The Master of My Sea


I managed to write chapter 25 faster than I thought, so I wasted no time in editing this to get it up before the week was over. It is quite long, but that is because the first half is a "in-between" moment, and it would've been too short if I ended it at the appropriate ending point, so I decided to combine it with the next scenario rather than split it in half.

There are some trigger warnings for this chapter, though.

tw: mentions of non con; slavery; anxiety attacks; mental health; depression; mention of child death.


chapter twenty-four:
THE RUEFUL CROWN


The morning greeted Kára with uncomfortable stiffness. Her feet were sore, her head pounded with an ache at the uncomfortable sleep she managed to put herself in. When she got back to her house, she had to make do with the little things she had in order to wash off the mud from her body. In the end, she couldn't completely clean everything off. All she had was a basin that she filled with boiled water and did her best with scrubbing the residue as much as she could in the easiest places. But, alas, her hair was matted with dry dirt. Her clothes were almost unsalvageable. Unfortunately, there was no way she could bathe in the river the night before. The rain made everything freezing, so she had to sleep in the filth and mud until the aches of her stiff muscles woke her up before the rising sun.

At the very least, there was sun.

The first thing she did was gather Dynja and rode towards the river, where she and her mother would bathe all those years ago. As she tied the horse to a tree and laid out her grooming tools, she couldn't help but give a little laugh at the memories of where her mother would pull her into the water, kicking, screaming and protesting as if she were about to be executed. She recalled when she was very small, that she managed to climb up a tree like a bear cub trying to flee from danger, and stayed there until dusk. Hulda had spent the entire day at the base of the tree trying to coax her down with treats and empty promises. In the end, she ended up getting Floki to cut down the tree, and Kára ended up falling right into the river she hated. She was far too stubborn to climb down during the fifteen minutes it took Floki to cleanly cut through the trunk.

And here she was now, putting her effects on the very stump of the tree she once climbed, stripping off her clothes to nose dive into the calm river. The river was by no means warm, especially this early in the day, but after the experience with the lake weeks ago, cold waters no longer got the best of her. However, it did encourage her to clean herself with speed.

She was smart enough to bring all her clothes from Hedeby when she left that night, so she was able to change into cleaner ones once she was finished. She cleaned her sullied ones in the river, but she wasn't going to get hung up on perfection. As long as they didn't smell like a swamp, she was satisfied.

By the time she reached home, the sun shone through the trees, lighting up the unsightly mess her front lawn turned into. She halted Dynja when she reached the line that separated the grass and the mire that the rain created around the house. She deadpanned at it all, not looking forward in fixing the tender ground, among the many other things.

Clicking her tongue, she guided Dynja through the mess over to her makeshift stable. That should be the first thing she needed to fix - something stable, and comfortable for her horse. But she wouldn't be able to create it without nails and, well, help. This place needed more mending that she had anticipated. It was as if the earth was reclaiming it, and its pull into the ground just seemed to increase the more she tried to take it back. It made all her efforts pointless. She would have better luck making a new house in another clearing.

When Kára dismounted and fell into the splash of mud, she threw her head back in exasperation. The mud went everywhere, from the legs of Dynja, to the hem of her new tunic. She had yet to lay out her old clothes to dry now that the sun was out, and now she would have to go back to the river to clean this new set of clothes. She missed the days where hygiene and cleanliness was not an issue for her. Looking back, she envied the green-footed girl that spent her days in the trees, laying in grass, and digging in the dirt for worms and bugs.

"Well, aren't you a sight for sore eyes."

Kára cursed herself for not paying closer attention to her surroundings, but when she whipped her head towards the source, she was glad for the surprise. Standing there at the foot of the muky clearing was Floki and Helga. The years had caused the creases around their eyes and mouths to deepen, there more tattoos that decorated Floki's skin, and his hair had changed dramatically, but the couple that Kára saw as an aunt and uncle had not changed at all.

A huge grin broke on her face and she went to sprint over to them, but ended up wadding heavily through the thick moist grown. Floki laughed at the sight, extending his arms out with exaggeration as he waited with bated breath for his surrogate niece to reach him. By the time Kára reached them, Helga gave a snort as she nearly fell on top of them, taking their open arms in a group hug.

"You haven't grown an inch," Floki remarked when they parted. He tapped the top of her head, indicating her short height.

Kára swatted his hand away and gave him a mocking glare, "I have too!" Even to her ears, she sounded like a petulant child. "You are just a tree."

Floki gave a giggle; the same giggle she had grown to love since a child. It was the most endearing thing about him, and it was hard to forget him for it.

"It looks like your home has seen better days," Helga changed the subject to the sorry state of the old house.

At the mention of her home, Kára sighed and turned to look back at it, her lips falling into a thin line. Looking at it from this angle just made her stomach sink in defeat.

"I thought I could make it home again," she took a deep inhale and exhaled, feeling the discomfiture rest on her shoulders. "But it is resisting me everyday."

Floki's large hand rested on her shoulder, directing her eyes back to the two.

"Perhaps it is time to let it go, Kára. It is frozen in the past and it is meant to be that way," his wise words gave her a gut punch.

She had left this place years ago, but somehow she always thought that she would return to it, and it would all be the same. But as she looked at the house, how the roof seemed to be lower than before, thanks to the grassy overgrowth that hung like a skirt above it. There were no more flowers, just mud, just remnants of old life. She was trying so hard to get it back to what it was, but she was denying it the right to become one with the earth and wild. Biting her lip, she hugged her arms, feeling the loss the moment she admitted to herself that her childhood home was unsalvageable.

"I have nowhere to go," she said out loud once her arms flopped to her sides in defeat.

"You do," Helga's comforting voice brought her attention back to them. "You can live with us."

"What?" Kára's eyes went wide, and she looked between them, wondering if this was a decision made with consensus.

Both Helga and Floki were looking down at her with a soft expression. The fingers on her shoulder curled as Floki brought her back again for another hug, his hand moving to the curls of her head.

"You are always welcome to live with us, Greenfoot," he spoke with a small smile behind his whiskers. "We also need someone to help with the chores."

Kára gave a groan in his shirt and lifted her head at him with a grimace, "I knew there was a catch."

Floki gave another laugh before letting her out of his grasp. Kára turned around to face the wreckage of her home, perhaps for one last time. Her eyes went to the door, partially hidden behind the curtain of grass. The faces of the cats winked at her from underneath. Placing her hands on her hips, she squared her shoulders and marched through the mud silently until she finally reached the door. When Floki and Helga realized what she was doing, they followed after her. Kára pulled out the iron hinges, and Floki held onto the door, and the two of them lifted it off the wall, and placed it against the house. Helga reached over with a cloth and began to wipe off the dirt and grass stains that littered its surface.

"I will come back with the cart," Floki draped his arms over each of the woman's shoulders as they both looked at the carving. "Gather your things, Kára."

X X X

Kára had not realized how exhausted she was until she was able to sleep in a proper bed. Floki and Helga's home was much more spacious, and they had multiple huts specific for certain needs. They had set up a cot in Floki's carpenter hut, which was warm, smelled of cedar, and gave her the privacy she needed for a woman her age. Dyjna was also grateful for having a proper stable, which he now shared with Floki's own horse. The best part, however, was the furs. She didn't want to get out of bed, but instead opted into hiding underneath the pile of furs Helga gave her until it was near late morning.

When Floki all but dragged her out by her ankles, Kára begrudgingly came out, ate, and started to tend to her horse. He was filthy from the mud, and clay was starting to form on the hair of his legs and on the tip of his tail. Nothing else happened out of the ordinary on Kára's first day living with Floki and Helga. She had told them both much of what happened, starting from when she and Hulda were exiled, to Ragnar's stay, to her time in Hedeby. Floki had grown pensive when she spoke of Ragnar, but in the end, he did not take it as a betrayal, like Ivar had. He understood more than anyone that it was a necessary direction Ragnar had to take. Though, even he had no idea if his friend would return to his home city, to retake his throne and reunite with his sons and friends. Kára wasn't sure herself, either.

Kára even told Floki of what had happened to her in the lake, and of the dreams she had that lead to it. She told him of Sigrun, of Brynhildr, and what the Seer had told her. She then showed him the long spearhead that she had folded in an old cloak. Floki took it with delicate hands, marvelling at the craftsmanship of it, despite the years of rust that took it. He revealed the little rune markings of the base, a signature of her father's. It appeared it was made by Ulf, but during what era of his life, he had no idea. Floki had not known Ulf until after he married Hulda and swore loyalty to Ragnar.

The spearhead was beyond repair, even Floki had confirmed that. So Kára had laid it with her mother's door next to her bed, still wondering what she would do with the two keepsakes. One was far too heavy to carry around like a good luck charm, and the other was too brittle with rust to do anything useful with. She had considered making it into a long dagger, but Floki said they would have to melt it down just for that to be possible, and that would destroy the original form. Kára was reluctant to destroy it entirely, especially since she hadn't the smithing skills, and Floki was merely satisfactory in them.

Kára had been living with Helga and Floki for three days, and she had not seen Ivar for the duration. She went back to the house once or twice to make sure all that was valuable had been taken from it - and for sentimental reasons. There were no signs of people in the area. The mud was completely dry to a hardening clay, and could easily show footprints had someone been there. Only hers, Floki's, and Helga's were present.

Kára worried over the possibility that Aslaug realized who she was, and had forbidden anyone from looking for her.

That worry ended, though, during the late afternoon of the fourth day with Floki and Helga. Bjorn, Torvi, and their brood had come for a visit, and neither showed surprise at seeing her there. Perhaps the news of Floki's newest tenant had already reached a gossiping point, though Kára wasn't entirely sure how and who had started it.

Kára sent Helga a wary glance that the latter seemed to not notice.

"It looks like Floki has been putting you to use," Bjorn remarked cheekily as he approached the clearing.

Kára had been working on tanning some hides to make leather stripes for the sails of Floki's new boats. Slowly, she sat up from the log she had been squatting on, and dusted her fingers on her apron and approached the family.

"Well, look what the cat dragged in," she placed her hands on her hips and tilted her head at Bjorn, who stood in front of her with his arms crossed.

"You just could not wait to come to Kattegat. Had to jump on your horse and gallop off before the sun rose," Bjorn mocked, his large smile betraying his real feelings for her leaving him high and dry back at Hedeby.

"Welcome back, Kára," Torvi smiled, bouncing baby Asa at her hip, and holding a sack tied with rope in her other hand.

"It is great to be back," she smiled, though eyed the sack before her attention was sharply brought to Hati.

"Can you teach me how to shoot better than Frodi?" The child's abrupt question was received by an eye roll from his older brother, and a snide comment saying that he had offered to teach him. Though it went otherwise ignored by Hati, as he looked up at Kára, waiting with hopeful eyes for an answer.

Kára laughed at the question; it seemed that his winter with her former pupil was still on his mind. She gave his hair a ruffle, "I suppose I can. But, I should warn you-" she mockingly widened her eyes at the boy, "- My expectations for a Bjornsson will be much higher."

Torvi smiled down at her son, running a gentle hand down his head when he looked at her with a scrunched up face of worry.

"Bjorn!" Came Floki's light voice from behind Kára. She looked over her shoulder, and saw the man hiking up the slight incline from where he was at the jetty. "I was expecting you to be here earlier."

At Floki's comment, Kára furrowed her eyebrows, and turned back to Bjorn. Before she could ask the question, the boatswain draped an arm lazily around her shoulders, eyes still on the other viking. He had a slight smirk under his whiskers, which immediately made Kára suspicious.

"We got held up at the market," Bjorn shrugged, then matched his smirk, though it was far more brief. He had moved his attention to Kára, and the subject of conversation took a dubious turn. "Kára, have you heard the rumour about Ivar's new female friend?"

Kára opened her mouth to answer, but felt herself speechless. She felt heat go to her ears, but all she could do was shake her head no.

"Yes, Ubbe told me. The two stumbled in, covered in mud from head to toe," when he continued, Kára's shoulders relaxed. Though now she realized he was toying with her, so she shifted her weight onto her left foot impatiently waiting for him to get to his punchline. "I believe her name was-"

"-Brynhilda."

"Oh, so you do know her?" He asked cheekily. His smile widened when her eyes rolled at him, and she went to respond to him, but he playfully hit her shoulder. "I am just pulling your chain. I know it was you. But, now we are in an interesting position."

She blinked at him, "Which is?"

"Aslaug has been asking Ivar about Brynhilda, and when she will be coming for nattmal, but he has pushed excuses for long enough. It seems she is quite persistent. I think she has taken a liking to this alter ego of yours."

Kára was taken back by this fact; she barely talked to her a minute the other day, for fear that she would recognize her somehow. She wondered how far the Queen's mind had gone, but she wasn't willing to test how much she recalled the appearance of the daughter of her adversary.

She shook her head, "It does not matter. I was lucky that I was completely covered in mud. She would easily recognize me -" she pulled at her own braid to emphasize the obvious. "I kind of stand out."

"That is why we are here. We have found a solution," Torvi spoke up, adjusting Asa at her hip while lifting up the sack she was holding. Kára's eyes went back to it, and then looked back at Torvi. Without any word, she reached out and took it, and loosened the rope.

Floki still hung on her shoulder, his head bowed above hers as she fished out the contents. He couldn't help the giggle that came when she lifted it up at eye level. The bag fell on the ground, revealing the long length of the pale blonde wig.

Kára looked pointed at Bjorn, her fingers gripping the top of the wig with two delicate fingers. Her top lip was curled, showing her abhorrence of what she was holding.

"What poor thrall did you scalp for this?!"

"We spent good coin for this," Bjorn snatched the wig from her fingers, and fanned it out on his chest. "The vendor was from a place called Egypt… It is a land found somewhere near the Mediterranean sea."

"Is that why you were taking you so long?" Floki asked, pushing his weight on Kára's shoulders. Bjorn had been talking about this sea found inland for years now. With the increase of trade in Kattegat, there were many that claimed to come from countries far away. Talks about this mythical sea fueled Bjorn's fire to find it, but Floki was not entirely convinced it existed.

"Bjorn was a little distracted, yes," Torvi sent her husband a look, then back at the two before her. "But the vendor had made this himself; that a mother had sold him her hair for money to buy food for her children."

"I wish you did not tell me that," Kára eyed the hair with even more concern. With a sigh, she gestured at the wig, "How am I going to keep that thing on my head?"

As if she was waiting for her time to shine, Helga joined the group, cradling a jar in her arms. Her smile spoke innocence, but right now, Kára did not trust her. Especially as she lifted the jar and moved it around, stirring whatever was inside.

"Just on time," Helga pressed her lips into a contained smile. "I have just found the beeswax."

Kára rolled her head back and gave out an exasperated groan to the gods. How long have they been planning this stint?

X X X

Ivar was sitting at the table as the thralls placed various dishes in the centre of it. His eyes were on Hvitserk, then Sigurd, and finally Ubbe, who all were standing idly by watching them prep for the night meal. Well, they were specifically looking at one of the thralls. The young Margarthe was a great contrast to the thralls that tend to the Longhouse. Most of the women that served the queen had been around since Ivar was a child; they were greying at their scalps, their backes curved, and their movements were slower. There was always an opportunity to replace them, since oftentimes traders with slaves to sell came back to the Queen, but it wasn't often that the Queen would purchase one. Ivar wondered if she had a sour taste in her mouth from back when she bought Yidu, only for her to be consumed by Ragnar's hunger for anything new and different.

Margarthe had come from Paris as a child not much older than Ubbe and Hvitserk, but she had only recently become a regular servant to Aslaug in the last year. Beforehand, she attended to the horses, and slept in the stables with them along with other stable hands. Her obvious beauty wasn't noticed until she was cleaned of horse filth and hay and brought into the Longhouse when one of his mother's servants died from dysentery.

Of all the women in Kattegat, for some reason his brothers had eyes for her. He understood the appeal, in a way. She was their subordinate, an inferior in class and station. To be the ultimate dominant in such a coupling was enough temptation. Though, Ivar was all talk, and no action. He was not even sure he was able to perform with a woman. There were times where he would imagine himself in a bed full of willing women, but the mere idea of himself naked was distracting. His bare legs were hard to imagine for himself. He doubted they would at all be desirable to look at by a woman. He cringed at the image in his mind, and he would just end up fiddling with his cock under his furs in frustration.

He ripped his eyes from his brothers, finding himself growing frustrated with his own envy. The fact that they could easily have her, but haven't taken advantage of their ability to do so, only served to piss him off. If his legs were able, if his loins worked like they were supposed to, he would have slept with half of the women in Kattegat by now.

The doors to the Longhouse opened, and Ivar felt his annoyance grow when Bjorn sauntered in with his sow and offspring in tow. He would want the head of the table, which Ivar was sitting in. Not wanting to wait for a comment about it, Ivar picked himself up and moved to another seat. It was then that everyone took their seats, including Aslaug who appeared behind the fishnet drapery that separated the hall that led to the Queen's quarters from the rest of the house.

Aslaug took her seat at the opposite end of the long table, facing Bjorn. Torvi sat to his left with Asa on her lap, Hati next to her, followed by Sigurd, and Ubbe to his mother's right. Guthrum sat across from his mother, at Bjorn's right, and Hvitserk sat next to Ivar, leaving an empty space next to him and Aslaug.

The vacancy of the seat was another prompt reminder to Aslaug that her anticipated guest was not there. Ivar had been dodging her questions about "Brynhilda" since the day after he returned. He didn't know how he felt about his mother's obsession over her. He supposed he was glad that she didn't recognize her true identity, but Ivar was reaching the end of his excuses of why Brynhilda had not come for an evening meal like the Queen had asked. The first excuse was that Brynhilda could not wash off all the mud from her hair, and did not want to come to dinner looking unclean. The second was that she was moving to a new homestead. On the third day, Aslaug suggested that she would come with him to see her, and Ivar had half a mind to suspect that she was onto him and Kára. To avoid this, Ivar spent the entire day with his brothers, sparring in the training yard and preparing for their upcoming hunting trip.

He shuffled through his mind for excuses, in preparation for the question he knew was coming. Though by some miracle of the gods, he didn't need to make one up. The door opened and Brynhilda walked in.

Ivar found himself doing a double take; he did not recognize her immediately. Her hair was no longer that signature shade of orange and red, but a tame blonde. It cascaded about her shoulders until it reached her elbow. Around her head she wore a textured scarf, where wayward hairs sprung loose and framed her face. He could barely see the knot her hair formed behind her head, where thin braids originated from and dropped loosely around her shoulders. Her dress was modest, but Ivar mused that it was possibly the most feminine attire he has ever seen her in. The dresses she wore as a child did nothing to compliment her body. They were baggy, meant for her to grow into over the duration of a few years. Now, he had only ever seen her in working garb. Trousers, leggings, a long or short tunic. It was only once, the night he spent with her, that she wore an apron. The dress she came in wearing was a deep olive green, the apron a lighter shade of green but still dark. He could make out beaded threads going between two iron brooches. A simple chain also went around her waist, with little grooming tools dangling from the side. She hadn't come unarmed either. Hanging just below the chain around her waist was a leather belt where a short sword sat on her thigh.

Aslaug turned on her seat, and her face brightened when she saw the girl. Ivar merely had his mouth hung open, watching as the girl unstrapped her sword and placed it with the others.

"Brynhilda, I was starting to think you would never come," Aslaug's previous impatience seemed to be hidden behind a smile. She patted the empty spot next to her and told her to come.

Kára seemed stiff as a board, her eyes darting around the room, to faces she hadn't seen in years, and then to Ivar as she approached his side. His mouth wasn't so wide when she sat down next to him, but now he was looking at her with a furrowed brow, face filled with awe and confusion. She gave him a side glance, and then reached over to her ear, where she pushed a thread of blonde hair behind it. His eyes darted to her fingers, where she gently grazed a seam where the blonde hair was woven into. He could see the red hairline underneath it. He closed his mouth, but tried to hide his growing smirk underneath a hand.

Leaning in, he whispered, "Is that for my benefit?"

She side-eyed him, said nothing but gave him a sharp nudge with her elbow.

"I apologize for not coming earlier," Kára spoke, hands on her lap and fiddled with her fingers. "My hands were quite full with settling into Kattegat."

"Yes, I was told that Floki and Helga took you in as a tenant," Aslaug replied whilst the servants began to fill everyone's flagons and goblets.

Kára wondered a second time that day how the news even got out. She looked over at Torvi, who was otherwise preoccupied with helping herself to the food and giving Asa tiny bits of potato. Given her experience at Hedeby, gossip tended to travel fast if the messengers were women. It was a very true and very inconvenient stereotype to her gender, but she highly doubted the things that women whisper about amongst each other interest men.

Kára nodded, "He has me do some work with his ships as payment for my residence."

"Are you good at carpentry?"

Kára took a bowl of vegetables, helped herself, and handed it over to Aslaug. She shook her head, "Not at all. I can carve out a bow, or a fletch an arrow, but what Floki does is beyond my expertise."

Ivar couldn't help a chuckle as he passed her the mutton, to which she took and helped herself modestly.

"Floki can be very picky with his boats," he commented. "He does not even let me help him."

"I actually do not see him ever having help," Hvitserk added. He shoved a piece of his meat in his mouth.

Kára had not gotten a good look at him, but he seemed otherwise preoccupied with his drink and meal. She wasn't even sure if he was aware she was there, or who she actually was. However, she did notice that Sigurd seemed to steal glances her way, eyes darting from her to Ivar. And Ubbe, well, he sat across from her, eyes glued to his plate. She wasn't even sure he was paying attention to the conversation.

This dinner was filled with tension, and Kára wondered if it was because of her being there, or if it was because of Bjorn. He sat at the head of the table, the thrones sitting in the background. Kára couldn't help but be reminded of the first time she had dinner with the Ragnarssons, and how just as awkward it had been then. However, now, it felt like she was being interviewed.

The topic was changed from Floki to one that she was dreading. Aslaug picked up her goblet and cradled it in her long fingers to her chest.

"Ivar never mentioned where you are from," she sipped her spirits and placed it where it was on her chest. "You are new to Kattegat, yes?"

Kára swallowed a piece of bread nervously, and nodded. She chanced a glance at Bjorn, who was looking down at her with a neutral expression. They had rehearsed a story for her, knowing that Aslaug would want to know where she came from. They decided that it was best to keep to humble beginnings, to make her untraceable before a certain point.

"I have been here as a child, but I do not remember much of it," Kára improvised a half truth, but left it open ended. "I was originally born in Ringerike, my mother was a slave to a farmer. He could not afford to keep us both, so he sold us to a slave trader when I was very young, and then we were sold in Hedeby, where I lived most of my life."

Kára had been rehearsing this story on her way over where. She added some new details, like how she was a slave to a farmer. Bjorn never specified who, but she decided to add the detail before it could be asked.

"Hedeby," Aslaug mused, her eyes moving over to Bjorn with what Kára could only describe as wariness. Bjorn ignored her, seemingly preoccupied with making his youngest son laugh by putting a long and droopy carrot on his nose. "So you must know Bjorn's mother, Lagertha."

More than you know, Kára thought before answering with a quick nod and hid her face into her flagon.

"Were you still a slave when you left? Because we would need to execute you for desertion." Sigurd asked.

Kára nearly forgot there were more people there, listening to her. When she looked at him, he didn't all seem very impressed. She noticed from her peripherals that Ivar was giving him a pointed look. Bjorn also seemed not so impressed by the question; it was obvious that Sigurd knew who she was, and he was baiting her. The oldest Ragnarsson dropped his carrot on his plate, officially inserting himself in the conversation.

"She is a free woman, Sigurd," he answered, leaning on his elbows. "My mother freed her when her mother died."

That was also part of their story. They had decided to kill off Kára's hypothetical mother, who was under Lagertha's employment, and freeing 'Brynhilda' was a gift for all the years of servitude. The problem with Bjorn interjecting was that they weren't supposed to know each other, at least not that closely. So, now, Kára had to improvise.

"You seem to know our guest quite well, Bjorn," Aslaug had barely touched her food, but now she had decided to tear open some bread, and mop the gravy that pooled on her plate. "I have also noticed how the two of you seem to appear in Kattegat at the same time. If I did not know any better, it would appear that the two of you have some kind of… intimate history?"

Kára could hear Ivar choke on his ale.

That was when Ubbe decided that the contents of his plate were no longer as interesting, because his bright blue eyes lifted up and looked between Bjorn, Aslaug, then her. Kára's mouth hung open, and she turned her head to Bjorn who had a deadpan expression on his face. He then shared a look with Torvi, who was trying to hide her amusement behind her goblet.

"What does in-tea-mit mean?" Hati's small voice broke the silence.

Ready to indulge the child, Hvitserk leaned over the table, "It means they had se-"

"I trained as a shieldmaiden the moment my mother left me, and I spent the last winter sparring with Guthrum and playing with Hati," The truth was the best lie she could come up with. "I met Bjorn when he came to stay for the Solstice."

"We had snowball fights!" Hati chirped up, adding his own style of confirmation to Kára's story. Torvi ran a hand down his hand, smiled at him, and told him to hush in a quiet voice.

Guthrum remained quiet, but that was not different to his character. He was always reserved, and from short conversations that Kára had with him, it had something to do with feeling like an outcast in his own tribe. He wasn't a bloodkin to Bjorn, despite the man referring him to his son. At the mention of his name, he merely perked up, but added nothing to the conversation.

"You must have quite a life in Hedeby," Aslaug rested her head on the back of her chair, and directed her attention back to 'Brynhilda'. "Why did you choose to leave it behind?"

Kára opened her mouth, intending to answer the question with what was prepared for her. They had discussed that Kára should have had some kind of falling out with Lagertha or someone of authority there, but it seemed like the plan was going out of the window.

"Lagertha…" Kára trailed off, trying to make sense of her words in her head before saying it. "She had no plans for raids this summer, and I-"

"I was collecting able warriors and vikings to come with me to the Mediterranean sea," Bjorn spoke through a huge bite of bread. His teeth crushed the crust, then he swallowed and washed it down with ale. "Brynhilda wanted an adventure, and I offered her a place in my company of vikings."

This all took them by surprise, especially with Kára. Her head whipped over to him, glad that Aslaug was behind her, because she would have seen the genuine look of shock in her wide eyes. Bjorn merely gave her a wink and a mute nod. Her mouth hung open in an 'o' shape. Was this his way of inviting her to his journey to the unknown? He had talked about the Mediterranean Sea, and the mysterious map he acquired from Paris for years now. The ships for the voyage were the ones that Floki was building at this moment. Kára had no experience as a viking, or at sea. She had been on fishing boats, but most of her life has been spent in the forest. Not even during the two years of being a shieldmaiden had she gotten the opportunity to join the raiding parties. Lagertha always had work for her to do in Hedeby or its surrounding villages.

Something settled in Kára's chest. It was warm and exciting, like she had just got something she didn't know she wanted, or needed. Should this place exist, it would go down in Viking history, and Kára would be a part of it. That is more than she has ever accomplished in all her 18 years of being on midgard. The silent decision was made. Kára's mouth relaxed into a grateful smile, and she gave a silent nod at Bjorn, accepting his invitation. His smile broadened, but he quickly smartened up and filled his mouth with mutton before Aslaug caught onto their silent conversation.

"Ah, yes, the voyage to the mysterious Mediterranean sea," Aslaug sighed as she leaned back into her seat. Her wine was starting to make her muscles relax and her mind to calmly buzz. She had little food, a mistake on her part. The strong spirits were getting her faster than she'd care for, but Aslaug had little appetite lately. "The time has finally approaching, is it not? Have you gathered enough men and women, Bjorn?"

Bjorn nodded, licking off the oil from his fingers, "I have gathered 200 of the finest vikings in all of Norway. Ubbe and Hvitserk, included."

Aslaug looked over to right, over to Sigurd, "You are not going, Sigurd?"

"I have no interest in travelling to a sea that probably does not exist," Sigurd shared no look at anyone when he spoke.

Kára thought how Sigurd had never changed. He had always been pessimistic and uninspiring. She was never a fan of his, but as a son of Ragnar and having his grandfather's namesake, she couldn't help but feel disappointed at the man he became.

"Sigurd would rather play his lute," Ivar spoke up, pointing a rabbit haunch at him. "He has no ambition outside of it."

The narrow of Sigurd's eyes showed that he already had a rebuttal at the ready. "What about you, Ivar? Why are you not going with Bjorn? Or should we start calling you Ivar the Gutless?"

Kára chanced a look at the man sitting next to her. He was gritting his jaw and the lid of his eye started to twitch. This was showing a remarkable amount of restraint on his part, and Kára wondered if there was a reason why Ivar wasn't throwing a tantrum over the insult. Was it because she was there, or because of the children? Or, perhaps, it was of Aslaug?

"Ivar is more than welcome to come," Bjorn spoke, looking at Sigurd, and then at the man in question. A light shrug on his shoulders as he relaxed back in his seat with his flagon in hand. "Provided if that is what he wants."

The emphasis on the word 'he' filled the room with an implication that rattled Kára's bones. It wasn't a matter of whether or not Ivar wanted to go, it was a matter if Aslaug would allow it. Kára was partially glad that the conversation wasn't on her anymore, but she also felt more of a stranger than ever, now that she was in the middle of what is going to be an explosive family argument. She would rather help Floki with sewing sail patterns than being here.

Ivar seemed oblivious to the implication, and took no mind in waiting for his mother to reply for him. His fists planted on the table, he looked over at Bjorn, a large smile on his face as he gave a bow of his head, "Of course that is what I want."

"You are not going," Aslaug's voice was gentle, yet firm. It cut through the air like a bee's sting.

Kára watched the muscles of Ivar's face twitch as he slowly turned his head towards his mother. The frustration was immediately seen in the way his brows arched around his intensely blue eyes. Kára found herself reaching underneath the table and placing a gentle hand on his thigh in an attempt to settle him. He didn't seem to notice, because his resentment towards his mother's coddling was beginning to bubble up to the surface like the remains of a whale carcass.

"And why not?" The question was challenging. He wanted her to say the obvious. That he wasn't capable, because he was a cripple. "I am a man. Son to Ragnar Lothbrok, the greatest viking that ever lived. There should not be a reason for me not to go-"

"It is far too dangerous and unpredictable," Aslaug stressed. The way she closed her eyes meant that she was tired of this conversation. It must have been a topic in the past. "We do not even know if this place exists, and you have not been out to sea yet. This is not a voyage you can handle, Ivar."

"How can you make that assumption?" Bjorn was now leaning against the table. His previous relaxed demeanor changed to one that was just as stiff as Ivar's. "You have not given him a chance to prove his mettle."

"I am his mother," Aslaug stressed. She seemed to find her authority by the way her shoulders squared against the back of the chair. "I know what is best for him."

"Ivar is not a boy. He is a man. He knows what is best for himself."

"I have an inborn mother's instinct, Bjorn. I do not expect you to understand, especially since you have not been a father for very long."

"I would have been given that opportunity, had Siggy survived your superior maternal instinct."

Bjorn's words made the room feel absolutely frigid. Everyone, including little Asa, sat frozen in their spots. Hvitserk's mouth hung open with a piece of mutton in his fingers that he was in the process of eating. Ubbe's forearms were planted on either side of his plate, his head bowed, but his eyes travelling over to Bjorn. Sigurd sat neutrally, mouth slightly parted, eyes no longer in its usual narrow shape. Even Guthrum and Hati seemed to have balked in their seats.

Torvi extended her hand onto Bjorn's arm, his name on her lips in an attempt to placate him, but the seed was already planted and Bjorn was ready to sow them. His arm ripped from Torvi's comfort, and he returned his hardening glare at Aslaug. Kára watched the twitch of his fingers and the jitteriness of the muscles in his arms and jaw. He was in a restive state. He had been sitting on this for a while. That anger had never left him. The remorse, the mourning, and the resentment had not healed over time. The wound was still open, and by now it festered to the point of no return.

The look Bjorn gave Aslaug was one of provocation. He wanted her to argue, to rebuttal, or to defend. It would give him the opening he wanted. An argument intended to make her feel responsible for his daughter's death.

And when Kára slowly turned towards the Queen, she was surprised not to see her face contorted with anger. Her eyes were wide and glossy. Her chest rose and fell rapidly. She wasn't sure if Bjorn could see what she could see, but the expression on Aslaug's face wasn't one of rage, like his was.

It was of guilt.

Aslaug's eyelashes fluttered as she placed her goblet hastily on the table, and quickly gathered herself up from the table. Trembling fingers brushed down her apron as she excused herself from the table without looking at anyone's eyes, especially not Bjorn's. Her eyes casted to the floor as she briskly walked over to the net partition and disappeared behind it.

Kára watched her until the moment she was gone. She could vaguely hear Torvi trying to coo baby Asa in her arms. The disturbance was enough for even the infant to feel the unsettling atmosphere caused by it.

Kára's hand fell from Ivar's thigh; she hadn't realized she kept it there all this time. When Ivar felt the warmth of it gone, he looked over at her with concern. The girl had her eyes downcasted at her plate, which she barely touched. The tension was nauseating from the beginning, and now she had absolutely no appetite. She could see her deformed reflection in the steel plate, partially obscured by sauce and crumbs of bread. An image burned in the back of her mind, like a memory that painfully pushed itself to the forefront of consciousness. The face of Brynhildr aglow in the early spring sun as she pulled her from the depths of the frigid lake.

She wasn't sure what possessed her, but Kára excused herself and pulled out of the table. Everyone watched her with surprised expressions as she made her way to where Aslaug had disappeared to. Ubbe made a motion to follow her, but Sigurd placed a hand on his arm to stop him. Ivar twisted in his seat and watched the ends of her green skirt disappear behind the curtains, his brow furrowed in confusion and apprehension.

"My lady?" Kára opened the door to her bedroom slowly.

When the light of the sconces outside filtered into the room, she could see Aslaug hunched over, sitting on the edge of the bed with her fingers digging into her scalp. Her shoulders shuddered with the weight of her emotions. Her circlet was on the ground, and her hair cascaded wildly around her face and threading through her kneading fingers.

Aslaug was a broken woman. Kára had seen her in many states, but never like this. She never saw this woman to be weak by any means. Hysterical, unstable, and resentful, maybe, but never… sad. She couldn't help but be reminded of Ragnar, and the man he was under Hulda's care. He was just as broken and sad. It had humanized Ragnar for Kára, and that was no different with Aslaug.

When the glare of the light outside the room met Aslaug's eye, she reacted violently. The intrusion to her vulnerability lit a fire under what remained of her pride, and she countered it in a way a lioness would.

"Get. Out," she grabbed the first thing that was near her, which was an empty goblet that had been on the mattress. She whipped it towards Kára, but the girl managed to shield herself with the door. The bronze cup bounced off the wood and ricocheted onto the floor and rolled off into a corner.

Kára did not take the hint. Instead, she silently crept in and closed the door behind her. She flinched when Aslaug yelled at her again, repeating her earlier command, this time moving further into the bed, farther away from Kára. Again, Kára recalled to the times that Ragnar would react in such a way while he was in recovery. Every time he had an episode, her mother would react slowly and delicately when approaching him. She mimicked her memories, moving over to Aslaug's side, making sure she was within Aslaug's sights.

"Asl- My lady," Kára bent down on her knees in front of her. "Look at me, please?"

Aslaug fought against her gaze, "Did I not command you to leave, girl? Go, before I have you flogged for your insolence!"

Nervously, Kára licked the bottom of her lip, "I am not leaving you."

Aslaug looked at her with wide, watery eyes. She watched her languidly like an abused cat, as she got up from the floor and sat down beside her. She flinched when the girl touched her hand, but for some reason allowed her to hold it gently, yet firmly. Kára's other hand moved on top of it, encasing Aslaug's fingers in her hold.

"Breathe with me," she spoke gently, and began to take a deep inhale, holding it, and then exhaling.

Aslaug watched her for a beat before following her. Her shoulders still shuddered and her fingers were still trembling. She could feel her own heart pounding in her chest as if a prisoner behind bars. But she followed the girl's instructions, eyes focusing on her face as she inhaled deeply, and held her breath, before exhaling it in length. With every intricately long breath she took she found her nerves settle, but in tow came tiredness. The adrenaline fading, the alcohol taking control of her mind once again. The tears she shed no longer felt like searing molten iron going down her face, but warm rain dripping down her cheeks.

Kára watched as the queen's head declined and her eyes rested shut. Her fingers had stopped trembling in her grasp, and her shoulders sagged. Eventually, Aslaug had stopped matching her breaths, but that was when she nearly collapsed on her side and Kára caught her in a loose embrace. She moved her until her head was laying on her lap. Aslaug curled into her, and moved her arms around her waist and huddled into her body. The dampness Kára felt seeping through the fabric of her dress told her that the crying hadn't stopped, but at least she was calm. Not knowing what to do with her hands, she moved them along the length of Aslaug's hair, petting her head and just allowed the woman to sob into the fabric of her new dress.

Kára then felt the vibration of Aslaug's chest before she heard her voice breach the haze of sleep and inebriation.

"Please never leave me again, Mother," the queen inhaled sharply and buried her nose in the girl's lap. "I need you... I need you…"

Kára shut her eyes tightly, and felt the air in her lungs hitch and the sting of tears threatening to breach through her lids. Her own heart weighed with mourning. The face of her own mother is present in her mind, and the reminder of those very words she used to whisper to herself during her many sleepless nights alone in Hedeby. When Kára opened her eyes, she was looking up at the ceiling, feeling the weight of the world on her shoulders.


One of my biggest peeves with the show was that they never talked about Siggy after she died. Bjorn never mentions her. In real life, that isn't how it would work. He'd know that his daughter's death would be Aslaug's fault, given that she was supposed to look after her. So I really wanted that to be a point of contention between him and Aslaug. Their relationship didn't have any foundation before that, and I think this adds much needed conflict between the two. Not to mention, that as a mother herself, I don't think Aslaug would have been completely indifferent to letting an infant die on her watch. I'd imagine that when she sobered, or when she was alone, she actually was devastated.

Contrary to what my story is built on, I don't hate Aslaug. Actually, I'm just disappointed in how they wrote her, given the fact that in reality she was a strong woman, who was a warrior in her own right. She even fought to avenge the deaths of her step sons, if I remember that correctly. So I really wanted to play sympathy for the devil for Aslaug, and I hope I gave her some humanity in this chapter.

Anyway, hope you all enjoyed! Happy readings!