Master of My Sea
Sorry for another late update. I dont have a good excuse. I was both lazy and lack creativity and inspiration for a long while. At any rate, this is a super long chapter, and a lot of things are brought to light in this chapter that I'm excited for you to read.
I just want to give a huge thank you to the amazing reviews I've been getting. They're exceptionally encouraging and give me butterflies in my stomach. It's honestly what I go to when I feel any thread of doubt.
To that guest asking about a Bjorn/Thorunn fic, since you're a guest, I couldn't reply to you. My answer is: this isn't a place for requests, I'm sorry.
chapter ten:
THE TOWN HART
The morning brought no hope of Kára's return. Hulda did not sleep at all that night, continuously praying to the gods as the storm raged around her, whipping water and debris in her face and eyes. Last night was a blur in her mind; after an hour or so when Kára fled and had not returned, Hulda began to search for her. To her surprise and appreciation, Helga, Floki, Ragnar and his sons had joined the search. For fear of perverse strangers taking advantage of a missing girl, the kept this news to themselves.
Bjorn had traced her to the Seer's cabin; the Seer offered no help to her location, but he did leave Hulda with some words that echoed in her mind the entire night.
"We need to find her before the storm gets worse. Please, you must have some idea of where she went,"
"My dear," he breathed heavily as thunder shuddered the ground. "The storm will not harm her."
"Did you see something? How do you know this?"
"It will not harm her, because she is the storm."
Hulda pulled herself from the high stool she had positioned in front of her house. Her bare feet slid against the slick and wet grass as she lost her balance, but she made no move to save herself from the fall. She let gravity pull her to the earth, where she curled into her body and sobbed. Standing as tall as she could on the stool and peering into the heavens did little to console her. She shouted for Freya's motherly guidance; she begged for Thor's protection; she prayed to the Allfather to send his valkyries to her. Then last, she called for her Ulf, who still floated in the darkness of the lake, just at the gates of Hel. However, the residue of the harsh storm of the night had diluted her third eye and she could not see anything other than angry clouds churning into each other.
The woman's fingers dug into the earth as she sobbed. The only sound she could hear were the birds singing for mates, and the beating of her own heart in her head that seemed to echo louder than ever. So loud that she did not register the sound of boots walking against the moist earth towards her. When she felt Ragnar's fingers moving her hair behind her ear, she jerked in surprise.
"Ease," he replied calmly, then took a hold of her biceps and helped her up from the ground. His eyes were soft, yet focused as he examined her distraught state. Dirt covered her face and hair, and grass stains tinted the paleness of her skin. "Have you not seen anything?"
"No," her voice shaked with defeat. Hulda gently pulled herself from Ragnar's hand and leaned against the stool she had used to elevate herself to Asgard. "All I saw was the rolling of clouds. They are not allowing me to see her, and I fear none of the gods are sending aid."
"We do not know that," Ragnar's hand reached up again, and ran across her shoulder. "Your daughter is strong, and the gods smile on strong women. She will come home… The forest has raised her."
"And what makes you so confident, Ragnar?" Hulda hung her head as she was hunched her shoulders and bowed her head while still leaning against the stool. "You speak of her like you know her more than I do."
"Has she told you the first time we've met?" His question earned Hulda's attention. She looked over her shoulder at him with a furrowed brow of confusion. Before she said anything, he continued, "It was at my cabin, the one you know well. I found her sitting by the firewood, a rusty knife pulled out, ready to slit my throat." His hand reached to his neck, rubbing the muscle from the memory. A small smile came forth between the whiskers of his beard, "She was upset, then, too…"
"About Ivar," Hulda nodded, remembering well.
"About Ivar," he nodded and tilted his head, "But she was also upset, because she did not know the kind of man her father was."
The woman's lungs filled with heavy air as she pulled herself from the stool and began walking towards the house, Ragnar trailing behind her.
"I wanted to tell her about Ulf for years, but," Hulda stopped at a basin of rain water and started to wash her face with an old cloth. "It was difficult. She's was too young to understand the circumstances, or the past."
"Was?"
She pulled the cloth over her mouth, and then down her neck. Ragnar's eyes strayed from her eyes, down to her lips and then neck where he watched a drop of water create a shallow river down to the dip of her collarbone.
"The Seer said something last night that I had not considered," she looked down at the mud and grass stains on the rag solemnly. "The storm was not there to hinder her. It was there because it is her… It has occurred to me that has happened before."
Ragnar's snapped from the mound of her cleavage up to her eyes in alertness, "What do you mean?"
"The night that Ulf had killed himself," she squared her shoulders as her body stiffened from the memory, "was the day I learned I was pregnant."
Ragnar remembered that winter to be harsh, and even harsher that night. The next day, when Kattegat learned of his passing, for a brief moment they had all thought the storm had got him, and froze him over night. Many had died over that night; slaves, the ill, the homeless, and some children. When Hulda had announced she was pregnant, it was a light in a dismal place, especially since she had previously believed she was infertile after her first born.
"And when I gave birth to her, hard came the rain, and loud came the thunder. Last night was no different," she slowly turned to Ragnar, her face cleaner than before, but there was still the residue of dirt, and a stray blade of grass in her red hair. "She is no longer a child, she is a woman. It is time that I tell her… everything."
Without hesitation or further thinking, Ragnar knew of her meaning. He did not know the links between Kára and the weather, with his faith in the gods failing every passing summer, he could not wholly believe that the wee little forest girl had the power to control storms - if that is what Hulda was implying. What he did understand were the patterns in which the woman was describing and what it meant to become an adult as a girl. Kára had bled, according to Hulda, which meant that she would no longer be treated like a child.
"Everything? Even Eirik?"
"Eirik, Sigrún, Ulf, King Froh-"
"King Froh," Ragnar tilted his head and raised his brow, "That would mean, you would have to tell her your real name."
"If there is anyone that should know who I really am, It should be my daughter," she pursed her lips, "I have been so afraid of my past, that instead of haunting me, it has been haunting her."
Ragnar reached up and pulled the blades of grass from her hair, but his fingers lingered in the tendrils. Hulda's attention was pulled from his face and to the digits that threaded in her hair. The simple touch sent an influx of memories and emotions that came with it, but what was most prominent of them was guilt. Guilt from withholding knowledge from Ragnar for these many years, mostly out of the bitterness and resentment of a young woman she no longer was. But after years of holding this knowledge like a hostage, it had just gotten harder to hold. Immediately she pulled away from Ragnar's fingers and looked down, feeling the smallest she has ever felt in a long time.
Her change in demeanour was an immediate concern for the King. He could actually feel the air around her change; his face dropped to one of concern.
"What is wrong?"
"There is something else… Something you need to know. Something I should have told you years ago."
x x x
It had been three days and four nights since Kára had been missing. Bjorn had a small party of hunters track her position, but all traces of her disappeared after a certain point. They had found wolf prints nearby hers, which showed that she had been sprinting and fell off a overhang in the earth. It was there that they lost her tracks. There was no signs of blood or wolf scat with human bone. In fact, the hunters had said that the wolves had lost her as well, and went off in a different direction.
Ivar felt utterly useless in the duration of the search. Dragging his body behind his brothers just felt like he was pulling them back. His mother had suggested that it would be best if he remained home, and allow Ubbe, Sigurd and Hvitserk to go. Ivar agreed, only because of the hole of helplessness he put himself in. He was no hunter, he was no tracker, hell he was not even a proper warrior. He wouldn't even know where to look first.
It was the fourth night, and he laid in his cot and looked at the ceiling in the dark. His fingers were running along his arm ring in hard contemplation. They had already searched in places where she could be - near the home, in nearby caves, at the cabin his father retires to. They have searched all of the known hunting retreats in the forest, and found no traces of her. Bjorn had been scouring the rivers nearby the direction she had been headed, and would only end up at the lake empty handed.
The lake…
It was massive; to an outsider it looked like the sea from afar, but he knew it was the centre of Kattegat. The eye, as Kára had described it. If he was lost, the one place he would try to find is the lake and eventually he would find civilization, and shelter. With that revelation, Ivar pulled himself from his furs and snuck out of the longhouse and into the night, alone. He crawled through the forest for hours following the radius of the lake. Armed with two daggers to help him pull through the dirt easier, Ivar was determined to be the first person to find her. In a way, he felt as if it was his fault that she had fled. She had fled before because of him, and his words he chose that night at The Thing, was more than enough to put her on edge already. He never regretted anything more in his life.
The sun had risen, making his search for her easier. The evaluation of land told him he was moving more north, which was the direction they found her footprints to go in. The longer he pulled himself along the earth, the more Ivar began to worry that his efforts are going in vain. What if she had been abducted? What if the wolves got to her, and her body was laying somewhere, torn to shreds and and mostly eaten? What if she injured herself, and succumbed to her wounds?
He was so bound in his thoughts and anxieties that he long stopped paying attention to where he was going. Ivar's eyes burned into the soil he climbed, using the strength in his arms to pull his legs up hill, trying to ignore the sting in his eyes that felt utterly foreign to him. Was he really getting that upset over her? Kára Greenfoot, the dirty girl raised by trees and a witch? Was she really that important to him, that the idea of her being hurt in any calamity emotionally overwhelmed him, and caused his heart to beat rapidly and his head to pound in worry?
The dagger plunged into soft earth, and the weight of his body had caused the weak ground to give in. The world under him slipped from view, and suddenly he was flying - no, he was dropping. Had he been paying attention to where he was going, he would have seen the incline of the cliff that hung over the lake at 20 feet above. The edge was weak there, and it caved the moment he climbed on top of it. Ivar's arms flailed about, his daggers dropping into the lake below, and his fingers sliding against hard earth, trying to grab everything he could. His fingers grabbed the ends of a root, but it was far too thin to keep his weight. In matters of seconds that felt like eternity, his back felt the collision with the water in a slap. It punched through his chest and knocked all the air from his lungs, so when his head was enveloped in water, he gasped and choked.
Immediately panic, lack of air, and water in his throat caused the corners of his vision to cloud. Tiny stars flickered around him as his brain lacked the oxygen it needed. He felt like dead weight in a bottomless pit. The cold of the lake felt made it feel like he was in the middle of winter. With his tense muscles moving around frantically, it made the lake swallow him faster. The glassy surface of the water began to shrink away in front of him; the farther away the light seemed, and the deeper the darkness became. In what he believed to be his final thoughts, Ivar thought of the failure of dying before he even found her.
He blinked back the sting in his eyes from the water assaulting them, but he regretted immediately, because what little shimmering light he had left was now blurred. He couldn't make out anything, not even the forms that floated in front of him. What were fish and what were the arms of Rán capturing him in her net. A massive cloud of limbs and cloth obstructed his sight in a burst of bubbles and a muffled splash. Ivar blinked again, and this time he saw the colour of blood-orange wisp around the water in fluid silk ribbons. It looked like the sun had fell into the lake with him, but the closer it came to him, the more human it looked, the more familiar the face was.
A violent cough shook his body and bruised his ribs as air filled his lungs and pushed all the water out from his throat, which felt like it was lined with hot coals. His eyes still stung from the water and when he tried to look around he saw light all around him, but everything remained a blur. He saw the green of the trees, the blue of the sky, and the orange of the sun hovering over him.
"Ivar? Ivar?" He felt warm patting on his cheek.
He blinked more, trying to get rid of the veil over his eyes. Eventually, his vision began to focus, and in front of him he saw her. Hair soaking wet, face dirty and red from the sun, and her freckles looked like stars littered across the sky while the sun was still setting.
"Kára?" His voice felt small and coarse; he barely heard himself, but she had. The moment he spoke, her lips stretched into a wide grin, exposing her row of slightly crooked teeth. The sunlight reflected in her turquoise eyes, making them look like the glittering sea. He wondered if he was asleep in his cot, or maybe he had died, and she had died, and they were both sitting on the shore of Asgard.
"Are we dead?" His mind, like his muscles, felt numb. Ivar didn't entirely know where he was, and how he got here. He remembered falling off the cliff, a memory that felt like a lifetime ago, but it triggered the pain in his back from where it collided with the water surface. He remembered the water around him and the panic in his heart, but for the life of him, he could not remember being pulled onto land. Naturally, his immediate assumption was that he had died.
Kára, however, chuckled at his question which earned her a quizzical look from him. She shook her head, and moved away the hair from his brow with gentle fingers.
"No, we're not dead, stupid," she chuckled again and rubbed his cheek with her thumb. "I watched you fall off a cliff and plunge into the water."
They weren't dead. Well, that was a relief, at least, but how did they end up here? Was it Bjorn? Had he been the one to find her first, and they both happened to find Ivar being a fool and climbing to the edge of a crumbling crag along the shores of Kattegat's notorious lake?
"How did I get out of the water?" His voice was becoming stronger, Kára had noted, which was a good sign. There was still an air of daze and confusion around his head, but that was to be expected. His brain was devoid of oxygen for at least 2 minutes, and it would have been 2 minutes too long had she not gave him the kiss of life.
"I dove in after you, and pulled you out," her words might have landed on deaf ears, because he continued to look at her as if she had a foot growing out of her head.
"You went… into the water?"
She nodded.
"You… went… into the water…." he repeated his words very slowly as he squinted at her. He looked around himself, where he was. He was laying on a shore of small river rocks, the gentle splashing of the lake that tried to kill him was about two feet away from his legs. "Are you sure we are not dead?"
Another laugh came from her lips, which to Ivar, sounded like heavenly bells to his ears. It was a short song and when she looked down at him, her face fell a little more seriously. Ivar was then reminded of why he was here in the first place.
Before she could ask what he was doing here, he spoke, finding confidence in his words after nearly dying. "I came to look for you. I wanted to save you, but-" he looked down, slightly ashamed, even less amused at the irony of the situation. He did not want to admit the truth, even if it was staring both of them in the face. She, clearly, saved him, and conquered her fear to do it as well.
"Consider my debt to you paid then," her smile was small, but warm and inviting. Her fingers were still on his face, as if she was worried he would slip away back into the dark. She had lost her father to that lake, and she wouldn't allow it to take her only friend. Days ago, Kára would not admit to it, but Ivar had grown on her more than anyone ever had. He was like Jörmundgandr, coiling around her until he could finally bind her to him by biting his tail. He stirred her oceans like no one had ever done; how often he got under her skin, creating storms in her head and her chest and her stomach.
The cruel words that he spat at her were long forgotten, for now, she was simply happy that he was here and he was alive. Ivar had forgotten her aloofness and bitterness as well, but felt an uncomfortable, but not terrible, feeling in his stomach. It was a light, anxious feeling that started in his stomach and blossomed below his belly button. He didn't know how, but she looked, or seemed different. There was something different about her as she hovered over him, and yet everything looked exactly the same. Her hair was still that obnoxious orange-red colour, tangled and dirty as it was from being alone in the forest for three days. Her face might have been more freckled due to the sun, and overall, Kára appeared more of a mess than he had ever seen her. Those lips, however, seemed slightly different- they seemed more pink and more full, like soft rose petals. Or maybe they always looked like that, and he never noticed until now.
For reasons unknown to him, his body reacted before his mind could. It was like his head became unplugged to his spine, and his heart took control of his arms. With numb fingers, he reached out and cupped the back of her head and pulled himself halfway up from the ground to meet her lips with his in a chast, semi-wet kiss. Upon realizing his boldness and what he had done, he pulled away and let his head fall back into the pebbled ground.
Heat rushed to Kára's cheeks faster than the kiss had lasted. She pulled away with a small gasp, sitting up straight with her fingers on her lips. Looking down at Ivar, he had his forearm draped over his eyes, blocking his eyes from witnessing the possible look of horror on her face. Unbeknownst to him, Kára held no negative expression, but instead her face eased itself to an impish smirk.
"I do not know why I-" Ivar began to speak, but was interrupted when he felt a hand wrap around his forearm and pull it away from his face. Her own was close to him, and he was surprised at the smile she had on.
"I knew you fancied me, Beinlausi," Kára leaned in and planted her lips on his.
Ivar froze underneath her, completely surprised by the entire situation. Flashes back to the day she had first given him a kiss under the tree came to mind, but that first time, it had not felt this way. His face was red hot, and he could feel his heart in his mouth. Ivar's fingers twitched in an attempt to move from his paralyzing disbelief. His skin rippled like the surface of water when rain pelted it aggressively.
When Kára pulled away, Ivar was wide-eyed as ever, his arms branches out, as if bracing the earth around him for dear life. His face was pulled inward, trying to recede into the pebbles. Those blue orbs were staring into the sky unblinkingly.
"Ivar?" She snapped her fingers in front of his face. She waved her hand in front of him a few more times, seeing, just barely, his eyelids fluttered from the brush of wind. "Did you die?"
The boy felt himself deflate as air escaped his lips that almost sounded like words. "I think we should go home," his voice was higher than normal.
x x x
Ragnar was kicked awake by the angry foot of his wife, Aslaug. He had fallen asleep in his throne late last night and didn't have the strength, nor the mind, to pick up his body to put it in a proper bed. When his knee was hit sharply by Aslaug, his head bobbled awake, and his eyes fluttered open lazily and half alert.
"What is it you want, woman?" He pinched his eyes and yawned.
"Ivar is not in his bed!"
A silent and exhausted sigh filtered through his nostrils. Ragnar tilted his head back, resting it on the throne and shut his eyes again. "He is probably with his brothers, looking for the girl."
"Hvitserk and Ubbe are at the port, and Sigurd is playing his lute outside," her voiced seethed, "They all have said they have not seen him."
Ragnar opened his eyes again, but he didn't seem alert. He remained tired, thanks to a long night of drinking, over thinking, and remembering. However, when the light of the sconces hit Aslaug's face, he could see the lines in her skin, the wild look in her eyes, and the disheveled state of her hair. She did not look this worried at all when Kára went missing. Despite Ivar's sudden disappearance, he was neither concerned nor surprised. He had no empathy towards Aslaug's distressed state, especially after all that happened.
"If this is how you are after a few hours of not knowing where he is, then I fear the day when he leaves you entirely," his voice was low, but for Aslaug it was as loud as a warhorn.
"DO NOT MOCK MY PAIN, RAGNAR!"
The sheer volume of her shrill voice justled his very bones, causing him to become fully awake. Her shout had caused small yelps and whispers by the slaves that were in the long house. It took him completely off guard, and made his head pound at the temples. He barely had time to react to Aslaug as she crumpled to the floor of the dias and began sobbing into her long sleeves. Her words were muffled, for the most part, but Ragnar heard the words easily.
"You've never cared about him, you've never loved him, you would have rather him die in the woods, like you had tried to do to him before…"
A hefty breath of air filled his lungs at those words, and the feeling of his skin tightening around his bones. He wanted nothing more than to defend himself and say otherwise, but he was never good with weeping women. He didn't even know how to handle Hulda and even less when she bestowed on him knowledge that he wished she didn't tell him. It only served to weaken his heart and pain his mind more than it already was.
Instead of losing his temper, he slowly raised from his throne and gently brushed his fingers through the top of Aslaug's head.
"I will look for him," Ragnar's voice was small in comparison to the volume of her's prior. Her outburst still lingered in the air, and rested on the ears of those who heard. With swift but silent steps, he left the longhouse, leaving the queen crying on the dias.
Tracking Ivar was harder than tracking a normal person. He obviously left no footprints and the tracks he would have left in the dirt floor would have been trampled over and mixed in with carts and bags that have been dragged around. Eventually, Ragnar went to the edge of the city and examined the terrain until he saw the grass flattened in one area, almost like a very faint game trail in the grass. He followed it with silent steps, and the more he did, the more confident he was that it was the trail of Ivar. He saw little holes in the ground every foot or two along the way, which meant he was using something to help him move faster.
The trail lead Ragnar to the lake, and then it curved as it followed the perimeter. He furrowed his brow at this, wondering what his son was doing; it looked like he had a destination, rather than wandering aimlessly. The trail from Kattegat to the lake was almost near straight, which meant he intended on going to lake, and following it's shores. Ragnar mimicked this, and kept on walking for another hour or two until he found himself bounding uphill that lead to a cliff and that is when he halted.
Ivar's trail had disappeared where soil and grass hung off of thin roots at the very tip of the earth. Panic shook his core and froze his skin when he realized what had happened. "No," he whispered and rushed himself to the precipice and flattened himself to look over the edge, and merely saw dark blue water beneath him.
"No!" He screamed louder, his eyes wide and rapidly moving around the surface, hoping or not hoping to find a shadow or body floating around. He immediately rolled off the edge and pulled himself on his feet, quickly scurrying down the slope to reach the shore, hoping that Ivar had pulled himself to dry land, or at the very least he was holding onto the rock face somewhere he could not see.
Flashes back to when Ivar was a baby pulled to the forefront of his mind. Oh, how he cried mercilessly, loudly, and never ending. The boy's legs were painfully bent and deformed at birth, and Ragnar knew that he would never walk, and he would always be in pain. He remembered telling himself that leaving the boy in the forest to succumb to the wills of the gods and the wild was a far better fate than living a lifetime in physical, mental, and emotional pain. He had not been attached to him when he was born, that was clear, but now with the trepidation of Ivar's possible death causing a storm in his chest, Ragnar regretted every bit of it.
Of course he loved him; he loved him like he loved all his sons and losing him was never a thought he would ever had. Maybe on some level, he did not believe it was possible. Bjorn was untouchable; his name Ironside was a testimony to not only his prowess but his favour to the gods. Ubbe and Hvitserk were strong young men, more skilled with a blade and axe than many their age, and there was no doubt they were ready to come to Paris. However, Ivar had always been different. He had always been glued to Aslaug's hip from the very moment he was born; he was never far from her reach. She always knew where he was, how to get to him, and who he was with. It never occurred to him, as much as he claimed it would happen, that Ivar would stray so far from his mother to the point of injuring - or Thor forbid, killing - himself.
The reality of the situation hit Ragnar like a boulder to the back, so much so that he slid down the grass while he tried to descend, and once his knees met with the pebbled ground, he crawled to the water, and began shouting Ivar's name. He hurried through the water until it reached his thighs, ignoring the cold sting of the lake.
"Father?"
Ragnar spun around his head, looking around in the water, thinking the voice came from there. When he turned around, he had to do a double take. Standing on the river rocks, away from the water, clothes soaked, hair damp, was Kára with Ivar laid beside her at her feet, looking soaked and a little pale in the face, but otherwise unharmed.
Ragnar felt his knee almost give in at the sight; he stumbled as he turned his body around and trudged back onto the shore without words being said. His eyes, unblinking, and watery from his bubbling emotions, was enough to show Ivar a look he's never seen on his father before. To make it stranger, his father crawled to him and took him in his arms, then cradled his head to his shoulder.
The king kissed the back of Ivar's head, but said no words. Ivar was just as speechless, and Kára stood awkwardly watching the paternal display in front of her. She, herself, had never witnessed such weakness from any man, and never thought it would show in the form of Ragnar Lothbrok.
The viking wrapped his arm around Ivar and began to stand up, holding his son as if he was just a babe. With his free hand, he rested it on Kára's head, stroking down the damp threads of her orange hair before resting it on her shoulder. She didn't need to tell him what happened, he read the story by the state of their persons, the paleness of Ivar's cheek, and the swollenness of Kára's lips.
"Thank you," his smile was thin but soft and honest. "Let's get you home."
x x x
When Hulda saw Ragnar walking up the hill towards the moss house, her eyes were tired, red, and void of life. Ivar was in his arms, which only provoked some curiosity in them, especially at how the boy's clothes were damp in some corners, as were the tips of his hair. There was no time to make up conclusions to what happened, because trailing behind Ragnar only a few feet away was a sight for sore eyes. It was almost like seeing the ghost of someone who she thought she would never see again.
The reunion of mother and daughter was full of sobbing and long embraces. Ragnar put down Ivar gently on a chopping block stump, and they remained where they were as Hulda embraced her daughter and sobbed in her shoulder. Ivar could not see Kára's face, only her back, but her shoulders shook and he could hear her. It reminded him painfully of the day at the beach, where she clung to him and cried harder than he had ever seen someone cry. Right now it was different. The emotion greatly contrasted it in a way that he didn't entirely understand. Fear was what brought Kára to tears and hysterics the first time, but right now it was relief, remorse, and love. How could two very different scenarios initiate the same reaction to the exact same degree?
These displays were not common around Ivar, he suddenly realized. Being glued and roped to his mother all his life, he was used to dry, apathetic natures. The only love he was shown was the obsessive nature of Aslaug as she fretted over him above all else, and he knew that was the only place he would get that attention. Today, he was shown differently. Today, he was given a softer, foreign affection not from one, but two other people. First from Kára, who warmed his stomach and set his skin on fire by just breathing next to him. Then, his father, who rarely showed forms of weakness linked with paternal love for him. He tried, as he might, to treat him like his older brothers, but it felt forced to Ivar. The rawness of what happened at the lake was new to him, and truly, his young mind still did not understand it. He could not even decide if it was something he liked, or was scared of.
When Hulda pulled away, it was to move her fingers to Kára's face and began brushing back hair and dirt away from her eyes, as if to ensure herself that this was real and this was her daughter returned.
"Oh, my sweet child," Hulda smiled painfully through blurred eyes and stained cheeks. "There are no words to describe my relief and happiness that you're here in one piece. I could not bare the thought of you out there, alone."
Kára rubbed her wrists along the mound of her cheeks to wipe away the obstruction of tears, "But I wasn't alone."
Hulda stared back at her in confusion; her brow knitted as she looked back at Ragnar and Ivar who still stood where she last saw them. They both heard, and were equally as confused and curious to this proclamation.
She returned her gaze back to Kára, "What do you mean, child?"
A rounded smile came to her face, and the girl-now-woman pulled her hands to her mother's own face and cupped her palms around her jaw. "Father was with me."
Hulda stared into her eyes, sparkling not only from the tears, but the shine of the sun that peeked through the leaves. The Vövla searched the meaning of her words in those orbs, and found there was literal truth in them. And she knew, in that moment, that her prayers were not, in fact, ignored after all these days. A new wave of tears came through her eyes and Hulda pulled Kára to her bosom and buried her face in the dirty, damp and matted hair of hers.
It's time, Hulda thought as she looked up to the sky, which opened up to her finally after all this time. The gods no longer had their backs to her, and she knew why. Kára needed to do this alone, and Hulda needed to feel what it would feel like to not have her, and not knowing where she was. For one day, it would happen again, but there would be no reunion.
Many hours later, Hulda was left alone with her daughter in a familiar setting, but a more surprising sight. Kára was in the water with no help; she did not clung to the rocks for dear life, nor did she stay at the shallows. Hulda watched from the bank of the river as her daughter washed the filth and blood from her body, and when she came from the water, she no longer looked like her daughter anymore. It brought another wave of sadness to Hulda, because she knew better than anyone in Midgard.
Fresh clothes were put on immediately, and Kára sat cross legged before her mother as the woman combed out her hair, and trimmed off the debris tangled in it. Hulda listened intently as Kára retold the story of her survival in the woods alone, from the moment she left the Seer's hut to when Ivar had fallen off the cliff. The idea of wolves chasing her daughter through the storm made Hulda's whole body freeze with dread, despite Kára being alive and unharmed before her. Then, Kára got to the morning after, and what she saw at the lake.
"I came to an old fishing shack, hadn't been used for years," Kára explained. "I managed to get some materials to fish, and when I went into the water, I heard footsteps. I thought I saw a man when I snuck a peak between my legs-"
Hulda froze with her hands, and found herself tense with anticipation that only showed when her eyes watched the top of her daughter's head.
"But, when I looked over, it wasn't a man. It was a wolf...He had father's eyes…"
When Kára trailed off, Hulda let the words sink into her mind and heart before replying with a small voice, "How do you know they were your father's eyes?"
"I've dreamed of them before," Kára pulled her knees to her chest. "Like a memory that should have been, or wasn't mine. In the dream, I'm sitting in a tree and I look down and see him lying in the grass, staring at me with a smile in his face. He then reaches out with something in his hand, and I reach to grab it, but I wake up as soon as my hand touches him."
Hulda swallowed the lump in her throat, then resumed combing her hair. "What happened after you saw the wolf?"
"He nuzzled and licked my face, and then walked into the water," Kára bit her lip, squinting as she tired to recall all that happened. "I waited, and when he returned he had a trout in his jaws. He was with me until last night. I woke up, and found he was nowhere to be seen, but I saw his prints in the mud, and they lead back to the lake."
"The gods had allowed him passage through the gate of Hel to be with you," Hulda found herself smiling through dew-rimmed eyes.
"But why not as a man?" Kára asked.
"Because," Hulda ran her fingers through the damp orange strands. "You are the daughter of the wolf, and the lessons you learned could have not been taught to you by man. And," she sighed to herself, "the forest has given you more than I have ever given you." A gentle touch of her hand on Kára's shoulder brought the young woman's attention to her mother.
"There is much I need to tell you, and someone that you should meet."
x x x
Dusk blanketed the hills in a dull purple and orange glow as mother and daughter climbed over the mounds until they reached the burials. Grass had grown over the boat-shaped mounds, but the white stones that bordered them were still vibrant against the green grass. Hulda had walked over to one that was nearly covered in purple forget-me-not flowers, and sank down to her knees.
Kára stood beside her, looking at the mound. The short journey to the burial ground was made in silence, only the wind and the birds filled the void. Even with no explanation, Kára knew whose grave she stood at. After a few moments, she descended to the grass and folded her legs under her.
"Eirik was your brother, but he wasn't your father's son," Hulda began with a sigh that got lost in the winds. "But he treated him like he was, and he never looked at him any other way."
Kára watched her mother's profile as her eyes were glued to the blue and purple flowers that swayed against the midsummer air. "Who was his father?"
Hulda turned to Kára with a small, sad smile, and reached out a hand to place it on the girl's cheek, "That is a long story. One you are finally ready to hear, my love."
"My name is not Hulda, as everyone knows me as. I was known as Thora Borgarhjört, and your aunt was called Sigrún Spjótkona, and our father, your grandfather, was Heroth, the famed earl of Götaland. As his only children, there were no shortage of proposals and courtships, but my father would not allow us to accept any of them. He looked for a grander marriage for us.
"I was fifteen when I was married to King Froh, the king of Svealand, and I was sixteen when he invaded and killed the norwegian king Siward. It was not a forced marriage by any means. I was an ambitious girl, and as spoiled as an month old apple. An older man, a king, wanted my hand and he promised me the world. I fell into his trap most easily, as he was as cunning and charming as the snakes he carried around with him.
"It was at this time that I had begun distancing myself from people I loved. Aslaug and I were constantly challenging each other, and she had got immensely jealous that I had married a king before she could find a courtier for herself. My sister, however, did not like the person who I was becoming. We would argue so loud, the wolves would howl with us. It was when she came to me with a man at her arm that she had intended to marry that I had snubbed her completely. At the time, I had hoped for her to marry as high as me; to become a queen, to become rich, like me, but instead she had settled for a smith's apprentice: Your father.
"Ulf was destined to marry Sigrún, but war had prolonged their union. When all I had was Froh, I became hollow. He had succeeded in ensuring that I was wholly dependent on him, especially since I was not a favourite to the people, his or those we conquered. When the rebellion began to rise, there were many chanting for my beheading, and during that time I had no support from family. I begun to hate myself, I begun to loath Froh and the crown he had given me. Sigrún had tried free me, but Froh confined me to a tower. He constricted me like a lindworm would to his property. I became a victim in his game of power.
"I had been in my tower when my sister was killed in the battlefield. I had not known this until the very person who rescued me happened to be the man who had ended her life: Ragnar Sigurdson. He had gotten his nickname Lothbrok on that very day. With his thick attire, he had managed to beat Froh and his poisonous snakes without fatal injury. When he burst into my tower, I had thought he was going to kill me, like how many had wanted. Instead, he grabbed me by the arm and told me to hurry.
"Ragnar saved me from the Siward loyalists that he fought with; they wanted me buried along with my husband. He had cut my hair and gave me new garb and a new name. For a fortnight he kept me hidden in an abandoned house near kattegat - the one he frequents to this day - and when people asked about me, he would say that I was his slave. I mourned heavily during it all; I mourned the failure I had become, I mourned the losses of everyone I cared about, but I mostly mourned over my sister, who was my first love.
"Ragnar comforted me in the only way men knew how to comfort women. In those moments, I had grown too fond of him, and I had thought there was a future with him. Though his heart was already taken by Lagertha by that time, which in my grievous state sent me spiralling into the shadows. It had gotten worse when my stomach grew with child - Eirik.
"I could not let Ragnar know, so I fled the house and found myself lost in the forest. I was young, and pregnant, and terrified. To this day, I do not know how I was able to survive unscathed for so long. Eventually, I had come to the lake, near a fishing cabin where I saw a man sobbing into his palms. I stood, watching him silence, afraid to ruin his moment of solace. But then I saw his eyes under the glare of the sun, glowing by the tears of his eyes and I immediately saw his soul, and how it suffered much like mine.
"In the blindness of my ambition, I had not seen how much he loved Sigrún until I saw him cry for her. When he saw me standing there, disheveled, pregnant, and crying, he said nothing, but his lips spoke a thousand words for every tear he kissed away. Our hearts clung to the closest thing to Sigrún, which was each other. Ulf vowed to protect me and the child from those who wished any remains of Froh to be smothered and buried.
"Our lives intertwined since then, and as the seasons passed, the name Thora Borgarhjört was long forgotten. I had buried my past with my sister, so I could have a second chance as Hulda. I had hoped that my past would stay buried; but one thing after another would bubble up to the surface. When Aslaug came to Kattegat, pregnant with Ragnar's child, the life I had built with Ulf began to crumble one stone at a time.
"I thought I was able to contain the avalanche of it all, by shielding you from the past so you could have an untainted future, but I was a fool to believe that I could control it. You deserve to know who your mother is, and where you come from."
The word avalanche was appropriate, Kára thought, because that's what it felt like in that moment. With no room to react, she was being pelted by truths from the past. She had remained quiet as she digested and looked at the mound in the earth, suddenly feeling how real it was. There was something, however, that she didn't quite understand, and the more she thought about it, the more her heart began to race.
"Did you get pregnant before or after you were saved from King Froh?"
I've been waiting a long time to tell the story behind Hulda, because I had to deal with a lot of working with the canon and actual sagas, and to make it work well with the story.
So first thing's first:
Borgarhjört - Town Hart. Thora the Town Hart
Spjótkona - Javelin Woman. Or my attempt at translating spear wife. Sigrún Spearwife.
If you guys are just show watchers, you probably don't know about Ragnar's forgotten wife, Thora Borgarhjört. So, I can write a whole thing about this, and how History's Vikings changed a lot of things about the sagas of Ragnar, but that would be a lot of information. But if there is a lot of demand for it, I'll be happy to post it all. For now I'll keep it as brief and informative as possible.
Thora is the woman whom Ragnar marries after he divorces Lagertha. She is the reason why he is named "Lothbrok" which translates to Shaggy pants/trousers, or hairy breeches. Quick run down of the story; Thora was trapped by a Lindworm (Serpent/dragon, depending on which version youre reading) in a tower. Her father, who I mention by actual name in the chapter, promises her hand in marriage to anyone who saves her. But the Lindworm's fangs are poisonous and kills everyone who tries. Ragnar makes his shaggy pants to to protect himself from the Lindworm's bite, and thus kills it and saves Thora. They had two sons Eiríkr and Agnar. Ragnar had way more sons than the show gave him.
Anyway, in History's Vikings, they gave him an entirely different background that isn't really addressed in the show itself. The story is as Hulda explained. There was King Froh, who had trained poisonous snakes (which was supposed to be the lindworm from the saga), who overthrew the Norwegian King. Ragnar defeated him by fashioning his armour with hairy animal hide. He was fifteen at the time, and this took place a bit before he confessed his love to Lagertha (and that whole story with the bear etc). So, I obviously took some liberties to insert actual saga to this show-made background for Ragnar, while not damaging the canon of the show. Thora was still trapped, Ragnar saved her, but instead of marrying her like the saga, he simply kept her as a secret lover for her protection. Then married Lagertha. You can find this background on him on his Vikings wikia page, but it was also included in the dvd extras I believe.
Sigrún has nothing to do with the saga of Thora and Ragnar; her addition is purely fictitious.
Any confusions about this part, just send me a pm asking me to clarify anything youre confused about or send me an ask on my tumblr, cncevpon.
