besides," he rolled his head to finally meet her fiery gaze. "You seemed to like her."

Aslaug curled her lip and looked away from Ragnar, not willing to respond to his patronizing. Her fingers curled around the horn in her hand, as well as into the wood of the arm rest. The fire continued to dance in front of her, but Aslaug's attention was no longer on the orange flames, now that it reminded her of the girl in question. Kára was just a child - she probably hadn't bled yet - but still, when Aslaug looks at her all she sees is a ghost. A vengeful ghost in flesh and bone, sent here by the witch her birthed her in a ceremony of fire, blood and shadow.

"And our son seems to like her as well."

This statement was enough for Aslaug to spring back to life and whip her head to him, eyes lit, heart fluttering. Ragnar sat there, smug and nonchalant all at once, lounging in his throne as if it was a pile of furs and feather pillows. This man was as manipulative and cunning as a snake, and knew every word to get under her skin. His eyes may speak of the madness leaking from his mind, but this hollow body of Ragnar Lothbrok still had his tongue and mouth.

"Which son?" She dreaded the answer before he spoke the name.

"Ivar," he stated transparently. "He fights with her, but I've noticed how he looked at her while they played. He is curious of her, and one day that curiosity will turn into something else."

"You don't know my son, like I do, Ragnar….He is just a boy, and he has no interest-"

"He is a man now, Aslaug. I know men more than you know your son. He will want another woman in his life that is not his mother, and you will have to live with that," he stood up from his throne and began to walk towards the exit of the Longhouse. His footsteps were sluggish but, his long strides carried him to the entrance within seconds.

Aslaug sat up from her throne, "Where are you going?"

Ragnar stopped at the doorway, but said nothing. His head was turned just enough for the hearth fire to light up the profile of his face, and the frown he wore under his mustachio. With silence the only answer he gave her, the King of Kattegat walked out of the house and into the night. Aslaug gripped her horn in a vice before flinging into the fire out of anger and frustration.


My favourite part about this episode was the Ragnar and Aslaug bit at the end. The actual dinner scene was painful for me to write, because of how awkward it was.

I also noticed that my setting/time dividers poofed upon publishing in the last chapters, which it look like i time skip immediately after one scene ends, which wasn't my intent. I did put three asterisks to divide those parts, but they disappeared when i copied and pasted -long sigh-.

Anyway, Chapter five is turning to be a bit long. I might divide it, but I'll warn you there isn't much Ivar/Kara in it, but there is a lot of conversation between certain characters, and reveals who Ragnar's "possible" is. Like I said, this is a slow burn, but I promise it's worth it!

Thank you for reading!

~CB