Master of My Sea


Oh boy, it's been a minute. I know. Over a year. And I know you're tired of excuses, but truth be told the last 3 years has been quite hard mentally for me. 2019 started off really rough, and the months that transpired between the last time I updated to the first month of January, a lot had happened that broke me mentally and emotionally. I had to work on myself, which meant I had to cut out things that weren't a priority in order to find myself again.

But now that the final season is approaching, it's about time that I continue. This story has always been in the back of my head, don't worry. I just wasn't ready to continue it.

I want to thank you all from the bottom of my heart. The reviews have always gave me hope that I would one day return to this story. So I hope this chapter was worth the long wait!


chapter twelve:
THE WINTER WINDS


The atmosphere of Kattegat had changed the moment Harbard had returned. The women that remembered him flocked to his side, and more after the newcomers learned of the stories of him. Aslaug, above all else, was especially happy at his return and it only amplified knowing that Hulda was not happy. It was a smug happiness, one that she was content showing off when Hulda was within proximity of the two. She would drape herself all over Harbard when she sat next to him, and then sneak glances at the Red Woman to see her reaction. Hulda, though, was a stone wall. She had a permanent frown, but she barely looked at the queen or the wanderer. Instead, she focused all her energy at attending to Ivar, who Harbard would constantly try to help with. Despite Aslaug's best efforts, Harbard barely put a finger on the boy, thanks to Hulda's relentless insistence. Not wanting cause a scene (now that their audience in the Great Hall had tripled upon Harbard's return), Aslaug bit her tongue and allowed Hulda this one reprieve.

Kára, Ivar, and Sigurd could not stand the tension that was only noticeable to them. Often times the trio would remain in a corner while the adults talked. The children talked among themselves about the sheer ridiculousness that Kattegat turned into in a short amount of time. Aslaug had become so distracted with her paramour, that she had forgotten her duties as mother, queen, and apparent caregiver to her step-granddaughter. Siggy was taken care of by Kára, if not her mother or Sigurd's small efforts. At one point, Kára spent a whole late morning trying to get the knots out of the girl's hair, which resulted in a fight that was comical to the boys who watched. Though justice was rightly served when Siggy peed right on Ivar's lap the following evening.

Ivar was surprised by Hulda's resolve to remain in Kattegat. He had thought she would disappear back to her forest the moment he came back, but she remained, hovering over the city like a hawk, especially around him, Sigurd, Kára and Siggy. When it came time to remove Ivar's splint, something he had been waiting to do all summer, there was a feud between Aslaug and Hulda. Aslaug did not believe it was time to remove them, stating that he was not like a normal boy, and needed extra time to heal, whereas Hulda argued that he needed to move his legs now that he had gained weight in them. The bone, she said, was healed correctly, and he needed to do some physical moving to ensure his knees remained straight and his muscles strong. They came to a surprising compromise, where he was allowed to take off the splint and leave the wheelbarrow, but he would have to bound his legs again. Ivar felt like he had done all that work only to remain exactly the same as he once was, which frustrated him beyond anything. One thing he was grateful for was that now that his legs were thicker, crawling around the ground didn't rattle his bones as it used to, but he did have a harder time dragging the weight behind him.

As the days became shorter, summer was beginning to end. Fall brought a refreshing breeze against the blistering heat of summer, which was appreciated by everyone in Kattegat. It made labour less cumbersome now that heat waves were in the past. However, this also marked the beginning of harvest, which meant that Ragnar and his warband would return any week now, and so would winter. Winter was one of Ivar's most dreaded seasons; he could barely leave the longhouse during it. While sliding around on ice and snow was a bit easier than on dry ground, it only made his fingers numb and his palms sting from cold. Not to mention the cold itself made his bones ache like never before. Every winter was usually spent beside the hearth with furs piled on his legs. Because of this, Ivar wanted to make the most of the remaining warmth of the season, as he spent most of it leg-locked in a cot or wheelbarrow.

While Aslaug was preoccupied with Harbard, and Hulda was busy tending to Siggy, Ivar had convinced Kára to go on a hike with them. It wasn't so much as a hike than it was a walk to a specific destination. It was up that very hill, to that very tree where they first met. He wondered if Kára even recognized it, since she never made a comment about it when they reached their destination.

As Ivar slid over to the base of the tree, he watched Kára stand before him as she rummaged through her sack and pulled out a skin of water, and a few pieces of salted dehydrated pork. She caught him staring at her, and gave a quizzical brow at him. Tossing the skin of water at Ivar, she moved over to sit next to him.

"What's on your mind?" She asked, taking a bite of the dried pork.

Ivar gave a small shrug as he stared into the mouthpiece of the skin before taking a small sip. "I was just thinking what the world looked like from above ground level."

He said it so casually, but Kára spotted the sadness hidden behind the nonchalance. It was a sad statement overall, but to a stranger, his tone would have confused them into thinking it was a joke. Though Kára couldn't help but think that Ivar would rather people see it as a joke, rather than pity him for the truth of it.

She took the skin of water from him, "We could have brought you a stool if you really wanted to see everything from a different perspective."

Ivar rolled his eyes and shoved her goodnaturedly. He stole the pork from her and took a bite, and chewed while looking around. A gust of wind blew through the trees, rustling the green and yellow leaves and causing some to fly off the branch. Autumn was approaching and soon winter. Ivar's mouth turned into a thin line at this depressive thought before another came to mind.

"Or maybe," he spoke, looking up at the tree. "A higher perspective?"

Kára turned to look at him with another quizzical brow, and then she looked up to where he was looking. When she realizes what he was talking about, she rounded on him.

"And how in Hel's name are you going to get up there? Wrap yourself around the trunk like a snape and wiggle up?"

"No," he grinned wildly as he looked at her. "You are going to carry me up there."

Kára deadpanned, then sighed exaggeratingly and shook her head, "I am not carrying your fat ass up that tree. I don't know if you've noticed but you've practically doubled in size."

"You won't help a poor crippled boy? How cruel of you, Kára," He mocked, and laughed as she rolled her eyes.

"If I carry you up there, I'll end up crippled,"

"If you do this for me, I'll give you your bow back."

Ah, that made her pause. Her eyes narrowed at him in contemplation for the offer. When she pursed her lips and looked away, Ivar knew he won and for that he grinned wider. Kára looked at him through slitted eyes, unhappy at that smug look on his face. That cheeky grin made her stomach float around in her ribcage, as if fireflies were bobbing around inside.

With a defeated groan, Kára stood up, mumbling about privileged princes, and how she wished Ivar was a deaf mute instead of boneless. Ivar made quick work of his bindings so he may wrap his legs around her when she picked him up. Kára dusted herself off and took off excess stuff belted on her before offering her hand to the prince and began to pull him on her back. Once he hung around her neck, Kára leaned against the tree to balance herself as she took his legs and brought them around her waist, and then bound them with rope at the ankle to secure him. She wasn't sure how strong his calves were just yet, and she didn't want to take the risk of him losing his grip.

With a groan she straightened herself and turned to the tree, which appeared to look twice as tall than moments ago. With Ivar weighing her on her back, she had half a mind to fall backwards on top of him, but knew to suppress that urge.

"Onwards, donkey," Ivar patted her head.

Kára's glare deepened, "I will drop you, and leave you here."

"And if I die, know that I will come back from Valhalla just to torture you from beyond the grave,"

With a heavy sigh, Kára started to climb by first grabbing onto the low hanging branches. The moment her feet were off solid ground, she felt Ivar's hold on her tighten, and got more tight the higher they got.

"Don't choke me," her voice was strained as she put all her muscles to work.

"Don't drop me."

It was meant as a clap back, but his voice sounded anxious. Kára grit her jaw and hoisted herself higher, but knew that, for Ivar, she couldn't go too high. Mainly because the branches nearest to the ground were far sturdier than those closer to the top, but also for his own anxiety. As Kára claimed a branch, she mounted it with both her legs on either side and began to pull herself and Ivar a tad farther down the length with great difficulty. She didn't need to move that far, just enough space for the two of them to sit on.

Kára let out a groan when she felt something prod her, "Ivar, can you move that stick from my back?"

She couldn't see it, but Ivar's face glowed red. There was a pregnant pause before she heard "uh" from Ivar, and then his body shift away from her. Whatever it was that was poking her side was gone now.

The girl loosened the knot around Ivar's ankles and unraveled his legs so that he was mounting the branch, and then went ahead and spun around so she was sitting on it with her legs over the side. She breathed heavily, feeling relieved of the loss of excess weight now that Ivar was no longer tied to her back.

Kára gave a great sigh, and then gestured to the elevated scenery, "Please tell me you're happy, otherwise my pain and suffering would be for nought."

Ivar didn't answer. When she looked over to him, she saw him staring into the distance. They were only 8-10 feet above the ground, but for a person who had lived their entire life seeing the world from the ground, being this high was a whole new perspective. The world seemed so much larger to Ivar as he gazed beyond the bluffs that hugged Kattegat. The sea seemed to stretch on farther than he initially thought.

"It's so big," he spoke in a soft voice.

"The ocean?"

"The world."

Kára softly smiled at him, and reached out to wrap her arm around his neck and leaned her head on his while the two gazed into the great horizon. They both shared the same thoughts in that singular moment: one day, they will see this big world. They were both at the sail of their fate, and only they were the masters of their sea.

x x x

The longhouse was relatively calm, despite the fact that Harbard was present. He sat with the queen, in Ragnar's throne, as he whispered stories into Aslaug's ear, making her laugh. Hulda was near the hearth with Siggy and Sigurd, in her hands she was mending a rip in Sigurd's trousers, while Siggy played with a wooden horse at her feet. Sigurd was slumped in the chair, glaring into the fire, and then glaring up at Harbard.

"He sits in father's chair like he is king himself," Sigurd whispered with detest.

Hulda barely gave a glance up at the giggling couple before returning her eyes to her mending, "Pay him no mind, Sigurd. He will be gone before the ships return, proving the coward that he is."

"I hope father comes before he leaves," The boy muttered, eyes narrowing into the fire as he imagined such a scenario. "Cuts off his tongue, and throws it in the fire. He won't be telling tales anymore."

Hulda could barely hold back the smirk at the boy's comment, but did not take her eyes away from her fingers. She didn't want to betray any indication she was having a conversation with Sigurd while his mother was 20 feet away.

The crackling of fire, soft giggles and whispers from across the room resumed. Every now and then Siggy would make noises as she played, followed by the wooden horse tapping against the stone ground. All seemed content, until Hulda felt her ears ring. She paused her mending and looked around the room, intently listening to the sounds around her. Sigurd turned to her, and frowned at her sudden alertness.

"What is it?"

"Somethings wro-" and that's when she heard it. The cry of a child, and not just any child, but her own daughter. Kára's cries of help filtered through the walls of the longhouse enough for all the adults to shoot up from their seats. The mending in Hulda's hand fell onto the floor as she took swift movements towards the door, followed behind by Harbard and Aslaug. However, before any of them reached it, it flung open.

Kára's face was wet and red, sweat beaded down her forehead and drenched her hairline, and tears trailing down to her chin. In her arms laid a limp Ivar, his forehead split open, and blood pouring all over his face. His eyes were shut, and his legs were lax dragging behind her.

"Help!"

The peace in the longhouse was now a distant past. As soon as Aslaug saw her son with a blood drenched face, she went into a frenzy. She flew to the entrance and wretched the boy out of Kára's arms as if she was the assaulter. The queen's white hot fury met with her anxiety as a mother, and with her beloved Ivar limp in her arms, everyone else in the room meant nothing to her.

She rounded on Kára first, grabbing the girl by the hair with vice and pulled her down to her knees. "WHAT HAVE YOU DONE TO MY SON, YOU VILE ANIMAL?!"

Kára yelled out in pain, hands whipping to the clutch Aslaug had in her hair. Hulda immediately responded and grabbed the queen's hand, her nails dug into the flesh of her hand. The Red Woman's eyes were on fire as she stared down at the crazed queen.

"Let go of my daughter!"

Aslaug did not. She matched the woman's furious gaze with her own mother's rage which was blurred by both tears and unbridled hatred. It wasn't until Harbard's gentle hand on her shoulders and gentle words did she bend to Hulda.

"Let the girl go, Aslaug," he whispered, looking up at Hulda, and then down at Ivar.

With a great wail, Aslaug pulled her hand out of the tangles of the girls hair, and Kára immediately crumpled into her mother's arms, and cried into the folds of her dress. Immediately Hulda bent down and took her daughter into arms, letting the girl fall apart into her bosom.

"Kára, what happened?"

"We-he- the tree-the branch," Kára kept on taking sharp inhales. Every time she tried to speak, she felt the well of tears and despair pouring out of her, and every time she looked at Ivar, her world crumbled more out of guilt.

Her mother held onto the sides of her face and directed her to stare into her eyes, "Kára look at me. What happened?"

Those seaweed marble eyes of hers glistened with waterfalls; thick streams poured down her flushed cheeks freely and without cease. "He wanted to see what it was like," she spoke with a hiccup. "He wanted to go up-up - the tree. I took him. And-and-and," her eyes shifted over back to Ivar and she was hysterical again. There was no need for more words. Whether the branch fell under their weight, or they fell ascending or descending mattered not. Ivar fell.

And that was all Aslaug needed to know.

"You killed my son! YOU KILLED MY SON! YOU PUSHED HIM OUT OF THAT TREE! I KNEW YOU WERE A WRETCH THE DAY I SET EYES ON YOU!"

Hulda pulled her daughter behind her as she stood up and glared at the woman. "Aslaug! Do not dare accuse my daughter of such a thing!" Siggy was crying in the background, being poorly consoled by Sigurd, who stared at his brother with wide, frightful eyes.

If Aslaug wasn't cradling Ivar's body in her arms, she would have gotten up and slapped the woman and gouged out her eyes. Her feverish hands grasped at her favourite son to her chest, with her fury directed at Hulda untethered.

"This would have never happened if you hadn't returned to Kattegat! You're a curse, Thora. You vile witch! You traitorous bitch! Your beastily daughter KILLED MY SON! SHE KILLED MY SON!"

"Aslaug-" Harbard had been silent until this moment. His hands were butterflies on her shoulders, barely noticeable until he spoke. "Aslaug, look. His chest rises. Your son is not dead."

The company immediately looked over to the boy, and saw that Harbard spoke true. Ivar's chest rose and descended with shallow breaths. It was almost unnoticeable, but it was there, and he was alive. Aslaug gave a sharp intake of breath once she realized her Ivar was alive. Her hands immediately went to his blood soaked face and begged for him to come back to her.

At this news, Kára peaked around her mother with wide hopeful and shocked eyes. She thought he died. Hulda immediately moved to go to the boy's side to see to his wounds, but before she move an inch, Aslaug rounded on her once again.

"DO NOT TOUCH HIM! GET OUT, YOU WITCH. TAKE YOUR BEASTILY DAUGHTER WITH YOU AND NEVER RETURN. IF I SEE SO MUCH AS A THREAD OF YOUR CURSED HAIR IN MY CITY AGAIN, I WILL KILL YOU MYSELF!"

The winds of winter came early that season. The longhouse felt cold, even next to the hearth. Kára froze still behind her mother as all the blood drained from her body. Aslaug couldn't do this, could she? But she could. She was queen, and Ragnar was not there. She could not see the look on her mother's face, she could not see anyone's face, except for Ivar's. Coated in his own blood, a gash on his forehead, and lips just barely parted. Everything around her deafened into an endless ringing in her ears as she watched her world slowly crumble away from her. Her mother's arms wrapped around her waist and lifted her up, and that is when she fought against her to get to Ivar. Her legs kicking as she tried to fight against her mother's pull. Wiping furiously at her face to free her from the veil of tears, she screamed and begged not to go.

The last thing Kára saw before the door swung closed in front of her was Aslaug's vicious and hateful gaze blaring right into her eyes. That was to be her last memory of Kattegat.

x x x

The night was silent and cloudless, only the ruffling of leaves and branches could be heard. Hulda sat outside, sitting upon a chair as she looked off into the darkness, both her heart and mind trapped in replaying the day's events. When she had brought Kára home, there was no way to console or calm her. The heartbroken girl had fought and clawed relentlessly, trying to get back to the city, to Ivar. In the end, Hulda resorted to giving her poppy milk to ease her to sleep and ease the pain in her heart. When the girl would wake up in the morning, Hulda had not the faintest idea of what to do, or what to tell her. Things would have to remain as they were until Ragnar returned.

If he returned.

Hulda shut her eyes and then opened them as she turned her head to look at Harbard standing just at the border of the clearing. They both stared at each other before Hulda pulled herself from the chair and glided over to him with her arms crossed over her chest.

"The boy is alive," Harbard spoke. "But he has not woken."

Hulda looked down at the ground and nodded, "He needs proper care, and I cannot help him from here."

"But I can," he spoke in a small voice. "If you return what is mine."

She looked back at him, her eyes etched in defeat, resentment, and solemn. Harbard looked at her with pity, something she did not want from him. Alas, she knew that despite his deceptiveness, he did not want to cause pain to Aslaug. Ivar was the thread to Aslaug's happiness, as well as the thread to Kára's happiness. Ivar's survival was beneficial to them both, and not to mention, Hulda had come to love Ivar and Ragnar's sons as much as her own kin.

Hulda reached into the crevice of her bodice and pulled out the straggly fibres of Harbard's beard that she had bound in twine. She held it and looked at him through narrowed eyes, "If you make me regret this, Harbard, I will hunt you down myself."

"I do not expect anything less from you," he replied, his eyes not tearing from her.

With great reluctance, she handed the bundle of hair over to its owner. Harbard took it and closed both of his hands together before giving and small bow of thanks and then retreated back into the forest.

x x x

"Ivar… Ivar wake up."

His head felt like an iron hammer sinking in water, and his thoughts were murky and indistinguishable as the deep sea. He could hear his mother's voice distantly, and then clearly, as if he was being pulled closer to the surface. When he opened his eyes, he found himself in his mother's bed; a familiar and comforting setting that was by no means strange. What was strange was that he had no recollection of how he got there, but he was, and his head hurt like never before. Ivar lulled his head to the side and blinked a few times until his mother's smiling face came into view. It was a mournful smile, one that came with dewy eyes and a red nose.

"Mother?"

She gave a soft laugh, one of relief, and took his hands to her lips and kissed it, "thank the gods."

"What happened? My head hurts."

"Do not worry, my love. You will never see that horrible girl again. She will not hurt you."

Ivar squinted at his mother, then reached up to his forehead and winced when he felt the tender spot. He scrunched up his face in confusion, "What girl?"

Aslaug opened her mouth to answer, but then stopped herself. She stared at her son for a while, and slowly asked him, "What do you remember from yesterday, Ivar?"

Ivar continued to squint at his mother in complete confusion. His head hurt from trying to make sense of where he was, and how he got there. He tried hard to remember what he was doing before, but all he could get were fragments; a tree blooming in spring, an arrowhead, orange curtains, and eyes that looked like the summer sea. But all that seemed like a dream. No, that wasn't what he last remembered from yesterday.

"I was… at home, playing tafl with Ubbe."

Aslaug bit her lip and shut her eyes before inhaling very deeply and resumed her gentle smile. "Ivar, do you remember Harbard?"

When she said that name, a man approached from behind her; his aura was calming and familiar. That smile was as inviting as his loving gaze, and instantly Ivar remember who he was. He was the man who took away his pain. The boy smiled broadly and laughed.

x x x

All it took was a fortnight. In those two weeks, Sigurd saw much that would forever haunt him and taint his opinion of his mother, and strengthened his distaste for Harbard. In those days he witnessed Harbard sleep with every woman in Kattegat, and when he guided his mother to that hut across town to show her who the man actually was, it tore her in two. He was keenly aware of the fragility of his mother's mind as of late, but he hadn't suspected that Harbard's infidelity would be the tipping point. From throwing tantrums in the longhouse, taking long walks in the pouring rain whilst crying profusely, to drowning herself in cups of sweet wine. Then there was Ivar…

Ivar had always been a spoiled little shit to Sigurd, but ever since he came to from his head injury, he had changed dramatically. It was like any sliver of good in him was gone, just like his memory. He became as cruel as his mother became distant, and since the two spent copious amounts of time together, both of their personalities made for some unhealthy atmospheres. Aslaug was drunk most of the time, and depressed and self-pitying the rest. Sigurd was aware of her mother's dislike towards the Red Woman and that had made her happy that Hulda and her daughter were no longer in Kattegat. That happiness abruptly ended when Harbard was outed as a deceiver who threw around love like it was stale bread for orphans. Hulda was right about him all along, but Aslaug was too prideful to admit to it, especially not to herself. The queen's feud with her former friend was built on jealousy and denial, both ingredients that came from Aslaug's cup alone. She would never admit herself a fool, not to Hulda, not to anyone.

Sigurd was playing in the river with his boat one afternoon. Without his brothers and Kára to keep him company, he was reduced to petty childish things to keep him amused. After building the small boat, he plopped it in the river next to the bridge, and then watched it bob around in the water, duck under the bridge, and land at the rocks on the other side. The boy ran to it, climbing down to the rocky banks and bent down to pick it up.

And that's where he saw her. Bloated, pale as curdled milk, with only small tendries of yellow hair wisping around in the icy cold water. Sigurd had never seen a dead body, and he never imagined that his first would be a child. The image of his poor niece was going to haunt him for the rest of his life. Her cloudy lifeless eyes, her translucent skin, the dirt and weeds and maggots all over her. How long had she been there? Did anyone know she was missing? Did she fall, or was she killed? Did she die instantly, or did she suffer? How did no one notice?

He forgot his boat in the river and jogged back to the longhouse, where he found his mother and Ivar at the table in the queen's quarters playing tafl. There was nothing in this scene that was out of the ordinary from the last two weeks. Mother was drunk from wine, and Ivar was growing frustrated with the lack of stimulating company and challenge in his tafl partner.

"Your move," Ivar demanded with a frown.

Aslaug looked at him briefly through her lashes before sinking her gaze back into the depths of her goblet. "I do not want to play," she slurred.

"Your. Move."

Sigurd walked around the table, fingers fidgeting in his sleeves, wondering how he was going to tell his mother that Bjorn's daughter was dead. He sat on the chair and watched his mother roll her eyes and straighten herself in the chair as if it were some great effort. She half-heartedly made her move on the board before taking her cup and slumping back into her chair.

Ivar made quick work of defeating Aslaug's queen, "That was stupid of you. You lose."

Aslaug held her cup in two hands as she sternly looked at Ivar over the rim, "Don't call me stupid."

"Why not?"

With a slow liquid blink, Aslaug answered with a less than caring smile. "Because I am the only reason you're still alive."

Sigurd had never known Aslaug to be at all cruel to any of her sons, especially not Ivar. That sentence visibly left a scar in Ivar that even Sigurd could see from where he sat. This confirmed to him that his mother had lost all the love in her heart; she was now a cruel shell of a woman, trying to fill her heart shaped cup with wine, never realizing there was no bottom to that cup, just a hole.

Sigurd stood up from his chair and walked over to his mother, "Siggy's dead."

"Who?"

He pursed his lips and clenched his fist. The image of the little girl came back to his mind. Even with the tightness in his chest, Sigurd refused to cry or show emotion, especially not around her and Ivar. They would mock him.

"I found her body in the river."

"Oh her…" Aslaug drifted off into her cup again before returning her eyes to Sigurd. "I thought… I thought someone was taking care of her?"

You were supposed to be taking care of her, Sigurd wanted to say.

"No. Obviously not."

Aslaug did not say anything. She didn't even look like she cared.

Ivar scoffed and muttered "Who cares?", and that was when Sigurd left the room. First he walked; walked through the city and then across the docks and then the beach until he found Floki's house. Sinking to his knees next to the banks of water, he began to sob. He cried for Siggy; he cried for Hulda and Kára; he cried for his mother's lost soul; and he cried for his father, wishing for him to return. He was alone there… He did not feel welcome or motherly warmth, or family. He was completely alone.

x x x

It was late one night when Hulda was roused from her slumber. Blinking in the darkness, she looked about the cabin and found nothing out of the ordinary. Next to her was her daughter, soundly slumbering. Other than the wind against the logs of the house, there was no other noise. The hearth had downed down to glowing embers, which was the only source of light. Hulda pulled herself from the cot and sat at it's edge, still looking about the room. Something woke her up, but she could not quite make what that was. She knew she dreamt of something unsettling, but like the days her daughter went missing, the gods had clouded her third eye from seeing beyond what was in front of her.

The Red Woman stared at the door of the house, and then felt a rather dull and gradual drumming in her chest. As her body tensed and slowly rose to her feet, that drumming became louder and faster, and she knew that something was on its way. Hulda quickly lit a stone lamp nearby, and took it with her as she walked silently towards the door. Without making any noise, she opened it and slipped outside. There was movement everywhere from the winds that blew a storm in her direction. The cold it brought nipped at her skin, but she stepped further into the darkness with a light robe to protect her from the chill. The flame on her lamp whipped around wildly, threatened to blow out.

Hulda looked into all directions, expecting to see a danger lurking nearby, though saw nothing but branches and leaves being tossed around by the wind. Until, that was, when she spotted a man leaning against a tree. A broken man. He had a swollen brow and cheek, and was clothed in battle mail and leathers. He looked half awake, half dead, and all defeated. Hulda walked to him with long strides, and brought the flame to his face. The warm glow reflected against the sweat and the hollowness of his dimmed blue eyes.

"Ragnar?"

The moment she spoke his name, Ragnar's eyes pulled to the back of his skull and his body crashed onto the ground at Hulda's feet.


Well there we go.

Now this is where the transition of time is going to happen.

Just a warning, the next 4 chapters will not have Ivar in it.

It will focus mostly on Kara, Hulda, and especially Ragnar. This is not filler; it's imperative to character development and to explain what happened in the 10 years that Ragnar was missing. I will be constantly time skipping and only lingering on significant moments, and I won't be making them super long chapters either. I know how frustrating it is for those sort of chapters to take up so much of the story. But it needs to be written and read. After Chapter 16, it will be 10 years later and take place just before Ragnar's return to Kattegat.