Master of My Sea
Yes, another update! I hope I can keep up with this streak. I've been writing notes while I'm at work, which has helped me organize my thoughts for each chapter.
Don't have a lot of updates, other than a very special one! If you haven't noticed, I updated the book cover! I've never been happy with the one I made initially, but I never got around to making a new one. This time I ended up creating Kara by merging Kathryn Winnick and Eleanor Tomlinson together. I think it turned out better than I initially thought I would (: I will be posting the full book cover version on my pinterest which is linked in my account biography.
Anywho, I'm excited for you guys to read this chapter. It was fun to write.
chapter twenty-two:
THE DOWNPOUR
The nervous pacing and snorting of Dynja could be heard from the distance. All was still until a cold gust of wind washed through the clearing, rustling the leaves and causing the horse to neigh softly and shake his mane. Ivar still had Kára's head tilted up with his knife to her throat, but he was silent as he searched her eyes, and vice versa.
A single droplet of water fell on Ivar's brow, causing him to blink, but he didn't budge. The single motion was enough permission for Kára to make a move; she dropped the arrow she was still holding and brought her hand to his chest. He made a move to flinch away out of instinct, but paused when he glanced to see that she merely took a gentle hold of the wooden rune around his neck.
"My mother made this for you," she spoke in a small voice. "It was a gift after you saved my life."
She could feel the knife shift away from her throat and the intenseness of Ivar's blue eyes soften. Even the scowl he had on his face seemed to lose its edge. Two more droplets of water fell between them, one landing on Kára's nose, and the other on the edge of Ivar's dagger. He didn't speak, so she continued, hoping that her words brought something back to him, even if it's the smallest of memories.
"That day you told me that you wished that we knew each other longer," She gave a rueful smile, "If that were true, you might still remember me."
More droplets fell from the sky, this time catching Ivar's eyelashes and then dampening strands of hair around Kára's face. He finally pulled away and Kára rested her chin, but kept her eyes on him. She wished she could read his thoughts; he looked pensive and conflicted.
More droplets came from the sky, one by one hitting various surfaces around them until it became a full downpour. Ivar stood in the rain, looking at her,not for the first time, but for the thousandth.
"Do not get ahead of yourself, Greenfoot," He spoke softly, but loud enough that it was carried through the noise of the rain that drilled the ground around him. "You are still annoying."
Kára held her breath.
"I do not know how," Ivar continued, the dagger slack in his hand which he left hanging to his side. "But I remember that."
She nodded, giving him another rueful smile. By now her hair was soaked to her skull. "You spent a lot of time with someone you found annoying."
Ivar's lips were in a firm line when he looked down at his hands, to the dagger. He sheathed it at his side and looked back at her.
"Were you really my friend?"
Kára nodded again, "You were the most important person in my life."
"Then why did you leave?"
"I didn't," she shook her head, moving her hand over her face to move the soaked hair away from her eyes. "We were exiled by Aslaug."
Ivar grit his jaw and tore his eyes away from her for a brief moment. He moved his hand over his mouth, feeling the agitation rise again, but this time directed at someone else. He swore under his breath, eyes glaring towards the direction of Kattegat.
"Ivar," Kára called through the rain. She placed her bow against the wall inside the house and then moved aside at the entrance. With a jerk of her head, she asked, "Do you want to come inside?"
His response was a short nod, barely noticeable with the rain that obscured everything. Neither realized how cold they were until the heat of the hearth kissed their cheeks. Kára quickly went to the far end of the house and checked to see how Dynja was fairing under the weather. He found shelter under the jutted roof, while taking liberal bites out of the hanging grass fringe. When she turned around, Ivar was just standing in the middle of the house, crutch under his arm, looking around the interior and its little effects. The roof seemed so much lower with him in it. A pillar nearly touched the top of his head.
"I do not have much to keep warm, but if you shed your damp clothes, we can dry them by the fire," Kára said as she made her way to the hearth, and lazily gestured towards the cauldron. "I made stew."
Ivar mutely nodded at it, and then at her. "You're soaked," he observed.
"So are you," she quirked an eyebrow before plopping down in a wooden chair and begun unstrapping her boots.
Ivar watched her for a long moment before he reluctantly started to shed his outerwear. He looked around him and spotted another chair, and pulled it over to him. He sat down, stretching out his legs, and laying his crutch against the arm rest. He couldn't help but look back at Kára, who placed her boots by the fire and started to shed off her capelet and then the apron underneath it.
Ivar sat in only his tunic, but kept his trousers on. His tunic was still damp, mostly around the sleeves, but he moved them up to his elbow. Kára also sat in her tunic, but it was long enough to reach her knees. He could see that she was wearing leggings underneath, tied at the seams with leather strings. When he looked up at her, she was looking at him.
"Are you cold?" She asked, not knowing what else to say.
"No," he answered simply, but continued to look at her. He was a bit chilly, but the hearth qualmed the shiver he would likely have had there been no heat at all.
Uncomfortable by the silence, Kára resorted to keeping herself busy by lifting her damp and heavy hair and twisting the water out of it. She then made quick and lazy work of plaiting it on her shoulder. She could still feel Ivar's eyes on her, and all she could do was look at the stew while it simmered. Truthfully, she hadn't thought what she would say, or what she would do if she were alone with Ivar.
Thankfully, he was the first person to break the silence.
"How did we meet?"
Kára abruptly looked up at him, a startled expression on her face before she processed his question. Leaning back in the chair, she rested her hands on her stomach and gave a soft sigh.
"We met during the spring of that year. I was in a tree-"
"Sounds familiar," Ivar tilted his head with a small smirk.
She couldn't help but match it, and then continued. "It was a tree on the hill that looked over the bay. You were sitting under it, and I was making arrows above you. One of my arrows fell and landed on your shoulder."
Instinctively Ivar's hand raised over to his shoulder, finger pressing through the thin layer of his tunic where he could feel the scar. "So you gave me this," he mocked. "What other scars have you've given me?"
Kára rolled her eyes, "Not enough."
Ivar's hand fell to his thigh and lowered his chin to his chest as he relaxed in the chair. "So, what happened after? Did I return the favour?"
"No," Kára replied faster than he liked. "You complained, then threatened me, and then I threatened you. And then-" she cut herself off. Ivar immediately noticed a shift in her appearance. Unease? Embarrassment?
"Then?"
Kára gave an uncomfortable laugh, hand moving over to her shoulder, where she had a bandage from where he shot her the other day. Ivar's eyes snapped to it after remembering, and now seeing the irony of it all. He also realized why bumping into her the other day felt so familiar to him. It's because it all happened before.
"I - um, gave you a kiss and then ran off," Kára finally admitted, a hand moving over to rub her neck and hide her face that she felt grow warm with a blush.
Truthfully, Ivar had not expected that. When he looked back to himself as a young lad, never saw himself as…, well, kiss-worthy. In fact, he hadn't kissed a girl - let alone other things - ever. Well, evidently he did, he just didn't remember it.
"You… kissed me?" Ivar asked slowly to confirm. She nodded behind her hand, and all he could do was exaggeratingly roll his head to the side and allowed his wide eyes to rest on everything in the house that wasn't Kára. "Well, that is… interesting."
"To be fair, we hated each other from the beginning," she hurriedly continued. "You thought I owed you for cutting your shoulder, and so did my mom. She forced me to give you my bow, and I resented you for that."
His eyes narrowed at this bit of knowledge as he seemed to recollect a memory about a bow in his possession. "Was it slim with little curvy lines, like vines, on the upper and lower limbs?"
Her arms dropped to her lap as she looked at him incredulously, "Yes! You still have it?"
"I do not think I do now, but I do remember having it for some time. I just assumed my mother got it for me after I recovered from my head wound. I remember thinking it was quite beautiful, even if it was a little feminine for my taste. It was a good bow."
Kára smiled softly at this; a warmth in her chest blossomed. "Well thank you. I made it myself… it was my first bow."
Ivar smiled at her, but was silent. He allowed himself to fully examine her; her hair looked brighter in firelight. He didn't get a particularly good look in the forest. Her eyes seemed warmer too, but that could also be from the fire. She had freckles as well, which he initially thought were unsightly, but now that he could see them dusting around her slightly exposed shoulder and collarbone, it came as endearing. It was there that Ivar found himself staring at her chest, and that was when he finally noticed how sheer her tunic was. He could just barely make out the outline of a breast through it.
Quickly he averted his gaze and adjusted himself in the chair by pulling his legs closer to each other, and moving forward in his seat.
"So, if we did not like each other, how did we become friends?" He decided to continue the conversation, training his gaze to her face.
"You can thank Bjorn for that," she began with a half smile. "He invited me to train with you and your brothers one day. You were terrible at archery, so I took pity on you and taught you while we were alone."
"You mean to tell me that you were the one to teach me how to shoot a bow?" Ivar's brow raised. "And here I thought I had a natural talent to it."
She gave a soft laugh, which Ivar found himself enjoying. "Sorry to disappoint you, but that was all me."
"Any other of my talents I should thank you for?"
Kára tilted her head in thought. Ivar's eyes then glued itself to a stray droplet of water that came from her hair and trailed down to the curve of her neck. When she started to speak, he reverted his eyes back to her.
"Fletching? We did a lot of that together."
He gave a snort, "That is hardly a talent."
She mockingly narrowed her eyes at him, "It is if you do it right."
With a smile he shook his head, and then found himself looking over at the cauldron. He nodded over to it, "It looks like your stew is finished."
Kára perked at this and looked over at the bumbling pot, a wash of relief when she realized that it hadn't burnt. She stood up and grabbed an old rag to use to pull it out of the fire and place it on a sheet of stone.
"Are you hungry?"
"I do not know. Are you as good a cook as you are an archer?"
She shot him a look that could only be described as shame. Ivar gave a haughty laugh and she couldn't help herself from slapping his forearm playfully, "It's edible, alright?"
"Fine, I will have some of your edible stew. Only because it is still raining, and I have nowhere else to go."
Kára pursed her lips and sent him a mocking glare before going over to the otherside of the house to look for a couple of bowls, spoons, and hopefully a ladle. Ivar watched her the entire time; observing the way she moved around fallen pieces of furniture. Without all her outer carb on, he could now see how muscular her body was. He could see the form of her thighs through the thin fabric of the bottom of the tunic. They were thick and touched together. He could only imagine the damage she could do with them. Then, she stood on her toes to reach into a cupboard above her, and he was able to see the arch of her back and the muscles in her shoulders. As her tunic loosened around the back of her neck, he could vaguely see black markings of a tattoo he couldn't quite make out.
"Oh, thank Thor," he heard her exclaim as she pulled out a large wooden spoon from the cupboard. "Guess scavengers have no use for these." For her, that was a small victory. She had little property left over when she got back to her mother's house. She was lucky to have some utensils and dishware left over.
Coming back to the hearth, Kára sat on her knees and began distributing the stew into the two bowls and then handing Ivar's with a cloth underneath. She warned him that it was hot, but he wasn't afraid of burning himself. She watched him eye it with mild concern, and when he noticed her looking at him, he smiled innocently.
"Looks… good."
Kára rolled her eyes and snorted before grabbing her own bowl and relaxing into the chair. She crossed her legs under her and cradled the bowl in her lap, and began to move around the contents of the stew with her spoon, waiting for it to cool off.
Ivar was moving it around liberally, trying to deduce what was in it. It was mostly brown, and he suspected he saw some potato in it, and some purple carrots. There was definitely meat in it, but he couldn't distinguish if it was pheasant or rabbit. When he looked up, she was taking a spoonful, blowing on it, and taking tentative sips. He looked back at his own spoon and decided he might as well get it over with. He took the smallest of portions and brought it up to eye level, then nose level, sniffed it, suppressed a grimace, and then carefully placed it on his pallet.
He chanced a look over at Kára, who was looking at him expectedly.
"Mmm," he said through a closed mouth. There was a moment as he took his time to swallow it. "That's very… edible."
Kára laughed at the look on his face, and then shook her head guilty. "I am sorry, I was never a good cook. I make food to survive, not to enjoy."
When Ivar went back to moving around the stew in his bowl, he tilted his head at it, as if trying to see it in a different perspective, but it only made it worse, somehow.
"Perhaps I should return the favour and teach you how to cook."
She blinked and tilted her head at him, "You can cook?" The question came with a tone of disbelief. "I find that hard to believe."
"What, because I am a man?"
"No, because you are a prince," she stated matter of factly.
He gave a half shrug, "I spend a lot of time in the Longhouse during winter. I try to keep myself busy."
"Well, if you are a better cook than you are an archer, then I am in good hands."
He chuckled, eyes darting over to her amusingly. "Your future husband will be kissing my boots in thanks."
Kára smiled, but fell silent. Her eyes cast down to her bowl as she tapped her spoon to get rid of the excess broth before bringing it to her mouth. After she swallowed, she shook her head.
"I do not think there will be a husband in my future," She found herself admitting. This very thought was something that came to mind every once in a while, but she had never voiced it until that moment. It was taboo for women not to marry at least once in their lifetime, especially when they are young and able to have children. Kára never saw herself as a mother, or a wife.
The admittance took Ivar off guard. He held the bowl in one hand and rested it on his knee as he regarded her closely. "Why do you say that?" He tilted his head at her. "You are young, able-bodied, and, I suppose, reasonably attractive-"
Kára raised an eyebrow at him.
"- Some men like redheads. My brother, Hvitserk, for example," he quickly added.
"What about you, Ivar?"
"What about me?"
"Are you one of the men that like redheads?"
"You are avoiding my question-"
"You are avoiding mine."
Ivar rolled his eyes and pursed his lips at her, "I will answer your question, if you answer mine."
It was Kára's turn to roll her eyes. She leaned back with a sigh, adjusting her legs to a more comfortable position, and resumed moving around the contents of her stew idly.
"I spent my entire life independently. Most men are intimidated by women that do not need them, and I do not care to pretend I do," she spoke honestly. "Besides, there has not been any man that has reached my exceedingly high standards. If I am going to sire his children, he better be part god."
At that, Ivar laughed heartily, "You think a god would want you to mother his children?"
"I did not say that I think a god would," she pointed her spoon at him as she clarified, "I said that is the only man I am willing to suffer the burden of carrying a child inside my body for, and then having to deal with the pain of bringing it into an unforgiving world."
He gave a light shrug and resumed (trying) to eat his stew. "Fair enough," he brought the spoon to his lips and blew on it. He looked at her over it as he hesitated, "Is there no one that meets your exceedingly high standards, then?"
At his question, Kára pondered, scratching her head as she looked over at the hearth. The answer was yes, yes there was. An answer she wasn't confident in saying out loud, at least not the whole answer, and definitely not in front of Ivar. But, he was looking at her, mouth lapping broth from his lips. Her eyes darted from his lips, to his darting tongue, and then to the way his fingers held onto the utensils. She couldn't linger on him for too long.
Sharply looking back at the fire, she lifted her shoulders innocently, "There is one."
Ivar's eyes perked at her. He looked down at his hands and placed the spoon in the bowl and adjusted himself in his seat. Clearing his throat, he tried to seem as casual as possible, "Is he a god?"
Kára snorted, "No." She bit her lip and then found herself adding, "He is a ranger, from Hedeby. We were together for a few seasons."
Ivar's eyes darted to her. He couldn't stop the muscles in his face from dropping at this. Raising his eyebrows briefly, he began to play with his food again, eyes downcast at the unappetizing contents inside.
"A ranger from Hedeby," Ivar repeated, taking a spoonful and bringing it to his mouth. He continued with his mouth full, "That is quite different to a god."
Kára moved from the fire and back to Ivar, giving him a partial smirk, "Now, answer my question."
He perked up, feigning ignorance, "What question?"
"Ivar," she rolled her eyes.
With a plop, the spoon fell into the bowl again, this time he rested it between his thighs and rubbed his hands together, "Well, since you asked nicely. I happen to prefer blondes."
"Blondes," Kára repeated with a quirked brow.
"Yes,"
"Like your mother?"
Ivar opened his mouth, and then turned his head slightly to give her a barbed look. He pointed his finger at her, "That… That is not fair, Greenfoot."
Kára laughed, taking one last bite from her depleted bowl and then moved it over to the floor next to her chair. "Most men prefer women that remind them of their mothers; it is not unheard of."
Ivar snorted, "You certainly do not remind me of my mother."
He hadn't realized he said it until it was out there. The words lingered in the air between them, like a curtain that was being blown around by wild wind. The rain in the background reminded them of the state of the outside world, and the slow rumble of lightning from the distance told them it was not going to go away any time soon. The distance from Kára's home to Kattegat wasn't far, but to walk in such a downpour at night, and in Ivar's condition, would not end well.
She found herself convinced by her own internal reasoning. The silence went on long enough, so she decided to break it, bypassing his comment all together to say, in her opinion, a much more precarious one.
"You should stay the night."
Ivar stared at her, mouth open from both speechlessness and that he was in the process of shovelling the - thankfully - last portion of his stew into his mouth. He certainly shoved his foot in his mouth moments ago, and to be frank, he was expecting more poking questions or remarks after it. He was taken back. Surprised. Startled. Paralyzed. All he could do was remain where he was, looking at her with wide eyes and a wide mouth with a spoon hovering in front of him. She was looking back at him, head tilted, front teeth chewing her bottom lip, waiting for his response.
Slowly the spoon descended back into the bowl. Ivar prided himself for being quick-witted and sharp tongued. Alas, he was lacking in the department of charm when it came to women. He would watch how easily his brothers were able to woo women to their beds with envy growing in his chest. He convinced himself that the reason why no women ever invited him to their bed was because he was a cripple.
Now, though, he was actually being invited to a woman's bed and he found himself mute. Ivar was quick to learn that he had not a single suave bone in his body. A fact he wasn't readily able to admit to himself, but here he was, facing that fact dead in the face, struggling with the gears in his head, trying to formulate a charming response.
In the end, what he came up with was a quick glance around the furnishings around the room and stated the obvious, "There is only one bed."
Kára looked over at the bed. She hadn't been able to get the furs she'd prefer to make it comfortable, but she emptied the old mattress and stuffed it with grass for the time being. It was comfortable enough for her to sleep in - she had slept on worse mattresses. She used her travelling cloak as a blanket, and rolled up an old cloak to use as a pillow. It was one of the few remains left in the house, one that belonged to her as a child. Her mother had little effects herself. She often wore the same two garbs, which she took with her when she left.
The bed may not be the cushioned and feathered beds that Ivar was used to, but it was large enough for two people.
With a tilt of her head, she replied, "And?"
Ivar watched her get up from her chair and started to poke out the fire in the hearth until it was a little more than a few embers. He kept his eyes on her the entire time, his hands still holding the stew. The house fell in darkness. If it wasn't for the blue haze that peaked out through the window, he would have been completely blinded.
Without a word, Ivar finished the remains of his stew, silently hoping that it didn't go through him in the worst possible way. He felt his hands fidget as he placed it on the floor and went to grab his crutch. He never shared a bed with a girl before. At least he thought he didn't. Did he and Kára ever share a bed as children? Did he stay in this very house before, sleeping in that same bed with her next to him? He wished he could remember if he did, because it would ease his nerves at that moment.
He could hear Kára's feet padding across the floor and then heard the groan of wood as she sat on the cot. Ivar couldn't help himself from taking his time towards her. Trying to navigate in the dark was hard enough, and with the crutch under his arm he struggled from bumping into things. Eventually, he could make out the vague silhouette of Kára sitting on the edge of the bed. Ivar opened his mouth, but found no words, again.
Was this really happening? Was he going to share a bed with a woman for the very first time?
Her hand reached to his, and gave his tunic sleeve a gentle tug, "I promise it is more comfortable than it looks."
Like the stew? He wanted to say, but remained quiet. He gave her a soft smile, but realized she probably couldn't see it. He allowed her to guide him next to her, and then gingerly laid his crutch against the wall next to the bed. Ivar didn't move; he sat still and tense, not knowing what to do. Kára shifted around, tugging a thick blanket - cloak - over her and then lifted her legs up on the bed and started to wiggle over to the other side of the bed.
Ivar didn't move.
The silence would've been deafening had it not been for the rain that drilled on the outside of the house. Kára studied his form in the dark, slightly hunched and rigid like a statue. They had often fallen asleep next to each other, usually in the middle of doing something. Floki and Helga would pick them off and have them sleep in a bay of hay until they woke up in utter confusion. Despite having shared a bed of sorts together, it was always at a respectable distance. Ivar rarely moved, because of his legs. He was often comfortable laying on his back, where Kára preferred her side.
Now, it was different. Their bodies were bigger and the tension was thicker thanks to the conversation they just left. It dawned on Kára that Ivar was nervous - he didn't know her like she did, and if she had to guess, he had never slept in the same bed with a woman let alone actually been with one.
Kára kneaded her lip with her teeth in thought. She needed to defuse the tension as much as possible so he could simply be comfortable with even laying down, because he had still not moved a muscle. She decided to simply pretend that time and memory had not distanced them, and adjusted herself in the cot in accordance with her preferred sleeping position.
"Ivar, if you prefer sleeping sitting up, let me know so I can splay my body out like a starfish," She mumbled.
The sudden sound of her voice made his back twitch from the start. He had been so consumed in his anxieties that he hadn't realized he had been sitting frozen for so long. The cold of the early spring rain was starting to meet his finger tips.
"Sorry," he found himself apologizing, fingers twitching around the buckles of his braces. "I just-"
"I know," she replied softly. "You can lay down, Ivar. When you are ready."
Ivar spotted the pull of the cloak as she fitted herself underneath, and the creak of the wood as she adjusted herself. He lifted his hand and moved them over to the straps around his knees. One leg at a time, he pulled them on the bed, and then scooted back until he reached the top of the bed. When he finally laid his head on the pillow, he came to realize that Kára had her back facing him. His eyes were now adjusted enough to the dark to make out the curve of her shoulder before it disappeared under the cloak she hugged around her body.
He laid flat on his back, head tilted to the side as he studied her form. With the proximity, he could smell nothing but her. The mattress smelt like grass, but she smelt like campfire and pine. She smelt like a hearthfire during a winter storm. She smelt like safety and warmth. She smelt like home and adventure all at the same time.
Ivar's body moved without his permission. His hand snaked over to grip the cloak on one end and pulled his body under it. It was just large enough to fit them both if he moved closer to her - and he did. He wormed and inched his way until his nose was on her neck, and he could feel the muscles of her back tense. He held his breath, expecting her to push him away, but she didn't. Instead, Kára twisted her body until she was now facing him, their noses so close to each other that they shared each other's air. They were so close that they could see the sheen of each other's eyes in the dark.
"Is it true what you said, that I was your only friend?" Ivar found himself asking, his voice barely above a whisper. He wasn't sure why his words were so soft and quiet - it was only them in the room. It was as if he was afraid that someone might overhear the vulnerability in his words.
Kára didn't answer right away, but she gave a small nod, and then followed it with a soft: "Yes. My mother and I lived a very isolated life here. I did not know a lot of children my own age."
Ivar nodded, understanding the circumstances. Though, he wondered if it would've been different, had she lived closer to the city. Would she have been popular? Would she have not regarded Ivar at all? Would she have whispered about him behind closed fingers among their peers, too? Would she have befriended his older brothers first, and would she have shared her bed with them? He swallowed at the thought, and doubt crept up his spine as he worried at these possibilities. Possibilities that were impossible to prove, but they made his gut twist uncomfortably.
"Plus," he heard her whisper. "I was quite a dirty child. I hated baths, and I never wore shoes. That is why everyone called me Greenfoot."
Ivar felt himself give a soft snort before turning it into a chuckle he tried to suppress. That was something he also didn't remember, even if he remembered the nickname like a familiar smell he couldn't place. Though the context made sense, now he realized it. As a prince himself, hygiene was important to him, like most norsemen. It was certainly uncommon to his people to not take care of hygiene. He wondered why he gave her the light of day if that were the case.
"What in Midgard possessed me to allow you to kiss me?" He asked out loud, mostly to himself.
"Well, you allowed me to do it twice," she replied candidly with a small smirk.
"Twice? Are you telling me there was a second time?"
"If it makes you feel any better, I wasn't dirty the second time!"
"Oh, that makes it loads better, thank you," his smile was broad. His face was hot and flushed, but the blue cast of darkness shielded the colour of his cheeks. He ran a hand down his face regardless. He peeked through the digits of his fingers as he regarded her.
"Do you take pleasure in kissing me against my will?"
She gave a sheepish smile, "A little."
Ivar continued to study her through the spaces between his fingers, his gaze jumping from one eye to the other. He then looked to her nose, and then to her small smile. He wished he remembered those times. As of now, he had believed he had never had his first kiss before. It bothered him more than he thought it would. He tried to picture it, her lips on his, but couldn't grasp the memory of feeling it. That debilitating thought caused a pull in his chest. A second time, his body moved without his permission. Before he could stop himself, he was dropping his hand from his face, and leaning closer to her.
The heat radiating off of her was intoxicating, and the taste of her breath on his lips was only fuel to the flame. Once Ivar was a breath away, there was no turning back. Her lips parted the moment he landed on them, as if her body reacted accordingly instead of unexpectedly. It was a gentle kiss, but hot to the touch and enough power to shoot electric currents through both their bodies.
This kiss was nothing like the ones she stole as a girl, not even the ones she had with Thorvald. While she and the Ranger engaged in their fair share of snogging in the past, it was always feverish and hungry, as if it was going to be the last time they were going to see each other. Because, in a way, it was. Though, this one… It was deeper somehow, despite it only being just the lips. It managed to catch the air in Kára's lungs. She hadn't realized she was holding her breath in her chest until she sighed into the kiss.
Her hand, disconnected from her mind, moved from underneath the cloak and placed it on the arch of his jawline. Ivar's hand immediately went to it, placing it over hers, and padded her small fingers with his long ones.
Neither knew how long the kiss was. It could've been seconds or minutes, but eventually they pulled away. A small pop sounded as their lips detached, as if they tried to inhale each other at the same time, and were momentarily suctioned together. Both their eyes opened, and they simply stared at the shine of each other's eyes as if they were moons reflecting light back at each other.
As though they could read each other's thoughts, Kára and Ivar grinned broadly. Their noses bumped together as they softly laughed. Ivar's fingers laced with hers until he held her hand in a gentle grip.
"That makes it… Two for you, and one for me," Ivar's voice came like a purr of a content cat.
"We are keeping score now, hmm?" She lifted a playful brow. Her response from him was a wiggle of his brows and a little arrogant smirk. "Make it three for me then."
"Wh-"
Her lips were on his this time, cutting him off. Ivar released his hand from hers and moved it to her face. This time her lips were fully parted, and her tongue moved along the seam of his mouth. When he allowed her entry, Ivar was suddenly engulfed with her. All he could smell was her. All he could taste was her. All he could feel was her.
And in his mind was all her. Every dream that seemed murky; every voice he heard in the wind; every face he saw in the trees; every smell he caught trickle by his nose. It was all her. She drilled his mind, body and heart like the rain drilled the world outside.
He remembered her. He didn't know how, but by the Allfather, he remembered her.
I'm not the best at writing fluffy romance scenes, so I hope this one delivered!
Don't have much for anymore notes for this chapter. So, I'll leave it to that!
Happy Readings!
ps. Oh, I also wanted to thank everyone a bunch for all the reviews, favourites and alerts. I've always been afraid that people would think this is far too slow a pace of a story to read. For anyone that wants direct responses from me (since I tend to forget to respond to reviews that ask questions), please DM me!
