Hey! I'm so sorry for the long wait! I've started another job this month so I'm sorta working two jobs (but the hours only amount to one part-time job so I don't really know why I'm complaining). So I've been pretty busy this month. I hope you're all doing well! Thank you so much for the reviews, follows, and faves! It means so much to me! As usual, I only own Dagny.
Ivar watched from the shore as Hvitserk and Bjorn readied to leave. His mother was standing on the docks, speaking with Dagny and Ubbe. Even from this distance, he could see how tense Dagny was, that she thought she didn't belong there. But when Hvitserk came to tell them goodbye, it was clear that he thought mainly of Dagny. Aslaug was given a hug and Ubbe was given less than that. Dagny may as well have been his wife for all the consideration he showed her.
The entirety of last night, Ivar thought Hvitserk sloppy and erratic but when Hvitserk bent to kiss Dagny now, it was slow and deliberate. Dagny's hands were beneath his cloak, keeping his chest on hers. Ivar let out a ragged breath.
He pretended that he didn't know how Dagny had fallen asleep tucked between Hvitserk and Ubbe on the floor of the great hall, face nuzzled against Hvitserk's neck. If Ivar was lucky, she didn't remember it.
But he doubted that she could forget dressing Hvitserk this morning. Ivar heard him ask her, his voice still foggy with sleep, and from the crooked grin on his face, Ivar had known that it was surely a ploy to kiss Dagny while half-undressed. Not that she would mind. Not that Ivar minded. There was no reason for him to care.
Hvitserk pulled away and stood there for the briefest moment, apparently searching for the right thing to say. Say nothing, some voice in Ivar demanded. It was answered. Hvitserk only put his hand to Dagny's cheek once more and disappeared into the crowd of raiders. Ubbe elbowed her when they turned to leave the dock. Ivar knew it was impossible but he thought he heard her laugh and for the first time, he was jealous of Ubbe.
Dagny was at his side minutes later, Ubbe stolen away by Margrethe. She crossed her arms over her chest, watching the longships leaving the harbor. For a moment, Ivar just looked at her. Her long, dark hair whipped about her in the wind and her chin was lifted, as if pretending to be confident might make it so.
"You care for him," Ivar said, though it was more snarl than intelligible speech. But as usual, Dagny understood.
Dagny let out a breath but her eyes appeared distant, like she was still in Hvitserk's embrace. "Yes," she said. "But I care for you all."
"You're special to him," Ivar replied but there must have been that mean tone to his voice because Dagny scrunched her nose. Sometimes he was callous without intention.
"I am not a fool," Dagny said, watching Hvitserk's ship enter deeper water. Ivar thought she must be trying to burn the image into her mind, the way she did not stop staring. "I don't think he loves me."
"That wouldn't make you a fool," Ivar murmured but she was so high above him that he doubted she heard. But her expression softened. Ivar wondered that she did not disguise how willing she was to take any scrap of the barest kindness he threw before her and tuck it away, like a valued prize. If Ivar wanted to manipulate her, he would know just how to do it. She was lucky that Ivar liked her. "Still, you are worried about him."
"When I should be worried about you?" she replied. She pushed hair behind her ear and Ivar's fingers twitched. He wanted to do that.
"Are you saying you are not?" he asked, unsure of what he wanted her response to be. If she worried, it meant that she cared. But it also implied that she didn't have faith in him. He wasn't sure what was worse.
"Hvitserk is… pleasant and easygoing." Not the highest praise, in Ivar's opinion. "It is easy to be nervous for him."
"And I am cruel and mean and battle is my place." Dagny smiled because she was clever and she had taken his measure long ago.
"Left with nothing else, I think you would still rip out your enemy's throat with your teeth. I am unsure of what Hvitserk would do." Her arms tightened around her torso, like she could remember how soft Hvitserk truly was. Ivar once again recalled the image of her on the floor of the great hall, wedged between Hvitserk and Ubbe. It was a picture he did not care for.
"He's not a child."
"I know that." Her voice held the most firmness Ivar had ever heard her speak with.
Ivar tilted his head to the side. "Something else is bothering you. What is it?" Her fingers dug into her upper arms.
"I had a dream last night." A chill washed over Ivar. His mother had said the same thing to him earlier. That his voyage with Ragnar was doomed and if he went, he would drown. In truth, he did not care, despite his fear of the water and the feeling that bordered on admiration for Ragnar. Going to England was something he had to do, particularly after the disastrous night with Margrethe. He had to be good at something. He had to have value. But Aslaug was rarely wrong.
"I don't see how you could've slept well enough to dream, what with you wedged between my brothers last night. Surely, they kept you busy." Dagny flinched and Ivar immediately wanted to take the words back because he could see now that whatever she dreamed, she feared would come to pass. She was sickly pale and the skin beneath her eyes appeared bruised. "Was it about Hvitserk?" he asked, thinking her worries for him must be well-founded.
She shook her head quickly. Ivar's fingers dug into the sand and his teeth started to ache from clenching his jaw so hard. If Dagny said she'd seen him drown, his death would be all but confirmed. And oh, how he hated the water.
"I believe this raid will be Ragnar's last," she finally said.
"You've seen him die?" Ivar demanded. "How? Did he drown?" The ships would go down in a storm, that's what his mother had dreamed, leaving he and his father to the wrath of the sea.
She shook her head once more. "I saw serpents. A great many of them."
Snakes did not seem likely to Ivar, especially if, as according to Aslaug, they would never make port. "It was just a dream," he said dismissively. Dagny finally stared down at him, taking in his dark hair and large eyes, and again he had the sensation that she was trying to fix the image in her mind.
"Yes," she allowed. "It probably was."
"Follow me," Ivar commanded and Dagny did as she was told, wandering behind him along the beach.
"Where are we going?" she asked.
"Don't you remember? I made you a promise last night." Ivar looked behind him and Dagny had her fingers pressed to the bridge of her nose, staving off a headache that she had earned in full the night before.
"In truth, I remember very little of last night." That brought Ivar both joy and pain because she had seemed extremely happy, especially happy with him. "Though I recall being the one to have made a promise to you."
"Well, that is not what we are doing today," he responded, a little too quickly, because the way Dagny said she would dance with him last night had been running through his mind all morning. "I'm taking you to meet my father."
Ivar was glad that he'd made a point to be looking at her when he told her because Dagny seemed to flip through a range of emotions before settling on the perfect reaction; excitement. "Ah, yes," she said, smiling wide. "I do remember that now."
Dagny told him that she'd met Ragnar twice before, both times in passing. She did not mention her opinion of him but then, Ivar supposed she didn't have to. She admired his father and the thought of his death clearly sickened her. When they caught sight of the king, Dagny even took the time to push her hair out of her face, when she so normally liked hiding behind it.
Ragnar sat near the edge of the forest, an unusual place for him but it was private and allowed him to plan. Ragnar was one of the few who didn't indulge Ivar his every whim, which Ivar generally respected, but in this instance, he genuinely hoped his father would do him this favor.
Ragnar looked up, in the midst of sharpening a blade. Dagny froze, her hand against her stomach, nerves apparently roiling in her stomach.
"Father," Ivar began, crawling closer, "this is Dagny, my slave." Ivar shifted to sit with his back against a tree and gestured to Dagny, who looked like she might blurt out that Ragnar was doomed to die.
Ragnar tilted his chin up and took her in. It was a long, roaming look and Ivar thought the sun might have set and risen once more when Ragnar finally spoke. "Yes, I believe we have met." Ivar was still not familiar enough with Ragnar to know all of his tells but he was sure that his father found Dagny desirable. It was, Ivar assumed, a family trait. Besides, he had stolen slaves away from Aslaug before, hiding one away in a cottage just outside of Kattegat. He had a reputation and he had a type. Dagny fell into it.
"She loves to hear your stories and as she is my favorite," Ivar emphasized, "I told her that you could tell her the tales yourself."
Ragnar laughed, a powerful sound. "Your favorite?" Ivar nodded once. "Well…" he said, as if giving the idea a great deal of thought, and smirked. "Of course, I will tell you anything."
Ivar kept his hand out and a beat passed before Dagny took it. Ivar found himself recalling how she takes off his braces, how her hands always feel so nice against his skin. When she sat down beside him, he did not let go. Perhaps he would drown in the days to come, perhaps not. But he was going to do whatever he wanted no matter the outcome.
"What is your favorite?" Ragnar seemed unbalanced, perpetually leaning closer and leaning back, a strange sort of grin on his lips. But whatever it was, his strangeness charmed Dagny because she smiled, the sort of expression that Ivar imagined would disarm even the nastiest person, including himself.
There were many options. Ivar's favorite was Ragnar's first raid of Paris. He liked tales of fighting and treachery and desperation, none of which did he think would appeal to Dagny.
"Would you tell me about Athelstan?" she asked. Ragnar's expression dimmed slightly and then brightened. Of course, Dagny would want to hear stories of a man who was once a slave holding the affection of the greatest man in Kattegat. It was something for her to aspire to.
"Athelstan was my greatest friend," Ragnar began and continued on from there, starting with stealing Athelstan on raid and subsequently freeing him and all of the rest of their strange adventures side-by-side. Ivar couldn't remember Athelstan but Aslaug had hated him and rightfully so, to Ivar's mind. He was a Christian and after his death, Ragnar had become a Christian too, however briefly. Still, Ivar could tell how much Ragnar had loved him, how much he had relied on him.
Ivar turned to watch Dagny, her hand still in his. Her eyes were wide with admiration, with something like love. The Three Spinners weaved their fates, Ivar thought, and sometimes, they allowed history to repeat.
Dagny laughed at something Ragnar said and Ivar laughed too, if a little sardonically.
While Ragnar was talking, Ivar desperately hoped that what Dagny had seen would never come to pass. Maybe it wasn't love he felt for his father but it was close enough.
Ivar sat in front of Dagny's cabin for a long time before he ever got up the nerve to knock. The door was barely on its hinges and had no lock so he supposed he could just crawl in but he decided to knock anyway. In the next instant, the door was open and Dagny was standing in the frame. Her dark hair was unbound and she was wearing a dressing gown that Ivar felt sure had once belonged to his mother. On neither one of them did it reach the ground. A good part of her lower legs showed. He didn't know how long he must've looked at them.
"Ivar," she said and he forced himself to drag his gaze higher than the pale skin of her calves. She rubbed her eyes forcefully. "It is the middle of the night. Are you all right?"
What a question and one he most certainly did not have an adequate answer for.
He brushed past her instead. Dagny sighed in response, an exasperated noise that said she was used to him, and shut the door. It was cold inside the cabin, Dagny having wedged old cloths into a couple of gaps in the wood. But it didn't appear to bother her.
Ivar dragged himself over to Dagny's bed and climbed onto it. It wasn't comfortable but was still warm and it smelled like her, earthy. At that, Dagny crossed her arms, seemingly needing to do something with her hands.
"Where's the girl who shares this with you?" Ivar asked, after seeing the empty bed across the room. Dagny rubbed her eyes again.
"Asdis is angry with me so she has decided not to talk to me for a few days." Her shoulders tensed. It bothered her. He would have asked what Dagny could have possibly done to make her angry but Ivar thought it was obvious.
"Forget her." It was what he would do. Dagny nodded but she would do no such thing. "Sit with me." She took her time crossing the small room and finally sat beside him, so close that their legs touched. "I have something for you."
Her hazel eyes widened. "You have already let me speak to your father. What else could you possibly have to give me?" Her tone was good-natured, so strangely happy in fact that Ivar actually smiled at her.
"I'm leaving on raid tomorrow and I gave you a command. You have to be able to fulfill it." Dagny's eyebrows came together in confusion. Ivar took in a shaky breath and cursed himself for it. What reason did he have to be nervous? He reached along his belt and pulled out a small axe, a hatchet really. It was dark in Dagny's cabin but it still looked like light shone upon the blade. He thrust it at Dagny and she fumbled to grip the handle.
"Did you make this?" she asked, voice low, as she held it out in front of her to look at it more clearly. It appeared to be a good weight for her, not too heavy.
"No," Ivar said, even though he had made it. He'd paid to make it when he paid the blacksmith to make him crutches. "If someone touches you, you take this and aim it here." He leaned over and dragged his finger along the side of her neck. Her pulse was racing. "They will die. Try it."
Dagny took the axe and slowly made a line through the air, the blade resting at his throat. It wasn't very good but then, Dagny was a slave and had to appear like she had no desire to hurt him. Maybe she secretly did want to kill him but Ivar hoped not. He did not want to have to kill her.
He grabbed the axe from her and swung it at her neck quickly, so fast that Dagny flinched, thinking he might actually cut her throat. But she took a deep breath, the blade moving against her throat. He'd made it so sharp that it actually nicked her skin. A line of blood slid down her pale skin, so dark against something so light, and Ivar's chest tightened with want. He let out a breath, a choking sound that he hoped Dagny ignored for his dignity, and flipped the axe so that the handle was towards her.
"Do it again." She watched him, her eyes slightly hawkish, and brushed away some of the blood on her neck. Ubbe had lied. She did know what she was doing.
Dagny was quicker this time but still didn't have the strength she most likely needed. He made her do it over and over until the memory of wanting to kiss her throat no longer blinded him. He made her aim at his chest and his sides and throw the axe across the room until it lodged in the plank of wood he wanted her to target. Dagny showed promise.
Her chest was heaving with exertion and she leaned back on the bed beside him, as if this were something she did every day. She lifted the axe above her, trying again for a really clear view. "But I cannot have this, Ivar," she said. "Slaves are not allowed weapons. You could have me killed just for gesturing at you with this. And I have done far more than gesture."
Ivar rolled his eyes and took it from her, placing it beneath her mattress where the handle proceeded to dig into his back. "Then do not tell anyone." He laid back right beside her. The bed was so small that their sides were touching, Dagny scrunching up her shoulders in order to not bother him when this was her house and her bed. Her hair was in his face and under his head. It was clouding his judgment and his mind because he suddenly had no interest in going with his father to England in the morning. He just wanted to stay cloistered in this bed.
"Thank you," Dagny murmured.
"For what?" Ivar snapped. She turned on her side and faced him, her nose small and her cheekbones high. She was lovely and Ivar hated her for it because lovely things often did not last. Flowers were trampled underfoot, the sea could be disturbed by storms.
"For what you've done for me today. No one's- No one has ever thought about me like that. Like they paid attention." She tried to hide it but her voice revealed some sadness and it made Ivar extremely uncomfortable, that she might be telling him something no one else knew.
"I don't pay attention to you. The things you want are just obvious." She laughed.
"So you say," she replied. A moment passed, their breathing oddly in time, and Ivar took a deep breath.
"Are you worried for me?" She smiled but it did not reach her eyes.
"Yes, I'm very worried."
"You don't think I can do it." He looked away from her and to the ceiling, which he thought probably leaked.
Dagny sighed. "I think Ragnar has a terrible crew with him and though you are both competent, you will have to rely on the poorest raiders Kattegat has to offer. That is my concern."
She put her hand on his chest tentatively, like he was an animal that might bolt. He grabbed it. "What do you think drowning is like?" Dagny propped herself up with her other arm and thought about it. Ivar swallowed and hoped she didn't know why he was asking, that he didn't appear afraid.
"I fell through ice on the pond once a couple of years ago. Ubbe saved me." Ivar remembered that. Most people wouldn't have gone through the trouble of saving a slave but Ubbe very rarely showed any resemblance to most people. "It was a fight, you can feel your throat closing, and how quickly you are losing your breath without being able to catch it." Which is how he felt when he looked at Dagny, at war with his own mind, his own body. "But then it becomes rather peaceful. Ubbe got to me at the right moment but otherwise, I think I might have all right with it. There are worse ways to die than to drown."
The skin around her eyes crinkled and her grip on his hand tightened. She remembered that Ivar could not swim.
"Stay away from the water," she said. "And stay away from snakes." He brought her hand to his mouth in response, his lips against her skin. She took in a breath so sharply that he thought he'd hurt her and he flipped over. He put his arms on either side of her, caging her in. Dagny looked up at him like this new development had been her intention all along.
"What do you want, Dagny?" he asked.
"What do you mean?" she replied. He wasn't asking about Hvitserk. That was a conversation he would never be ready to have because he feared the answer. And besides, it meant nothing.
"I mean right now. At this very moment."
Dagny took a deep, steadying breath and put her hands on his shoulders. Her eyes dropped to his lips for the briefest moment. "I want you to stay with me tonight."
"Ah, me and not my father," he teased, to keep his arms from quivering, to keep from giving in and devouring her.
She laughed and her fingers crept up his neck. Ivar felt his skin prickle. "You'll be better than him one day," Dagny said, grinning. "There's no need to compare yourself."
Ivar smirked down at her. He wanted to put his mouth on her throat and her collarbone and between her thighs. "Sometimes, Dagny, I wish you were free," he said. He read hope on her features. That must be what she truly desired. "Then I would know if the things you say to me are true."
There was a pause, where Dagny's hands shook and she appeared the worst sort of nervous. Then she replied.
"You would own me, even if I was free." Ivar crushed her lips beneath his. Dagny made a noise in the back of her throat and one of her hands cupped his cheek, the other wrapping around his shoulders to bring him down closer to her. He wondered when anyone had done that, when anyone had been that tender with him because they wanted to, not because they were afraid of what he might do.
He bit her lower lip and traced the line of her throat with his teeth. Dagny arched her back, her chest brushing his. Dagny was not just the gentle girl in the forest. She could be more.
Her fingers were in his hair and he was kissing her again. She brought her legs up on either side him and her dressing gown fell down her thighs to her waist. Ivar's hand crept up one and his fingers left an indent in her skin.
Dagny started untying his tunic, as if she'd had a plan. Kiss his lips, kiss his neck, and now she must kiss his chest.
Ivar suddenly saw through the fog of Dagny's pale skin and dark eyes and the way his hand had come along her side to be at her breast. Ivar pulled back from her agonizingly slow kisses and the way her teeth would graze his lip to put his head against her chest. Her fingers were still working against his skin, along the back of his neck and over the braces on his arms.
"I can't do this," Ivar murmured and there was such vulnerability in his voice that he cursed himself. Dagny tensed beneath him.
"I believe you can. I think Margrethe was too scared and did not care if you enjoyed it," she replied. But there was nothing in her voice that belied being upset with him or disappointed. "But if you can't, it doesn't make you less of a man. It does not mean anything and it does not change anything." Ivar's eyes began to burn and he remembered crying from frustration in front of Margrethe and how absolutely terrible that was. He did not want to cry in front of Dagny. He didn't want her to think him weak. "I still want to please you."
"It does make me less of a man," he muttered, even though I still want to please you was echoing in his mind.
"You know, Ivar, to be so clever, you can often be quite foolish." He groaned, pretending to be angry with her. "No one who cares for you will ever mind that."
"I think I was feeling something," he admitted. Something he hadn't felt with Margrethe or even really thought about when he was with her.
"I told you," she whispered. He pushed away from her and kissed Dagny once more, so harshly that he felt his lips bruise. He let her wrap her arms around him and bury her face in his neck. He let his heart race and his body relax. In moments, Dagny was asleep. He wondered how she could sleep when he couldn't focus on anything at all. It was terrible, the way she was pressed against him, her leg thrown over his like it didn't matter that he was crippled. The way her stupidly nice hands were gripping the fabric of his tunic. The way her breath was warm against his throat, sending something like shivers down his spine. Every inch of him felt tense.
"Dagny," he said and she let him go. He saw how the white gown slipped off her shoulder, tightened across her chest. Suddenly, he couldn't breathe.
"Are you all right?" she murmured, still sounding vaguely asleep. Once more that question he had no suitable answer for.
"I-" he started but then thought better of it. "Kiss me," he commanded. And she did. It was lazy and languorous and perhaps the most divine thing he'd ever experienced. Because Dagny was a gentle girl and maybe that is what Ivar needed; to be tempered by mildness.
Ivar did not sleep that night because he was feeling something and he wasn't sure whether he was happy about it.
Dagny, Ubbe, and Aslaug stood at the docks the next morning. She was once again nervous, particularly after Ragnar acknowledged her before boarding the ship. He was charming and beneath it all, Dagny thought he was kind. Even Aslaug had never truly said much against him, when she had much reason to.
Finally, Ivar reached the docks. He had sharp metal crutches which allowed him to appear like he was standing and a sword at his back. It gave Dagny eerie chills. He was tall, his hair was messy, he was dressed in leather and metal. He was handsome, which he always was, but something about working to drag his legs in the crutches had given him an edge she'd never seen before.
Once onto the wood of the dock, he fell and Dagny almost went to him but Ubbe pulled her back. Aslaug shook her head at them. She wanted him to do it on his own. When Ivar finally got up and made it to the ship, everyone seemed to collectively let out a breath.
He turned back once and Dagny made eye contact with him. She nodded. He nodded back. And even though it wasn't the normal way of things, she was sure, Dagny sent a prayer to the gods for his safety anyway.
When the boats were safely out of the fjord, Ubbe and Dagny were the only two left standing there. Aslaug had quite clearly been upset about things. Dagny hoped the queen hadn't had the dream she'd had.
She knew Ubbe wanted to talk and wanted her to be the one to initiate the conversation. He'd seen Ivar leave her cabin this morning. He'd seen how she looked.
"Do you remember the conversation we had on the beach?" she asked slowly.
"Of course," he replied. She turned to look at him. She took in his pale eyes and tawny hair and his unblemished skin.
"You said we were friends," Dagny muttered, already nervous about what she was going to ask.
"Dagny, we are friends," he said, putting a hand on her shoulder. "You can come to me with anything."
"Will you do me the greatest favor?"
"Yes," he replied. "If it is in my power to do it, I will."
"It is in your power." He raised his eyebrows expectantly and Dagny took a deep breath. "Will you teach me how to please a man?"