Hi! Sorry for such a long wait on a chapter. Grad school just keeps me so busy. But I thought I'd give you a really long chapter in return! There is a little ~~~sexiness~~~ in this, just as a warning for those of you not into that. I wanted to put Lagertha's attack on Kattegat in but the chapter just got so sprawling and long so you have that to look forward to next time. Thank you so much for all of your kind words! I really appreciate them! I'm getting super excited for season 5! Hope you're all doing great! Thank you!
Dagny thrust a bone needle through the sleeve of Aslaug's gown. The queen was across the room from her, pacing. Her behavior since Ivar left worried Dagny. She had been withdrawn when Aslaug was normally quite talkative and Dagny could see the shadows under her eyes and how her skin had become splotchy. It was out of the ordinary for Aslaug.
The needle pricked her finger and brought her back to the task at hand, which was an excellent thing. She wanted to think about anything that was not meeting Ubbe tonight after supper, anything. So she broke the sewing down into small increments and just repeated the steps over and over until the monotony made her forget concern for Aslaug or Ubbe.
Dagny liked Ubbe. She trusted him. Of everyone she knew, he seemed the most decent and kind. But it did not make this sort of thing any simpler.
This morning, she, Margrethe, Asdis, and Dotta had washed laundry and hung it. Not a single word had been spoken. Everything that was going on seemed to hang in the air above them and Dagny thought that at any moment it might have come crashing down. Asdis was coldest, which was entirely her specialty. Margrethe feigned at shyness but the looks she gave Dagny showed no timidity. Even Dotta, who Dagny hadn't spoken with plainly in many days, she had managed to offend by dancing with Sigurd in the great hall after the sacrifice. She had no one to speak to about anything. In fact, she had no one but Ubbe and Aslaug. Sigurd had made it clear indeed that he had no interest in ever speaking with her again.
The needle poked her skin again and this time blood beaded. She sat Aslaug's dress aside, not wanting it stained. The queen looked her way, as if this moment was one she'd been waiting to seize upon.
"Are you all right, Dagny?" Aslaug asked. "You seem troubled." The queen walked towards her and turned her head to the side. It was an expression Dagny had seen Aslaug give a hundred times before to any of her children. It was rarely cast her way.
"No," Dagny replied. "I am fine. In fact, I have been worried about you."
The skin around Aslaug's blue eyes softened. Dagny had always found her beautiful in an unattainable sort of way and today was no different, even if the queen did appear pale. "Dagny, you have more than enough to worry about without concerning yourself with me." Dagny nodded, willing to leave the conversation there because she could concede that Ivar was Aslaug's favorite and fretting for him was natural. "Are you sure that you are all right?"
Dagny took in a sharp breath. And there were people who doubted that Aslaug knew things, she thought. "I've had a dream and I fear that it will come true."
The queen dropped to her knees before her and Dagny had to school her expression to not be one of shock. It was made even worse when Aslaug took her hand. "What did you see, Dagny? Did you see Ivar drown?"
"No," Dagny said emphatically, shaking her head because she could tell that the answer meant a great deal to Aslaug. But she thought of Ivar in her bed, his skin burning as if fire was just below the surface, asking her if she knew what it was like to drown. "But you did."
Aslaug, eyes rimmed with kohl and skin sallow, nodded. "The ships won't make it there." Dagny looked away from her as she felt her pulse start rising unsteadily. Aslaug was rarely, if ever, wrong in her predictions. They were always correct in some way. But if they drowned, Dagny's dream was just a dream after all. Something fueled by the haze of a sacrificial night. Neither option was good.
Something flickered across Aslaug's expression, a realization of some kind, and Dagny wanted to speak of kissing three of her sons less than she did their potential deaths. "I saw Ragnar, killed by snakes," she said quickly.
Aslaug's grip tightened on her hand. "Who have you told of this?" she asked, seemingly automatically believing that it must be true.
"You… and Ivar." The same knowing passed over Aslaug's face once more and Dagny felt herself pale. She wanted Aslaug's approval more than she cared a whit for Asdis or the others.
"Good," Aslaug replied. "He will keep it secret. Tell no one else of this, Dagny, do you understand me? No one. Not the other slaves, not Ubbe, not… Sigurd." Aslaug's eyes were knowing. Sigurd regularly proclaimed his mother a witch and did not believe there had ever been love between her and Ragnar. He wouldn't take Dagny's dreams well either.
The queen apparently thought this was of the utmost importance so Dagny nodded fiercely, dark hair falling over her shoulder. "Of course but… is there really any cause to believe it? I know I am being paranoid."
"Yes, there is cause. Significant cause." Aslaug's words were weighty, laden with the promise of foresight. Maybe she'd known that one day Dagny would become like her. Perhaps she'd even known the moment she laid eyes on her as a scrawny child at the slave market. "This can't be your first time." Dagny remembered dreaming of Hvitserk with his hands in Margrethe's hair and his mouth burning holes in her skin and seeing it happen in full the next day. It felt like she was a child again and Sigurd was teasing her before dumping a bucket of icy water down the back of her favorite dress. Suddenly, she was numb. Terrified, yet still numb.
"But you are a true seer," Dagny said, trying to be as respectful as possible because only one of them could be correct. "The ships would have to make ground for what I saw to come true… and you are always right." Her voice did little to disguise just how disappointed she was by that. Though Dagny had admired Ragnar for as long as she could remember, the thought of the snakes and unknown treachery was far better than that of Ivar beneath the sea.
"Perhaps, we are both right," Aslaug said. "Perhaps, Ragnar will survive the wreck to crawl ashore." Dagny nodded, yet the thought still made her sick. The queen's grip tightened once more and Dagny met her kohl-lined eyes. Freckles danced across Aslaug's high cheekbones and her hair curled in just the right manner. Dagny suddenly feared that this might be her last conversation with her. "You love my sons, don't you, Dagny?"
"Of course," she breathed. "Of course, I love them." Aslaug smiled weakly.
"And you would be loyal to them even without my influence."
"You know that I would. I would die for any one of your children." Aslaug shook her head.
"You're a good person, Dagny, and I should have freed you long, long ago." Dagny stiffened. "You were always so kind to my sons, even when they were mean to you. I watched you work your way into friendship with Ivar for years when others have always feared him. You don't know what that means to me."
"It was selfish, Aslaug," she admitted. It seemed important to be frank. "I have always wanted his approval. I have always wanted your approval."
Aslaug smiled again, every inch a queen. "You have it, Dagny." It was final and Dagny understood then that this was indeed the last time she would speak with Aslaug plainly. It could be the last time she spoke to her at all.
"There must be something I can do for you. Tell me what to do. Should I make you something? A salve or some medicine?" she asked, for the queen could only be sick if she was speaking this way. Aslaug shook her head.
"I am fine, Dagny. Ragnar has just made me think on things I regret."
Dagny nodded and neither of them said anything else for the entire afternoon. She convinced herself that it was nothing, that Aslaug's strange behavior and their conversation was due to worrying about Ivar. As Dagny had done her best to push worrying for Ivar and Hvitserk to the back of her mind, she continued doing so. But this only meant that she was closer to facing Ubbe. Ubbe with his tan skin and kind smile and sturdy build. Ubbe with his bed of furs that had been visited by many of the slave girls Dagny knew.
At supper, she could not eat. She served with Margrethe and it was as if the blonde girl knew that Dagny was going to move against her once more. Ubbe gave her more than one reassuring smile, which made it all the worse. And Aslaug was still grave. Not enough to be noticeable to her sons, but then Dagny assumed Sigurd did not care and Ubbe could be as nervous as she was. She started to have a feeling in the pit of her stomach, an aching dread, and Dagny suddenly longed for the comfort that ax beneath her mattress brought her.
She cleaned plates and cutlery with a strange carelessness, so much so that Margrethe actually asked if she was all right. Dagny took one look at her, so simply beautiful that one could be fooled into believing she was nothing more. But Dagny knew Margrethe must be intelligent. How else had she gotten so far? So she did not share anything with Margrethe, even though part of Dagny desperately wished for a friend. Perhaps she had destroyed all hopes of that the night in the cottage, when Margrethe was terrified and Dagny had offered her nothing but jealousy. Today she was greatly sorry for it.
Ubbe was waiting for her when she finished. Dagny was relieved that Margrethe had already moved on to some other household chore because it felt like what they were about was incredibly obvious. They said nothing, only looked at each other for a moment. Dagny, in her finest dress because it seemed important to look nice, and Ubbe, in a cloak finer than anything Dagny had ever owned, his braid hanging down his back.
"You are certain?" Ubbe asked, for what was most likely the twentieth time. If it had been anyone else, Dagny would have felt like he wanted to be with anyone aside from her, but as it was Ubbe, it just seemed like nice manners.
"Yes," Dagny said, with a firm nod. He did not need to know that she felt sick or that she had not eaten. After all, she had asked him. Why was she so nervous?
Ubbe took her hand and they walked together to his room. Dagny had heard tales of men being walked to their execution and somehow, this felt similar. She looked up at Ubbe for the slightest moment. Other girls had always talked of Ubbe being handsome but it took years for Dagny to see past knowing him as a boy, patching up cuts and scrapes, fetching him weapons for training. But she saw it now. Even in the dark, he was so fair that it made her breath catch. If this were to be an execution, it would probably be a lovely way to die.
When they stopped at a door in the great hall, she knew this was it. Dagny took the deepest breath and followed him into the room. She began to close the door behind them when she saw Margrethe carrying a pile of laundry. They exchanged the briefest look but it said all manner of things. Dagny shut the door, pressed her back against it, and looked up to the rafters before surveying the rest of the room. Her life had become something even she didn't understand.
Dagny had been in Ubbe's room before, enough to have admired his large bed covered in fresh furs. He could turn over and not fall onto the floor. She and Asdis had often coveted it on those long winter nights where they slept side-by-side under piles of thin blankets and layers of clothes, listening to the howling wind.
Ubbe turned his back and unclasped his cloak. Dagny took the moment to steel herself. She thought of all the other girls who had stood in her place, Asdis included. They hadn't been scared and Dagny certainly hadn't been afraid to ask. She forced her shoulders back, made herself stand straight. If he knew that this unnerved her, it would be over before it could begin. Ubbe was that understanding.
He turned towards her, holding a cup of ale, navy tunic open at the neck so that Dagny could see a glimpse of smooth skin. He walked over and gave her the cup. She felt her fingers brush his. Something that would normally never mean a single thing to her had suddenly taken on a different cast.
"You should drink something," he said. Dagny took a sip at his nod. "It'll calm your nerves."
"You are not nervous?" she asked.
"Of course, I'm nervous," he replied. It was obvious from the kind set of his mouth and how he was currently rubbing the back of his neck with his hand that he was trying to make her comfortable. Trying to make her forget that he had done this many times before and had no reason at all to be anxious. Dagny took a gulp of ale.
"Thank you," she murmured, as it seemed like the correct thing to say.
"Dagny, I do not mean to disrespect you or to imply that I am not flattered, because I am, but why do you want to do this? Why not just let Hvitserk teach you? He is most eager." Her face blanched and Ubbe offered up a sympathetic smile, as if he had once been in her position. It was a laughable thought.
"I need to impress him, Ubbe."
"And Ivar as well?" Dagny sighed. Part of her thought she might manage to get through this without ever mentioning Ivar's name. But Ubbe had seen Ivar leave Dagny's cottage, he'd seen the look on her face that morning. He knew it was the real reason she'd asked.
"Yes," she said. "And you are, perhaps, the only person who will not think less of me for not knowing anything." Ubbe's eyebrows came together in confusion.
"No one would think less of you, Dagny." She smiled, her point proven.
"I feel as if I should ask you something before we… begin," she said. She finished off the ale quickly and set down the cup.
"Of course," Ubbe said. "Ask me whatever you wish. I want you to be comfortable with this."
"Do you love Margrethe?" Dagny hated how small her voice sounded and part of her hated Ubbe for being so accommodating that she would never know the truth of how he felt. He cocked his head to the side, as if Margrethe had no place in their conversation. Dagny found it to be the only question worth knowing the answer to.
"And if I do, why does that matter?" Ubbe's head was still to the side, exposing the smooth skin of his throat. Dagny felt her heart start racing at the thought of kissing him there. She wondered whether it was something he even enjoyed or just something she wanted to do.
"I should not have asked you to do this without knowing your feelings." Ubbe shook his head, his lips parted in the smallest smile.
"We are Viking. Sharing does not bother us."
"I am not Viking. Nor is Margrethe." And the memory of her face when she saw Dagny close the door to Ubbe's room was something Dagny was not likely to forget. It made her tense, the thought that perhaps Margrethe favored Ubbe above the others, that doing this was another slight against her when Dagny had always thought the slaves should stick together. Dagny had been with girls like Margrethe and Asdis her entire life and she was likely to be stuck with them forever. To alienate them was to risk the only menial, true relationships she might ever have.
Ubbe took her hand and through her nerves, Dagny made herself meet his gaze. "You are not forcing me to do anything and it is none of Margrethe's concern what either of us do."
Dagny let out a ragged breath. "I just feel as if I've wronged her once too many times."
"How have you wronged her?" Ubbe let her hand go to cross his arms over his chest. He looked down at her, the only one of Aslaug's sons who truly could, but it was with concern rather than judgment. Every time Dagny began to doubt it, Ubbe proved that he did indeed want to be her friend.
Dagny shook her head. "I've thought her selfish and conniving and I've said things to her that were incredibly unkind, given what happened between her and Ivar." Ubbe arched a perfect brow.
"And what happened between her and Ivar? What has either of them told you of that night?"
"Frankly, nothing. Margrethe said she wanted to speak with me but I think he threatened her. I know she was scared." Ubbe nodded slowly. He knew more than Dagny would ever know, she thought. "It was Sigurd who spoke to me a few days ago and told me."
At that, Ubbe sighed, long and hard. "Of course he did." He pressed his fingers to the bridge of his nose, Sigurd's hatred of Ivar something he apparently dealt with regularly. "But he should not have told you anything."
"Why not?" Dagny asked. Though the conversation with Sigurd had been peppered with exaggerations and outright cruelty, Dagny believed that he was genuinely concerned for her life. Part of her thought that she should be more concerned about it.
"Sigurd wants to frighten you. He wants you to be so scared that you never cast eyes upon Ivar again. He does not want that only for your safety." Dagny nodded. Ivar had had ample opportunity to hurt her the other night and didn't do it. It was not a guarantee for her future safety but surely it was a positive sign. "We do not have to do this today, Dagny. They will be on raid for months. Perhaps, you should give it more thought."
"I have given it a great deal of thought, Ubbe. I would not have asked you otherwise. But again… I would like to say, if you do not want me, please do not feel as if you have to go through with this." It was a battle to make herself keep looking at him, not to stare down at the floor and await judgment. Though she'd rarely considered Ubbe in any kind of light beyond mere friendship, if he admitted that he bore no attraction to her, it would cut deep. Ubbe's approval meant a great deal to her. Occasionally it meant more than Hvitserk's, if only because Hvitserk was so easygoing.
Ubbe stepped toward her and Dagny made herself stand her ground. If she moved back, she would concede to him and to a raider, that was admitting defeat. So Dagny met his eyes. She had to look up at him, something that was rare enough as to be special to her. There was a set to his jaw and something in the way that he was looking at her that Dagny distinctly liked.
"The first thing you should learn, Dagny, is not to do this with anyone you don't desire," Ubbe said and his voice had taken on a heady tone. Again, Dagny liked it. "So do you desire me or am I convenient?"
She knew that Ubbe wouldn't mind either answer, whether she was a slave or not. Light seemed to bounce off of his high cheekbones, along the line of his throat and it turned him golden. When the skalds told stories of fierce and noble warriors, who slayed dragons and fell in love with grand women, they were speaking of someone like Ubbe.
"Yes," Dagny admitted quickly. "I desire you." He smiled, lips parted in perhaps the sweetest grin Dagny had ever seen. It was not hiding pain and anger, as Ivar's smiles so often did, nor was it the smirk of a fox, like Hvitserk's hungry grins. It was kind and freely given. Dagny wanted to tuck it away and remember it on days when she felt worthless. "And you desire me?"
Ubbe stepped forward again and they were chest to chest. Dagny thought of how she'd slept next to him only days ago and nothing about it had felt elicit, how they'd danced and clasped hands and she'd put her head against his shoulder as if it were the most natural thing in the world to be friends with him. Her heart was pounding so hard she knew he could feel it.
He unclasped her cloak and it fell off her shoulders with a satisfying swoosh. "Yes," he murmured. "I do." Dagny did not care if he was lying to protect her feelings. She wanted to believe it, even if this was only practice, even though they had no romantic feelings towards one another.
"Then tell me what to do," Dagny said. He was still smiling and it made her want to smile back.
"I think you should undo your hair." Ubbe placed his hand on the back of her neck beneath her braid and Dagny wanted so badly to flinch but she didn't. She could only seem to focus on how blue his eyes were, how his chest seemed to crush against hers. "It is lovely when it's down."
Dagny took a breath and nodded. She stepped back and felt for a moment like she could breathe once more before reaching for the end of her braid. But Ubbe was there again and he did it for her. Dagny had taken her time getting ready today, putting on her best dress, weaving tiny braids and flowers amongst her largest plait. It took him a long time, his hands constantly moving through her hair slowly, so slowly. Surely, this was part of the seduction, how his fingers would brush against her neck and her waist, how they moved through her dark hair so gently.
His hand came around her hip when it was done. She let him link their fingers and then turned towards him. Ubbe's eyes moved from the floor to her face, as if she'd undressed instead of just undone her hair. It was needlessly intimate. His free hand cupped her face. Dagny knew, beneath his strangely carnal gaze and soft grip, that he was going to ask her once again if she was comfortable with this. So she lifted her chin and brushed her lips against his.
Ubbe let go of her hand, wrapped an arm around her back, and pulled her against him. He kissed her again. It was soft and slow and made her think of spring days in the meadow in the forest, of summer rain, of flowers blue and pink and lavender.
The memory of Ivar's mouth on hers had haunted her for days. How harsh it had been, like taking and stealing and breaking. It was full of pain and reckless want. Hvitserk was much the same. Sometimes quick and fast and hungry. He'd placed his fingers on the neckline of her dress the night of the sacrifice and Dagny had wondered if he'd rip it open then and there. Part of her had wanted him to.
Ubbe was different.
His fingers threaded through her hair again and he placed a row of kisses along her sharp jaw, down the line of her throat. It was a deliberate, unhurried pattern. It seemed purposeful, planned, plotted out like a military maneuver. He focused on her neck for what felt like ages, his mouth so warm and gentle, like he knew this was perhaps her weakest spot. Dagny threw her head back to give him more skin to kiss and he untied the bow at the front of her finest dress, loosening it enough to pull the fabric off of her shoulder. His teeth accidentally grazed her collarbone and Dagny made a noise deep in the back of throat, humming her approval.
His fingers crept up her waist until they rested beneath her breast. "Dagny," he whispered, a glorious name to bear with the way he said it, and she opened her eyes. She hadn't even realized they'd been closed. She met his gaze and for the first time, she thought Ubbe was the wolf. His eyes were wide, cheeks the most appealing shade of pink, mouth already swollen. Dagny took a ragged breath. This was what Asdis was always talking about, why she went out of her way to set eyes on Ubbe, what she said she thought about in the darkest part of the night. His thumb ran across a rib, wanting permission, and somehow, that was the most attractive thing he'd done yet.
"But I've done nothing for you," Dagny said, her voice low.
The corner of Ubbe's mouth turned up and she watched it with incredible attention. "This is not about me."
"Yes, it is." Her hand gripped the fabric of his tunic. "You are a prince."
He laughed and it was a far prettier sound than the birds in the woods, than the waves lapping against shore. "To learn, Dagny, you must know what you like. So this is entirely about you."
She let out a breath, chest heaving. Nothing had ever been about her. Nothing. "Then I suppose you should continue." Dagny smiled and Ubbe kissed her again, this time letting his hand knead her breast. This was, probably, the most confusing part of the process; how several things managed to be happening at once. Kissing him, feeling his hands on her, trying to figure out just how she could manage to bring him closer to her, even though there was already no room between them.
The tie at the back of her gown came undone and suddenly he was behind her. She felt his fingers curl around the fabric at the back of her neck, so much more tenderly than Hvitserk's eagerness. Ubbe seemed scared she would run and Hvitserk seemed scared that she would suddenly realize what a misjudgment she was making. None of it could she paint as a mistake, even if it was perhaps the truth.
Ubbe kissed the skin of her throat, again so deliberate that Dagny wondered if he was placing her under a spell. But his hands were still on her dress, wanting her assent. So she stepped away from him, every inch of her suddenly angry that she would dare leave his deft hands and wandering lips.
Dagny knew there was beauty in the world. She saw it in the dark sea, in the depths of the forest, in the night sky. And she saw it now, in Ubbe's golden skin and his round mouth and his eyes wide with desire. She could not recall anyone looking at her that way before, not even truly Hvitserk. But then she supposed, nothing had ever gone this far before.
She took a deep breath and reached behind her. She let the dress fall to the floor.
Had Dagny ever made a greater misjudgment? Had she ever been more wrong?
These thoughts she wondered in the haze of morning, knowing the sun had risen hours ago and she was expected to be working. Once, she tried to move away, planning to dress quickly and eat nothing before starting on the day's chores, but Ubbe had wrapped a strong arm around her waist and brought her back against his chest. Dagny suddenly no longer cared a whit about anything that did not involve Ubbe's calloused fingers rubbing circles on her skin.
He was breathing against the back of her neck, her hair most likely smothering him. His arms were still around her waist. She was abruptly conscious of how close they were, of how unusual this was. Dotta said Margrethe was always back at her cottage before dawn. Asdis had never once been late for morning chores when she had been lucky enough to carry on with Ubbe. Dagny was unaware of the time, completely oblivious to how long she'd been in this room.
And this was why she had been greatly wrong. She thought it would be easier since there were no complicated feelings between her and Ubbe. Nothing between them at all but friendship and servitude. But she was wrong. She could see now that this would cast a pallor long and dark on any interaction they would have from this moment forward.
Perhaps friendship was something far worse than love.
When she moved this time, Ubbe let her. She wondered if he was only pretending to be asleep, to let her get away without the awkward conversation she was expecting. Dagny's hands were shaking as she tried to fasten the back of her dress. It was a deceptively tricky gown, one she only brought out for special occasions. Sighing, she left the tie at the back of her neck undone and covered it with her ragged cloak. It was still in a pool on the floor. Dagny fought reliving how Ubbe had unfastened it and let it fall away from her the night before. If she allowed that thought the ability to grow, she would be consumed by such memories forever, consumed by concerns that it was likely to happen again.
She did not allow herself time to consider waiting for Ubbe to wake or wondering what might happen when he did. Favored or not, Dagny was one of their family slaves and she had been punished for far less than being late.
Opening the door, it was Sigurd who she saw through her tangles of black hair. Sigurd, who was leaning against the wall, as if he had been waiting all evening to burst in and shame them both. He simply hadn't thought of the right way to do it yet.
"Dagny," he said coolly. Blonde hair fell over his shoulder as he turned to look at her. Dotta would likely swoon how disheveled he looked, hair massively out of place, tunic askance. "Am I next?"
"Sigurd," she replied. The door shut behind her. If there was anyone who did not need to know of this arrangement, it was Sigurd. Sigurd, who would hold it over her head like an ax, Sigurd, who used to taunt her for the way she looked at Hvitserk when they were children. "Only if you wish it."
The door across the hall opened. It was Sigurd's room, littered with lutes and weapons too fine to have ever been used in practice. His bed was perhaps even greater than Ubbe's, though Dagny was loath to admit it. Ubbe's bed was one of the most exquisite things she'd ever seen. But finally, her eyes went to who had opened the door. It was a man, one Dagny would readily admit was handsome. His tunic was also askance, his hair also tousled.
Dagny looked between them, this boy and the prince, and realization hit her.
She nodded at Sigurd once. He nodded back. Neither of them would mention this again. She'd always known this about Sigurd and never said anything, not to him, not to anyone. She would not start now.
The day managed to go on meagerly, with so much work that Dagny was actually distracted from thinking about anything. About Ubbe with his nice arms and even nicer hands, Sigurd with his pretty music but harsh words, Hvitserk across the world with his contagious laughter, Ivar in the sea with his large eyes and scowling. Aslaug and her ominous words.
Margrethe was nowhere to be seen. She had not been in any of the normal places, not at Dotta's, not in the great hall or the market, not in the forest to gather herbs. Dagny bent to pluck a few pieces of aloe from one of her favorite spots in the woods. She hoped that Margrethe was not foolish enough to run. Many slaves had tried before and never gotten very far. Wherever she was, Dagny had no doubt that it was due to seeing her with Ubbe the night before. And for that, she was sorry. It felt like she had never done anything other than offend Margrethe since the moment she came into the household. It was so unbelievably callous.
Dagny walked back into town through the market. It was as busy as was usual but still felt empty without most of the raiders. A goose scrambled across her path and Dagny dropped her basket full of herbs. Groaning, she bent to pick them up. The goose squawked as if she was the one who'd been in the wrong. Dagny just rolled her eyes.
Someone knelt in front of her, picking up sprigs of lavender and laying them so precisely in her basket. She knew the hands and she did not want to speak with who owned them. She was so silly, so incredibly stupid. After all, despite the embarrassment, hadn't she asked for this?
"Thank you, Ubbe," she said, standing. He held the basket out to her, better organized now than it had been in the depths of the forest. She had been too distracted to properly order the plants.
He looked well, so fair that he could put even Aslaug to shame. Dagny wanted to be able to speak without thinking about his skin or his lips or the fact that yesterday they could have had a conversation without either of those things tinging it. His mouth split into a grin, one that spoke of a challenge, so Dagny smiled back and she thought it might be simple, after all.
"Can I help you?" he asked, nodding towards the basket in her hands. It was in no way a task that called for two people to complete, to take the herbs back to her hut and hang them to dry. But there was a strange amount of hope in his gaze.
"It is all right," she said. "I do this all the time and besides, you seem in a hurry."
Ubbe took a breath and brushed the back of his neck with a hand. "Yes, I am on my way to meet Sigurd."
Something clawed in Dagny's gut, low and snarling. It told her that Ubbe leaving was a bad idea indeed. "Sigurd?"
He sighed, with all the weight of someone about to admit a misdeed. "Well, I am going to meet Margrethe. But Sigurd will be there."
Dagny felt suddenly sick. The knuckles on her hand gripping the handle of the basket went white. With her free hand, she took Ubbe by the arm. He looked down at her grasp with his icy blue eyes in actual concern. "You can't go, Ubbe." He flinched when she said his name. She felt it. "I implore you, do not go. Don't let Sigurd go either."
"This is about Margrethe?" Ubbe covered her hand with his. It dwarfed her own.
She couldn't say how she knew but it was. It was about Margrethe and where she'd been all day. Suddenly, there was a look on his face that belied how many women he'd heard something similar from over the years. Dagny's face reddened.
"Dagny, I am going to have a real conversation with her about everything."
"About everything?" Dagny parroted, oddly entranced by his hand on hers, something that would never have made her nervous only a few days ago.
"About Ivar and you and me. She has called us to her because she likes Sigurd and I the best. She deserves some honesty."
"She's playing a trick, Ubbe." Dagny heard how her voice changed tone, how it began to sound like some begging, mewling thing. But this felt so important. It felt like life or death.
"Dagny," he said, shaking his head, his thumb starting to move in a circle on the back of her hand. She pulled back from him.
"I am not jealous. This is not about that!" Ubbe sighed again, such a lovely sound that Dagny could swear she heard birds start singing in response. Several girls walking by did turn. It was to Ubbe's credit that he did not return their gazes.
"You have always been jealous of Margrethe." It was the simplest statement and might have even been the truest one of her life but Dagny balked.
"That is not at all true." Ubbe crossed his arms and raised his eyebrows. The look said, go ahead, prove me wrong.
"I am not going to be with her, Dagny. Sigurd can free her and marry her for all I care!" His hand cupped her jaw and color ran into her face again. "Her time is over." Dagny tried to ignore that he implied that hers had begun.
"If you go to her, you are walking into battle unarmed." He dropped his hand and Dagny immediately felt colder.
"How do you know this?" She didn't know this, not truly. There was just that feeling creeping down low that made her think of funeral pyres and the cold, dark depths of the sea. She felt it when she thought of Margrethe, when she thought of Ubbe going to her. Gods, what if it was just jealousy? What if this had poisoned Dagny so deeply that she would never be able to have a normal friendship with Ubbe again?
"I have a feeling," she admitted. But then the promise she'd made to the queen came back to her. Aslaug did not trust even Ubbe with this and Dagny would honor that.
His face softened and he nodded. "Then I will be quick about it. But I promised her I would go." Dagny nodded back. He moved to walk by her.
"Ubbe, I know you care for Margrethe." He looked back at her, seemingly confused. "What we did was your favor to me. You do not need to pretend I am special. I am not. We are friends and that is all. If you love her… that is your business. But you should not go to her today."
"Oh, Dagny, you are special." He grinned and cupped her jaw again. "Did you learn sewing in one lesson?"
She failed to see the relevance of the question but answered, "Of course not."
"In the same way, you cannot learn to please a man in one night."
"Oh," she replied. Ubbe smirked, a far kinder version than Sigurd's, and he was gone. Dagny watched him walk down the path and she knew what waited at the end was not good, for Ubbe, for Sigurd, for Kattegat.