Master of My Sea
It's been a long time, I'm sorry! Almost a month, or so. Reasons for this is that this chapter and chapter six are both really long, and work for me irl has doubled and become more stressful, which drains any inspiration. Because of that, you might find my writing to lack any soul in it in these next couple of chapters, and for that I apologize.
So this chapter doesn't have a lot of Ivar/Kara in it; it's sort of an in between chapter, but it's not a chapter to skip or skim. Plus, we get to meet Bjorn, and more Ragnar time :3 Next chapter I promise you has Ivar in it.
Many thanks to those who reviewed, favourited, and alerted 3
chapter five:
THE BEAT OF A DRUM
The sound of a beating drum thumped in her ear in the rhythm of her frantic heartbeat. That's all she could hear, aside from her heavy breathing echoing in her mind. Her head laid back against the damp grass, her hair undone from the braid long ago and was now fanned out against the dark grass. Her scalp was crimson from blood, not all her own, and it had fell down passed her brow and spilled into the whites of her eyes.
The sky was clear, with only the sun glaring directly above her face and setting her skin on fire. Coupled with the coolness of the blood soaked grass beneath her, it felt like she hung between Niflheim and Muspelheim, suspended between life and death. She closed her eyes for a second, but it felt long enough for the feeling in her muscles to come back to life. Sounds and motions hit her all at once, and the adrenaline flowed in her veins with a renown vigour. Fingers curled around the grip of what remained of her spear, then she pulled her legs up to her chest and with a fluid motion she flipped onto her feet with both grace and her resurrected might. With her sword long gone, she opted to pull out the dagger strapped to her ankle and immediately looked around the hills of the battlefield. Bodies in boiled leather, chain mail, and iron armour and helms were tangled together in the heat of slaughter, all in the name of victory or Valhalla.
Her eyes scanned through the faces of both men and women; brothers in arms, and shield sisters alike, until her gaze landed on a pair of bright, blue eyes, staring right back at her from a field away.
Ivar had slowly woke from the sound of mumbling and fast breathing that wasn't his own. Blinking in the dark, he rolled to the very edge of his cot to see the form of a girl tangled in furs on the floor frantically twitching and moving around in her sleep. It took a second or two for the boy's sleep-fogged mind to register that the girl was Kára. Instantly he became annoyed both by her being here, in his room, as well as her disturbing his sleep. However, when her face rolled out from the furs, he could plainly see the furrowed brow and snarl on her face. Ivar's annoyance was quick to turn to that of curiosity, wondering at what she could possibly be dreaming about. Ivar leaned over the bed to get a better look at her, and noticed her fingers twitching and curling into her palm. Her knuckles clenched and unclenched, followed by violent twitches of her shoulder. All of a sudden, her legs jolted and she launched herself from the floor and collided her forehead with Ivar's.
A duet of groans filled the void of silence in the night, both of the preteens rolled around in their furs in pain, clutching the spot between their eyes.
"What in Odin's name were you doing? Trying to kiss me in my sleep?" Kára whispered harshly, keeping her eyes tightly closed and her fingers rubbing the spot where his head hit hers.
Ivar spat, "What were you doing? You were moving around in your sleep, and mumbling like a mad woman." He pouted in his cot, palm pressed against his forehead and glaring into the dark with his annoyance returning in full swing.
"I was having a nightmare," she replied, ripping her hand away from her head and pulling herself up from the floor to glare at him. "Why were you so close to my face in the first place?"
Ivar rolled onto his side so he could look at her through the darkness. There was no light to help him, but his eyes were already adjusted and he could see her pale, dirty face just fine, but not enough to see the red mark his forehead imprinted on her own. He avoided her question, and continued with his own, "What were you having a nightmare about? Taking a bath? Calling out of a tree?"
Kára lifted herself so that she was sitting on her legs and rubbing the dulling soreness of her head, "Why do you care, Ivar?"
"I don't," he replied, a bit softer than he intended to.
Kára turned to look at him with a tired expression, her brows furrowed and lips curled into a frown, "Of course you don't; you don't care about anything, do you?"
It was Ivar's turn to furrow his brow and curl his lips into a frown, "What is that supposed to mean?"
"It means exactly how it sounds. You do not care about anyone else but yourself."
"You do not know me, and I do not know you. There is no reason for me to care for a stranger, especially one as obnoxious as you are," Ivar found himself sitting up with his hands to his sides. His fingers curled into his palms, trying to hold back the impulse from raising his fist to her. He knew it would only meet air, since she had the advantage of being able to dodge it. He opted for something he had the better hand at, and it was wounding her verbally. If Kára chose to strike him out of anger, he knew that he was able to hold his own until his mother or brothers came to pull her off. She would know better as well, since this was his territory and her empty threats would not work here. "That is why no one will care for you, Ulfsdóttir. You are annoying, ugly, filthy, and no one even knew you existed up until this moment. You are nobody, and I am a prince - a son of Ragnar Lothbrok and Aslaug Sigurdsdóttir. If you've got a good reason for me to care about you, then by all means, share it."
It was true, his words had done it's duty and stung Kára's greatest insecurities, but not as much as he would like. The girl knew Ivar to be needlessly cruel, for reasons she could only assume to be how he was born and, to whom he was born to. Though, because of this, it all seemed… predictable. Every instinct in her muscles told her to run at him and push him, slap him, or give him a black eye to put him in his place. He might be a prince, but he was as weak as the day he was born, and Kára would love nothing less than to remind him of that. The true hierarchy between them was not that of their class, but of their bodies. Kára was shamelessly superior to him and in any other instances, she would live longer than him. Even in nature, animals that were born with deformities barely lived to see an entire season before they were taken by nature itself. Ivar would have been no different had he been born in any other family. That was the sad truth of their world that they lived in.
She could have said this and be just as cruel as Ivar was with his tongue, but when Kára got up to her feet and squared her shoulders, she suddenly felt something in her chest that made her stop. It was the sight of him, all defiant and bound in his cot, his legs tied together indefinitely. If he were to stand, he would surely be taller than her, and for some reason that realization had brought Kára to pity him, but not in the way most pitied him. Others would look at him like an injured puppy and feel sorry for the dear boy for simply being born the way he was. However, that wasn't what Kára pitied him for. She pitied him for all the potential he could have been, but ended up being a colossal disappointment. Instead of becoming stronger because of his legs, he had turned bitter and angry, and did nothing to improve himself. She pitied him not for what he was, but what he could have been, and won't be.
Kára let out a steady sigh, her face dropped to something neutral that Ivar could not read. "I cannot believe I had wanted to be your friend," this statement was directed at herself, more than anything. She did not fear Ivar like the other children, but was always curious about him. After the other day on the hill, he brought her some amusement. That, and his lips were soft. It was enough to make an impression on her, and being a child with no friends her own age, she wanted to meet him again. However, she she was given that opportunity, she quickly learned why Ivar the Boneless didn't have friends his own age as well.
Shaking her head, she focused on the crippled boy in front of her, "You are not worth it." Her heel turned as she made her way towards the exit, and Ivar, both caught off guard by her words and her departure, stumbled to ask her where she thought she was going.
"Home," she said, pulling back the furs and mesh that separated the bedroom from the room adjacent. Kára gave him a final look before adding one last thing before her departure. "I would say it was nice knowing you, Ivar, but I am not one to lie. Goodbye."
She had gone without giving him the opportunity to breathe the last word. This had frustrated him so much that he picked up the nearest object - a wooden mug - and flung it against the door frame.
With a head vibrating with a headache, Kára had walked on her swift, still bare feet right out of the Great Hall. She hadn't the time to assess her surroundings, if she had, she would have seen the Queen linger on the other side of the longhouse where the fabric divider separated the Hall from her private quarters. Aslaug's sharp stare followed Kára's body fluidly until she left into the night. Her gaze whipped back to where she heard the sound of a wooden cup chip off the wall and bounce off. Ragnar's words echoed in her mind annoyingly, but after what she had heard, she grew in satisfaction and assurance that what he said would not ring true.
x x A FORTNIGHT LATER x x
Hulda sighed irritably as she examined the legs of her daughter's trousers. On top of them becoming frayed at the hems, they were also rising higher and higher up her calve. It was only a year ago that they had been sewed to fit the girl's long legs, however it seemed like she had grew five more inches over the span of a few months. Her eyes landed on the girl's feet, that were exceptionally dirty as well. The bottoms were practically black, and inbetween her toes were grass stains that darkened over time. Her toenails were even worse.
When the woman raised her eyes to meet the unsuspecting face of her daughter, Kára paused with a spoon halfway to her lips. Her eyebrow twitched from her mother's unimpressed stare, and she shifted in her spot uncomfortably.
"What?"
"You need a bath," Hulda stated flatly.
Kára did not skip a beat to react. Her spoon dropped into her porridge with a plop and splash, and the table justled as she pulled her legs from under it and high-tailed it towards the exit of the house in one swift movement.
Hulda was quicker to react, having been used to this reaction from Kára since she had been able to walk. There was an irrational fear that her daughter had with water, especially in natural bodies of it. Hulda was lucky to get her in the river for a bath once in a moon, but now that she was blossoming to a woman, this bad habit needed to change. Kára had not bled yet, but once that happens, her hygiene would get worse if she continued to avoid the water. Hulda's long arms had slung around the girl's waist and pulled her close to her body.
Kára flailed about fruitlessly, but her mother had a surprisingly strong grip for a woman who does little to gain tone and muscle. Hulda held on her with difficulty, though, since her daughter was growing at a rapid pace, and her hunting and climbing activities had made her lithe little body strong. Still, Hulda was her mother, so she had the upper hand at knowing that Kára would not fight to the point of physical injury. Lifting her up was like holding a wiggling cat that was trying to get away from human affection.
It took some time, and an immense amount of effort, but Hulda had managed to drag Kára to the riverbed, strip her bare and tossed her into the water. Kára flailed helplessly, clutching on a rock that bordered the river.
"Are you crazy, lady?! I could have drowned!" Kára shouted, bracing her body on the edge, while her legs floated unceremoniously behind her. Hulda had ignored her as she, too, stripped out of her red robes and gowns and stepped into the water gracefully.
"The water does not even reach your chin," the red woman assured her daughter, but that did nothing to slacken the grip that Kára had on the rock. Sighing, Hulda swam to her and continued her routine of bathing her daughter while she braced herself on the side of something for dear life. Hulda pulled out a comb and attempted the miracle of detangling her daughter's hair.
Through the growls and yelps of the young girl, Hulda glanced up at her pained, paling face before speaking. "You know, one day you must get over this fear of yours. What would you do if you are to sail off to England or Paris to raid?"
"I'll fly there," she blurted in determination, which made Hulda snort.
"You'll fly there? How?"
'I'll become an inventor, like father, and make a pair of wings- Ow!" she hissed at the sharp jerk of the comb going through a tight knot.
Smirking, Hulda humoured her daughter, "Then you'll be able to fly over the walls of Paris, like a Valkyrie!"
"Exactly-Ow! You're doing this on purpose," Kára wiggled furiously away from her mother's fingers.
"It is your fault that your hair is as tangled as it is - you never brush it, you never braid it. It is like detangling a rat's nest," Hulda had half a mind of chopping it all off out of sheer frustration.
Silence befell them, save for the sound of the wind blowing in the leaves and water splashing against the river rocks. Every once in awhile there was a wince, a groan and a yelp as Hulda did her best with the comb. During this moment, Kára had let her mind wander to the dinner she had with the Ragnarssons, and what she had learned from Queen Aslaug.
"Why didn't you tell me that aunt Sigrún died in battle?"
Hulda paused for a moment at the question. Her eyes defocused for a moment before resuming combing out the knots in Kára's hair.
"Who told you that?"
"Queen Aslaug,"
"When did you talk with the Queen?"
"Stop changing the subject,"
Hulda sighed through her nose, and watched her fingers tug at the ends to free the girl's hair from the tangles. "The past is painful, so I do not look back at it," was her answer, an answer that Kára had predicted, but wasn't satisfied with. "What else did Aslaug tell you?"
Kára adjusted herself on the rock and bit her lip in thought. "She told me that she, Sigrún, and you all grew up with each other like sisters, and that aunt Sigrún saved the two of you from a man."
A ghost of a smile appeared on Hulda's pale face; it was a mixture of nostalgia and sadness. "Sigrún picked up a spear and threw it right into the man's chest," she recollected that moment. "We were fourteen summers old."
Silence befell on them once again. Kára didn't wish to bring up any more painful memories for her mother, so she allowed the sounds of nature fill the quiet space.
Hulda had eventually managed, miraculously, to detangle the red tresses and pulled away. "You never told me how you met the Queen," the older woman brought back the previous question.
"I was having dinner at the Longhouse with the King and his family," Kára answered, keeping information limited. She didn't want to mention meeting Ragnar in the forest that day she fled home.
Hulda raised an eyebrow at that, seeing what happened the other week with Ivar, for Kára to willingly have dinner with the Royal family was surprising. "How did that go?"
Kára glared into the rock face at the memory of that night, especially when she woke up smacking her forehead against Ivar's. "I don't want to talk about it."
X X X
The market had grown ever since Ragnar and his men had left to conquer Paris. Many foreign merchants had settled around the border of Kattegat, offering exotic silks and fabrics, new embroidery, and beautifully intricate jewellery. For herbs and new crops, the Market flourished most, bringing in new flavours and spices that most Northmen have never even heard of. Naturally, this setting brought in many bodies filing through each other, sometimes those with pilfering fingers and ill intent. Hulda did not wish to be one of the many bodies that wove with each other, not that she did not trust strangers, but because crowds were not a welcome feeling for her. She had spent many years isolated from the populace that she had forgot what it felt like to be one with a moving crowd of humans. However, she had a growing child and that required new fabric to make new clothes. Typically, she would pay Helga to do this for her, but this time...she felt inclined to go herself.
It felt unworldly walking side by side with her mother in the most crowded place of all of Kattegat. Kára stole a glance at her mother, draped in her thick maroon colored robes with the hood pulled loosely over her head. That did nothing to guise who she was, because eyes were casted in their direction as they walked side by side down the middle of the walkway. Some even pushed away to give them more space to walk through. This feeling was extremely foreign to Kára; it made her feel like royalty, but she was pretty sure that not even the Ragnarssons were given this kind of treatment in public. When she came to the market alone, she was shoved and pushed out of the way, since she appeared to just be another orphan that piled up in the port city.
A Völva entering a dwelling was a rare and honoured event. However, those who knew of Hulda knew that she was not far away from Kattegat, and those who lived in the port city as long as it's origin, knew that she had resided in the city once upon a time. Foreigners only followed by example upon seeing the locals reactions to the curious woman in red, and listened keenly to the whispers their customers shared amongst each other. It had taken the light off of Ragnar, who had arrived at the marketplace a while ago alongside his son, Bjorn.
The king leaned against a barrel of mead as his son stood tall next to him. Bjorn had been talking about the Berserker who he had fought during his isolated winter, while fiddling with the ring on his finger. Ragnar had only half listened, not out of disinterest, but simply because his mind was still foggy from the night prior when Yidu had given him his medicine. In his own hand he fiddled with the pit of peach he had gotten from one of the foreign vendors. His nails dug into the grooves while trying his hardest to pull his mind from slipping into fake images to focus Bjorn's words.
Ragnar found his eyes moving on their own accord, shifting from the ground and landing on the duo that cut through the crowd of the market. The blood-orange braid draped over her shoulder with wisps of red hair framing around her doll-like face, that slowly began to shift into a sharper, darker, and older appearance. War paint coated her eyes and blood spilled from her scalp down her eyes. With the spear clutched in her hand and a shield in another, she walked with a gait that made her appear larger and leather.
Ragnar felt the air leave his lungs and his lips parted as if to gasp for a breath. The sound of a drum beating to the rhythm of his heart thundered in his mind.
"Father?" Bjorn placed a hand on his shoulder.
Ragnar blinked rapidly, the image had left him the moment he tore his eyes away and back on the floor. He pulled his hand up to his eyes and pressed his palm into them, and returned his eyes to Kára and her mother. The child contrasted what she looked before; clad in a dusty blue dress and brown apron, a clean face, and her hair visibly damp but locked into the long plait that rested on her shoulder. Hulda looked less innocent and more transcendental in her flowing red robes and hood, with only her lovely pale face and slender arms peaking through the fabrics.
Bjorn reacted accordingly and turned around to see what his father was staring at. The muscles in his face tensed before they relaxed when he saw who it was; while he had not seen her since he was a boy, there was an immediate recognition and shock at seeing her in a public setting.
As if their gaze made a physical touch, Hulda had turned in their direction and immediately caught the wild eyes of King Ragnar. Like a child being caught doing something naughty, Ragnar had the urge to pull his gaze away, but found himself trying to keep his eyes up and not shying away. The moment her dark orbs had met his bright ones, it felt like she had stepped into his mind and shamefully tisked at the state of it. That feeling was unlike what ever he felt with the Seer, simply because she had eyes like the sea; deep, foreboding, and unforgiving during times. He had not realized she had approached him until his son spoke.
"Hulda - it has been a long time since I last saw you," Bjorn offered no smile, but the softness of his features were friendly enough. There was no smiling for the eldest son of Ragnar after what he had endured in the wilderness during the winter, and especially now that he knew that there was someone trying to kill him. The last time Bjorn had seen the Red Woman, she was a happily married with a son who was the same age as him, but when he returned to Kattegat with his mother to aide his father to reclaim the city, Hulda and Ulf's son was not with them.
Ragnar nearly curled into himself as the witch approached him and Bjorn. Her eyes had not left him until her feet stopped, and she gently pulled her chin to the direction of the taller Lothbrok. Her smiled ease the tensions between the three adults, as well as Kára quietly approaching at the rear. She looked up quizzically at the three of them, but landed on Ragnar for longer second, who in turn continued to avoid all eye contact.
"Well if it isn't the oldest Ragnarsson," The witch peered into his face, examining his features thoroughly before settling on his eyes. Her hands reached up and cupped his cheeks, with her thumbs sliding under this lids. It was Bjorn's turn to endure the intense gaze of the Völva, but unlike his father, he did not look away. Instead he kept his brow straight and met the woman's pupil as she peered into his soul. "I see you are a man, now. I heard your call in the winter… and I see the bear in your eye. His spirit lies there, ready to aide you in your ambitions," her hands slipped from his face and down to his hands, where her fingers landed on the iron ring on his finger.
"Do you know whose ring this is?" Bjorn asked immediately the moment her fingers touched his.
She patted his hand, while still cupping them in her own, "The answer will be revealed to you soon, from holy lips."
"Are you not holy?"
Hulda gave a soft chuckle before pulling her hands away from his and bringing it to her person, then she turned her attention back to Ragnar.
"Hello Ragnar," she replied simply.
He gave a nod, but no reply and kept his arms folded across him.
"I heard you brought my daughter over to the longhouse for nattmal," she watched the king look at Kára before returning his wide blue stare up at the Red Woman.
"She was hungry," he finally spoke, his voice both soft and hoarse, as if he had gone a whole day without drinking. Ragnar's thumb went back to digging into the grooves of the peach pit in his hand as he slowly gained back his voice. "What has brought you here, if I may ask? You have not stepped into Kattegat since… For a very long time."
Hulda's arm snaked over Kára's shoulder and brought her closer to her side, "Kára is in need for new clothes. I came for fabric," she casted a look around the market in mild impress. "Kattegat has greatly grown since I last lived here. It's a change that I knew would happen, with you at the helm of it all."
Ragnar leaned his elbow on the barrell casually as he flashed a set of teeth in what appeared to be a bashful grin at the compliment. His mind was still foggy, and he felt a great apprehension from being so vulnerable around her; it was like he wanted to avoided her judgement the most out of everyone. He was sure that his family, his friends, and his people noticed his great change, but he had no care for their opinions. He was king, he could do as he pleased. However, Hulda was vastly different from everyone in his life; one, she did not answer to him. She, like the Seer, was the mouthpiece to the gods, but unlike the Seer, she was a woman, which meant her gifts put her on a grander status than even his wife.
Aslaug had tried to convince him that she, too, was a Völva by predicting Sigurd's serpentine eye before he was born. That instance had no doubt convinced Ragnar of his wife's abilities. Foresight she had, but she was no Völva, not to the degree that Hulda was. The Red Woman was wiser, more talented, and if testimonies served her reputation correct, she was more accurate with her prophecies and predictions than Aslaug. Perhaps it was the reason why Aslaug had grown more jealous of Hulda every years. Aslaug's magical prowess only served herself, her sons, and Ragnar, so she grew little in her skill. Hulda had committed herself the moment her husband died, but years before she had opened her services to the masses, which included being a midwife and healer. If Ragnar remembered correctly, she even served the Seer for a few years before she married Ulf to learn more of the gods.
Ragnar did not wish to appear vulnerable, but he knew on some level that Hulda knew it just by looking at him. Still, he was determined not to seem like a fool in front of her, so he attempted to at least appear confident in his words. He started by making the keen observation as he turned his attention back to the little redhead with the braid, when he noticed her feet under the clearly too-short skirt.
"Look who has shoes," he joked, and then looked back at the mother. "I had the impression you were allowing the wolves to raise her, Hulda."
The woman gave a great sigh, "I have the impression she would love that."
"Stop talking like I am not here," Kára huffed with her arms crossed. The three adults regarded her with amusement, which only fueled her annoyance and then it tripled when Ragnar had the audacity to ruffle her hair. She swatted at his hand.
Hulda adjusted her arm around her daughter's shoulders as she turned back to Bjorn, "Bjorn, would you do me a small favour and take my daughter for a moment. I wish to talk to your father, if you don't mind. You can tell her your adventures in the mountains."
Ragnar felt his heart stop, and then his stomach dropped the moment Bjorn obliged with the nod of his head. Hulda's hand was replaced with Ironside's massive one as he escorted Kára away from the two and into the markets. Ragnar had half a mind to reach out for his son's sleeve and beg him to not leave him alone with the Völva, he knew the lecture he would endure from her would be filled with more shame than his wife could ever invent.
The moment that they were out of earshot, Hulda rounded on him with her lips fallen to a straight line. "You are not yourself, Ragnar."
The man rolled his head, pointing his nose in the opposite direction of her. "I do not know what you are talking about," he replied, but felt fingers curl under his chin and yank his face back to her by his beard. His eyes turned wide from both the sting and surprise at her boldness.
"Do not play fool with me, Ragnar Lothbrok," she chided him, and kept her nails on his chin. "Your skin is dry, your lips are tainted red, and your eyes are bloodshot. I know a fraying man when I see one. You had such a beautiful mind," she pulled away, her expression growing mournful. "Why do you poison it?"
His eyes darted to and fro from hers, finding more clarity in that moment since he had woke up that day with a foggy mind due to the night prior. "It is medicine, not poison," he defended himself through a whisper. "I came from Paris with a weak and ill body. I nearly had died, if it had not been for Yidu's medicine."
Hulda's eyes narrowed, "Yidu. This is not a northern name."
"She is not a northern woman,"
"So, she is a slave?" It came out as a question, but it was meant as a statement. Hulda gave no room for a reply as she continued, "Do you have any confidence that she is doing this for your benefit and not hers?"
Ragnar pursed his lips, causing his mustache to cover his mouth. "She is not like that; she is different."
Hulda crossed her arms and rolled her hip to the side. "Like Lagertha and Aslaug?" She tilted her head to the side.
The viking straightened his spine and closed the distance between them so he towered over her by half a foot. He placed his hand on the stack of barrels behind her head and balanced on one foot while the other crossed around his ankle. "Are you jealous?"
The woman's face fell into stone, "You know, Lothbrok, not all women who fuck you are in love with you."
His eyebrows rose to his hairline as he rolled his head onto his raised shoulder, "I did not say that, you did." Ragnar brazenly smiled, "Though, now that you mention it, that does seem like a pattern."
Hulda rolled her eyes, "And yet you do not do a good job at holding their love."
That wound stung and he showed it by sucking through his teeth and leaning back from the verbal assault. He pulled his free hand up to his breast and held his heart to illustrate the wound. When his hand dropped to his side again, he leaned back to her and whispered, "Maybe I am not a good man to love. Maybe, my heart is doomed to be fickle and selfish. For what's it worth, Hulda, I do not foresee another woman falling in love with me again."
The word 'foresee' triggered a hand motion from the woman, and Hulda found that she had little control of herself and reached up and to place her fingers over the cavity that hid his heart. Her eyes flickered to the spot and her muscles slackened under her pale skin. Slightly taken back by the sudden change in her demeanour, Ragnar once again found himself breathless and tense.
The sound of thumping drummed in his ear and for a moment he did not realize it was his own heart beat. It sounded like a drum that was being rhythmically beaten by a god as her fingertips pressed against his leather jerkin. She recoiled her hand slowly and brought it to her own chest; the digits curling into her palm, while her thumb rubbed along her long middle nail in thought.
Hulda cleared her throat, "I would not worry so much on romance, Ragnar Lothbrok. Stay concerned on your mind, and the state of it. Your reliance on this woman and her 'medicine' I fear will stray you farther away from yourself, and everyone you love."
"I can handle myself," Ragnar was stubborn; he did not want to part with his only sanctuary, not now, and perhaps not ever. The times he did not have Yidu's herbs, it was like if he was living in Hel, or walking in perpetual agony of his soul. When he took them, he felt light, powerful, and invincible. He witnessed things he never imagined, and the king could not see himself give up that precious gift.
"You are isolating yourself from your family, and friends. Why would you rather be with a slave, than your own sons?"
Ragnar pursed his lips again, he attempted to bite his tongue before it moved on it's own, but it was left to its own devices. "Are you not doing the same thing, Hulda? Isolating yourself from your friends?" She squinted at him, but gave no rebuttal, which was the man's small victory. "You would not know, would you, if I was truly avoiding my family. You are not here to witness it."
Very slowly, Hulda's lips stretched into a smile as an idea had formulated in her mind, and Ragnar's wide eyes frantically bounce between her orbs and mouth, wondering what she was thinking, and what he had said for this idea to be birthed. He feared it would be something he would immediately regret, or regret later. Neither was ideal.
"Then, perhaps I will listen to my own advice and finally reunite myself with the city I had grown to love. If not for me, than for my daughter, who I know needs more than what I can offer alone," Her arms swung down to her sides, her eyes sparkling with her larger victory. "If you are truly not avoiding your family, Ragnar, then surely we will be seeing each other more often." She began to walk away from him, her shoulder gently grazing his as she did so.
Once the woman was out of eyeshot, Ragnar pulled back his lips and bared his clenched jaw in annoyance at the predicament that he found himself into. Ragnar dragged his hand down his face, and cursed under his breath.
Hope that chapter was worth the wait! Chapters might get that lengthy, if I follow this trend.
A little history lesson:
Vikings were actually very hygienic people. This is shown briefly in the show with Ragnar washing his face and blowing his nose in a basin that was presented to him and his family by a slave. They combed their hair every day, and bleached it to get rid of lice. They bathed in bathing houses, in lakes, rivers, etc, or sometimes had tubs of water in their quarters. Women carried around hygienic tools attached to their broaches like keychains. On it was a comb of bone or ivory, tweezers, razors, and ear spoons to clean their ears. They were also worn like accessories because they were intricately designed. So it was pretty frowned upon and taboo to be dirty and unhygienic, which is why it is a big deal that Kara is so dirty. Since she lived all her life away from society for the most part, and having to do most of the fishing and hunting for her and her mother, it's natural that she appears so feral and with little care of how she presents herself to people. Regular social norms of her society don't apply to her because she wasn't raised that way, but that doesn't erase the expectation that her people have on her. So that's another reason why people treat her badly when shes alone in Kattegat.
I know I've mentioned this before, but Volva were well respected in Viking culture. When one visited a city, the jarl, king, or queen often gave up their seat for the volva. Men who practiced magic were taboo. They were often assumed to be untrustworthy, which is why Ragnar made that comparison that the Seer was not considered as revered as Hulda, because he was a man practicing a woman's craft. Also, the reason why Aslaug is not considered an actual witch, is because she is married with children. All women were seen to have magic powers, some stronger than others, but to be a true Volva, one has to forgo their family and dedicate their entire lives to the gods and magic. Of course, as you can see, this isn't entirely true for Hulda, but I mentioned before this is something that will be addressed later in the story.
Thanks for reading, and as always, I would love to hear some feedback.
- CB.
