Okay so nothing got done in this chapter that I wanted done! But it was so hard writing it and then it got really sprawling long so I decided to make a break between this chapter and the next. I have no idea why but I just really struggled with this one. I deleted and started over multiple times so that was some of the delay! But one of my New Year's Resolutions is to update once a month so I just barely got this in on the last day of January here in the US, lol. Kind of a success? Also thanks again for all of the reviews, favs, and follows. Like it is insane to me I am at over 200 reviews. Also crazy that I have been working on this story for over a year! Thanks so much. I hope you're all doing well and that you enjoy the chapter. My poor girl Dagny is so stressed, lol, and beginning to see some potential bad side to Ivar? Anyway, hopefully the next update won't be so far away. Keep me to my New Year's Resolution!
Dagny took a bite of an apple. Her shoulders were so tight that it was beginning to make the rest of her body ache.
Across the table, Margrethe, newly freed and pretty in a way that had never been diminished by her time as a slave, was slowly taking a drink. If it was possible, she appeared more anxious than Dagny. Her eyes dropped to the goblet in her hand after a sip, skeptical. She had yet to touch much of the food on her plate.
Dagny had invited Margrethe to a meal almost immediately after Ubbe freed her. But now that the girl was sitting in front of her, she wasn't sure she could say anything that she intended. Margrethe clearly thought she'd been invited only for Dagny to affront her. The way she was still eyeing her goblet made her think that Margrethe believed it poisoned. She lifted her eyes to the rafters of the cabin and took another bite of apple. She prayed that she wasn't making yet another terrible mistake.
"I should… apologize to you, Margrethe," Dagny began. The blonde girl finally set her goblet down.
"What do you have to apologize for?" Margrethe leaned onto the oaken table and crossed her arms.
"You don't have to act as if you don't know. We are alone, after all." Dagny turned her apple and took another bite. She'd succeeded in having the cabin alone for the early evening at least. Ivar was at the blacksmith's with Sigurd, where they would be arguing over something senseless for hours to come, and Ubbe was in town. Dagny figured that he knew what this was about and said nothing just to spare her pride.
"Dagny, in all fairness, we have never had a true conversation about anything and so I cannot hold it against you." But I've held it against you, Dagny thought abhorrently. She was still doing it now. There had been a knot of stress between her shoulder blades since Ubbe first mentioned freeing her, marrying her. Nothing made it go away.
"Still, I have treated you unfairly and I know that I was extremely fortunate for a slave. I cannot imagine what has happened in your life. For all that I have done and said, please forgive me." Dagny had practiced this speech multiple times over the past few days. She said it to herself in the stained and battered looking glass, when she was soaking in a warm bath after a day of training, as she stared at the ceiling at night. She meant the words so she hoped they sounded genuine. Margrethe going over to Lagertha was an offense that Dagny did not feel ready to forgive but still, it needed to be done.
Margrethe stilled before looking down at her plate. "There is nothing to forgive."
Dagny let out a breath, an actual sigh of relief. She wanted to be Margrethe's friend, whether she'd had an unwitting hand in the death of Aslaug or not. Indeed, she needed to be for the sake of her friendship with Ubbe. But Asdis's loss had dealt a blow to Dagny, even if the girl had been judgmental and nosy, and Margrethe might help her get over it.
"It was because of Ivar that there has been this strain between us, right?" Margrethe asked.
Dagny's jaw tightened for the briefest moment. "Yes. Ivar is special to me." There were no words that could sum up the spell Dagny often thought Ivar had placed her under but "special" would have to be enough.
"And Ubbe is special to me." Dagny tilted her head back for the briefest moment, black hair falling over her shoulders. Here it is, she thought.
"I understand."
"Do you love him?" Margrethe asked, fingers curled around the edge of the table, face flushed. Dagny was not the only one to suffer from jealousy.
"Not in that way," she replied but it was partially said through her teeth.
"Then why-"
"Because I knew nothing and he knows it all." It hung in the air between them that Dagny did not want to end up as Margrethe had, that she planned on proving her wrong. But neither of them said anything. "Ubbe loves you. I see it in his eyes." Margrethe did not bother saying the same of Ivar. It would not be true. Dagny doubted whether Margrethe believed the crippled prince was capable of feeling a simple and decent emotion. She knew that much of what she saw in his blue eyes was want and possession. It was not love, not in the way that Margrethe imagined it.
"What of Hvitserk?" In truth, Dagny had afforded him little thought at all these past months. She had not had the time or so she told herself. Frankly, she was a coward, afraid of facing him. Because whatever was between them was pale against her loyalty to Ubbe, against the madness Ivar made her feel. "Will you marry him?"
Dagny choked, grateful she'd finished the apple off moments before. "Marry him?"
"I will marry Ubbe. It makes sense that Hvitserk will be next."
"I can't marry anyone. I am to be a shieldmaiden. I am to avenge the death of Ragnar Lothbrok." Her voice swelled with pride and love at the man's name.
Margrethe shrugged and finally pulled a piece of meat off the bone before throwing it in her mouth. "That does not mean you cannot marry."
Dagny had a variety of answers to that, not a one of them good. To stop herself from saying them, she took a drink of wine.
"You won't marry Ivar. He cannot have children." As if that was the beginning and end of all reasons to marry. As if that truly mattered at all to Dagny. "You could do much worse than Hvitserk. He is generous and very talented." She arched an eyebrow.
"Stop," she groaned and Margrethe laughed, a look in her eyes that Dagny might term madness. It took her a moment to realize that perhaps Margrethe had been teasing this entire time.
"Or you could marry King Harald. I have heard he is quite romantic." Dagny grinned and she thought if most of their conversations went this way, friendship with Margrethe would be fine indeed.
"I am not marrying until I am old," Dagny decided and Margrethe laughed again.
"Again!" Ubbe said, which had Dagny wanting to groan. Ubbe was a good teacher but when he wanted, he could be a formidable opponent, and part of her wondered if he could best her without even trying. It certainly seemed so.
Dagny's short sword came up to catch against Ubbe's and it seemed to lock them there for an unreasonable amount of time. An amount of time where she forgot her continuous aches and pains and everything that had been placing her on edge recently. Dagny liked fighting and she could enjoy it with any partner. Astrid, that day in town, Sigurd, when he deemed it acceptable, and Ivar, who looked at everything like a game of chess, where strategy and cleverness would win against brute strength. But she liked it best with Ubbe, as he seemed to enjoy it as much as she did.
Ubbe twisted his wrist and his blade came beneath hers. With just the barest pressure applied, her sword flew away from her. Dagny did groan at this because she rarely won and the times she did, she thought Ubbe had given her the victory. But his winning smile was one she treasured and one of the rare expressions he had that made him resemble his brothers.
"I hope I never meet you in battle," Dagny declared. Ubbe picked up her sword and handed its hilt to her. He furrowed his brow.
"Why should you? We will be on the same side." The wind whistled through the trees and the flowers of the meadow seemed colorless for the briefest second. It made Dagny want to retch. She decided to go to the seer, if he would speak with someone from as lowly a background as her own.
"Perhaps not always," she murmured. Again his brow furrowed and he tapped the edge of his sword against her own. She placed her feet apart and readied herself for his next blow.
"Perhaps not always?" he questioned but there was a laugh in his tone and it made Dagny smile despite herself. "What have I done to earn your ire, Dagny of the shield wall?"
"Nothing," she said, biting back a laugh that seemed inappropriate given the feeling in her gut. And indeed, it was difficult to see how Ubbe could do anything that would sever their bond. It would mean a rift between him and Hvitserk or Ivar as well. Whatever it would be, she could mend. Even the anger she'd felt over Margrethe had dulled into an emotion she could ignore, that she could push away whenever she saw him. "What would you do if we met on the battlefield?"
"We won't." Ubbe brought his sword down and there was a satisfying clang when Dagny was fast enough to match him.
"But if we did?" she said, chest heaving with exertion. She moved back, grateful to be released from the hold, and threw her sword away. Ubbe grinned, another smile that Dagny savored because it was like that of a dragon spotting more gold for its trove.
"I would give you a head-start," he replied, tossing his blade into the brush. When he reached her, she laughed.
Dagny often did not comprehend the dark thought of war, of blood and dirt smeared across men, of limbs severed and weapons lost. Her only experience with it was that day in the market, the moment she killed the silver-haired shieldmaiden and attempted to kill Astrid, and that had blurred into a faded memory. She had the presence of mind to know that she was not ready for it and that she should not scoff at Ubbe's wanting her to be an archer sequestered in the trees. But when she sparred, she did feel prepared for it, despite the activity always seeming to make her laugh.
"Do you think I am ready to go to England?" she asked. She had a hand ready to tug Ubbe's braid, even though he'd often told her that that wasn't fighting fairly. Her other was braced against his chest, pushing hard. Ubbe's fingers were digging into her left shoulder, a place he knew was her weakest after her still-healing leg.
"That is not up to me," he responded.
"Then you don't think I'm ready." Dagny bared her teeth and pulled at his braid. Ubbe spun and she kicked at the back of his knees. When he was on the ground, she walked in front of him, finally triumphant.
"There is no honor in fighting like that," he said before getting up and brushing himself off. Dagny rolled her eyes.
"It's the only way I can win against you."
"You think very little of yourself, if you believe that to be true." Part of Dagny had wanted her to spurn him at the very mention of marrying Margrethe, to decline his kindness and his comradery and his overwhelming good will. But it was a stupid, foolish part that she elected to ignore. "And it is not that I do not think you prepared. But being in battle is far different from practice and many of these warriors have been training since they were children. I have helped you for a handful of months."
"I know," she muttered. This was nothing that she had not said to herself many times over.
"But one day, you will be my equal." Dagny nodded and did not say what she thought, what she told herself in the middle of the night. That, in her heart, she did not want to be on par with the other warriors. Deep down, she longed to best them.
"Yes, one day, I will beat you fairly. But it is not today." She came around and tugged at his braid again. Ubbe chuckled and tackled her to the ground. Dagny tried her usual method of attempting to wrap her leg about his waist and shift her weight so that she could thrust him backwards and end up on top for what would be a killing blow. Ubbe told her this was effective and it was a move that most shieldmaidens mastered early. But her bad leg had yet to manage to hold her weight effectively or successfully maneuver around Ubbe's torso. At this point, Dagny doubted her ever being able to perform it.
Ubbe's arm came across her chest and pinned her to the ground, her left leg just barely beginning to come over his hips. For a moment, Dagny watched his clear eyes. Sometimes, he would look in the direction he intended to move. Sometimes, she just wanted to meet his gaze. Today his eyes dropped to her lips, which were pursed and about to turn into a snarl. And if he wasn't to be married in a few days time, if Hvitserk was not expecting something from her, if Ivar would let her tell him of this grave mistake, she would kiss him. Just once. For a last time. In the stories and sagas, they would get this moment of goodbye, of acknowledgement. And didn't she deserve it?
No, she didn't. Dagny herself had bought the shovel and the plot of land and had been digging this traitor's grave with no remorse for far too long. She was a shieldmaiden now and she would get a ship burial, a funeral pyre. Ubbe would get a longship, filled with luxury and riches, furs and gold and silver and the greatest weapons he had used in battle, lit on fire and sent to sea. Dagny hoped she never saw it.
There was the familiar sound of Ivar, crawling among the leaves of the path to the meadow. She wondered how long he'd been there, how long she had been locked in battle with Ubbe. She caught a glimpse of Ivar's dark hair and braced a forearm against Ubbe's chest, too fast for him block, and gave a good shove. She knew she could not manage that normally but he fell off of her anyway, out of breath for reasons Dagny pretended not to understand.
"You're getting better," Ubbe said. He was standing now, pouring himself some ale. Dagny was still on the ground, chest heaving. "We will practice that until you get it. Tomorrow."
"Oh, don't stop on my account," Ivar said, his voice a drawl like honey. Dagny turned her gaze upon him, with his dark hair growing long and his wide eyes. He was no fool, prone to naiveté. Some part of her assumed he knew and just didn't want to acknowledge it, which is why he stopped her anytime she tried to speak the truth.
"Ubbe has to plan his wedding and get to the tailor's," she teased in a singsong voice, to lighten the mood. Ubbe flung the contents of his cup towards her, enough to splatter her tunic.
"When you get married, I will remember this," he replied, pointing at her. She grinned. "And you laugh now but it could be sooner than you think." Dagny felt suddenly cold, remembering her conversation with Margrethe and how the girl seemed to expect Hvitserk to be married next. She did not care if that was Margrethe's way of joking. It had snuck its way beneath her skin.
"I'll train with you, while Ubbe takes care of mundane things," Ivar said. Ubbe nodded, a skeptical expression on his face, as if unsure whether Ivar wanted to speak ill of him. Dagny nodded as well, though she doubted it would ever turn into training.
"I look forward to it," she replied. Ivar's full lips split into a wicked grin, the sort of smile that implied he'd already found your worth and knew it to be lacking. Dagny did not mind being on the other end of the smirk because it promised things she knew she would enjoy.
Ubbe gave her a nod before heading back to town and her head suddenly swam with the thoughts she had been ignoring. This is a grave mistake, she wanted to call after him, even if he would not listen. You will regret this.
"You think he is a fool for wanting to marry Margrethe," Ivar said, reaching her side. He leaned back on his elbows and stared up at her. She looked back at him, fingers curling into a fist in the dirt beside her.
Dagny sighed, a dejected sound because she had come to terms with it. "Perhaps he is not a fool so much as blinded by his feelings for her." Ubbe said that often enough, that love habitually covered your eyes so that you did not see the faults of someone else. He was speaking of her with Ivar but Dagny thought it applied more to himself. "I have tried to tell him that marrying Margrethe will bring him misfortune but my advice falls upon deaf ears."
"Have you seen it?" he asked, voice grim. Dagny had come to realize that Ivar truly believed her to be something of a seer, something of a witch. Her dream of Ragnar's death had been correct and since coming home, Ivar put a great deal of stock into the things Dagny had to say.
"I don't have to see that to know it will be true."
Ivar gave a dry laugh. "And here I thought that you were putting the differences between you and Margrethe aside."
"We're not all that different," Dagny murmured, guilt again wanting to eat its way through her. She should not think this of Margrethe. She should want her and Ubbe to be happy, just like everybody else.
"So you do want to be friends with her, despite thinking she is ambitious and cunning and using Ubbe to rise above her station." Dagny had never admitted that those were her explicit thoughts to Ivar, which just meant that he had picked up on the same things she had. Maybe she was not being ludicrous after all.
"I know they weren't truly my friends but losing Dotta and Asdis has been… difficult for me," Dagny said, voice low. She knew that, once freed, she would have been separated from them by necessity anyway but knowing they were dead made it worse. Feeling responsible for Asdis's killing was a sort of guilt that she doubted would ever be surpassed.
"You shouldn't grieve anyone who treated you in the manner that they did," Ivar responded callously.
"I know," she said, even if she didn't believe it to be true. Asdis always wanted to argue and Dotta just wanted to follow along but despite any flaws they might have had, Dagny did not feel that they had ever treated her poorly. "I just miss speaking with another woman. And I know that it's what Ubbe wants."
"You don't owe him anything, Dagny." Ivar's eyes brightened, these words apparently some he had been longing to say. "Slaves are freed all the time and from what it sounds like, you more than earned it. I doubt Margrethe is thinking of how she can repay my brother for doing something that makes complete sense."
But still, Ubbe had been the one to free Dagny. It was a bond that tied them together more strongly than anything else that had passed between them, friendship or lust or partner in battle. Sigurd would not have done it, even though she had stood by his family at great personal risk. Much of the time, she didn't believe Ivar would have freed her. She often wondered whether he agreed with Ubbe's decision at all.
"I don't expect you to understand it," she said. But surely even Margrethe, who used every advantage she had, no matter how small, could see the gravity of what Ubbe had done for her. Something that perhaps no one else in the royal household or Lagertha's mummer's court would have even thought to do.
"Oh but I do understand it." Ivar tucked his chin to his chest and met her gaze with his disarming blue eyes. It was the expression of a fox disguising itself as a rabbit because Ivar, even hurt and sensitive, could never accurately appear innocent. "He was the first to treat you as a free woman and not a slave. He was the first to treat me as a person and not a cripple, not someone to be coddled and hidden away." Dagny was aware of how true this was, of how many responsibilities Ubbe had taken on while still a child. He sometimes still watched Ivar, like he was afraid that he was in danger of breaking a bone. But Ubbe had never denied him anything and had always tried to include him, even in activities that Ivar couldn't perform.
"And you don't feel that you owe him? That you should warn him away from a doomed marriage?"
"Why should I feel like he needs to be repaid for being a decent person?" Ivar asked. "He acts the way everyone should act. It's not something we have to applaud him for. And as for Margrethe, he chose that path long ago."
"You don't care that she could be manipulating him." Dagny thought Margrethe did love Ubbe. It was impossible not to like him and she'd cared for him when there was no hope of being freed. But it did not change what Dagny had always thought of her.
"No, I don't." Ivar, still propped up by his elbows, had a monstrous gleam in his eyes. "I want him to be married. Then he can stop stealing you away." Dagny smiled, even as she felt sure that he knew the things that had passed between her and Ubbe, that if Ubbe married Margrethe, he could find it in himself not to care about the past.
"Ivar, there is something I should speak with you about." She did not sound nervous. The words did not run together, becoming something unintelligible. She'd practiced what to say to Ivar and Hvitserk since the morning she asked Ubbe for his help. It had been a mistake for her personally, deep down, but she could make it sound like it wasn't one. Dagny was not a skilled liar but she believed this to be true. "It is about Ubbe and-"
"And where he will stand after we kill Lagertha?" Ivar's expression was one of practiced neutrality.
"Yes," she said, skeptical. This was not where she had been going and Ivar knew it. She could tell that in the set of his jaw. But if he did not want to speak of it, she wouldn't either. This was the last time Dagny would ever try to bring it up. Her skin prickled, like a chill was in the air, but this was a regular feeling she got when looking at Ivar so she ignored it. "And what of Bjorn?"
Ivar, Ubbe, and Dagny had come to an agreement to oust Lagertha when they were welcoming new raiders to the great army at a banquet tomorrow night. They had to wait until new men came as, otherwise, they were just a coalition of three. Not a word had been breathed to Sigurd, who bore Lagertha no ill will because he had always hated Aslaug. Dagny still did not consider it a well-thought out plan because there had been no mention of who would succeed Lagertha on the throne of Kattegat or whether that might affect the avenging of Ragnar's death. Ubbe was eldest and noble and understanding. He had the makings of a good ruler. But there was often a fire in Ivar's eyes that Dagny could not put down to sheer revenge.
"What about Bjorn?" Ivar said with a scoff. He thought little of the eldest Ragnarsson and indeed, often did not consider him a true brother. Lagertha's blood tainted him. Though an excellent warrior, he did not have Ivar's wit or Ragnar's outstanding charm.
"We are angry about what happened to your mother. It stands to reason that he would be angry about the death of his own." Dagny did not mention that Hvitserk bore Bjorn a great deal of love and respect, that even as the mildest, he still had limits.
"We will worry about that when the time comes." Ivar looked away and stared at the line of trees some distance from them. Dagny wondered if he saw himself upon the throne, wearing a crown of iron like the English. "Ubbe has mentioned nothing of this to you? Nothing of his own ambitions or desires?"
"No," Dagny admitted. "We rarely talk about things like that."
"Then what do you and Ubbe speak of," he asked, sly, "alone out here among the flowers and trees?"
She pretended to ponder this and rolled onto her stomach beside him, propping her chin up with her fingers. "Sometimes I recite the odes I am composing about your eyes like the sea and your mind as sharp as a fire-forged blade and the flowers I wish to weave into your hair." Dagny reached with her free hand and ran her fingers through his hair. He laughed, not a cackle of malice or cruelty, but a sound like a lark among the trees, something she thought he might have reserved for Aslaug's ears alone.
"I would like to see you try to put flowers in my hair."
"Oh, a challenge!" Dagny tilted her head, mischievous. "One I am most certainly up to."
Ivar smiled and for once, it did not make her think of stormy fjords or shipwrecks. For a moment, all she saw was honey. He turned and put a hand on her waist, fingers beginning to creep down her thigh and onto her calf.
"I will kill Lagertha for what she did to you, Dagny," he murmured, leaning so close that they were almost kissing. His grip tightened on her leg. "And I will do it slowly, so that she suffers."
Dagny knew it was cruel but she was glad of someone promising her that. She did not care about the words that were unspoken; the empty throne would have to be occupied by someone and why should that someone not be the cleverest of the princes? But Ivar was young and in the same way that Dagny was not ready for war, he was not ready for a throne.
His fingers found the back of her knee and he tugged her leg over his hip. Dagny's heart pounded, her stomach turned to stone. She thought of the move she had been practicing, that this was the perfect position from which to perform it. Instead, she let her fingers cup his jaw and pressed her lips to his. Ivar was not gentle and probably never would be. Dagny did not mind it.
His hand came back up her thigh, onto her waist. He felt along her side and then pulled her leather breastplate free. Dagny dug her fingers into his shoulder.
"Dagny," he said, moving so that he could bury his face in the nape of her neck. His hand was still gripping the fabric of her green tunic, like he wanted to pull that off as well. Do it, she thought. Please.
"Yes," she murmured, her fingers coming to the base of his neck, twining in his hair.
"There is something I need you to do for me," he said. He pulled back and the heady look on his face had part of Dagny wanting to promise him anything; that she would kill his rivals, that she would craft him a crown of gold and jewels, that she would do anything he wanted if she could have him just once.
"What is it?" she asked. Ivar's hand cupped her face, fingers tangling in her hair.
"When Hvitserk returns home," he said, voice husky but eyes clear, "I want you to give him up."
Dagny was suddenly sober, abruptly aware of the way Ivar's hip was digging into her inner thigh, of the bruise that was beginning to well on her throat from his teeth, of how she'd tugged his shirt away from his upper chest.
"What?" she questioned. She made herself keep smiling, like it might be some kind of joke. But Ivar still said things in a tone that Dagny was beginning to balk at, something that brooked no dissent. A command. And perhaps, it wasn't an order from master to slave but one from military leader to warrior. Still, it poisoned something Dagny was already considering doing and made her stubbornly want to go against it.
"Do you love him, Dagny?" Ivar asked, as if that would ever make a difference in his decision. His fingers were creeping beneath the edge of her tunic but his expression was soft. He was suddenly doe-eyed, appearing excessively young. She sensed that this was a game, a test of will and strength, and he was positioning himself to win.
"No," she admitted, feeling like she should have lied. Maybe she didn't love Hvitserk now but she could not ignore what may come to pass in the future. Indeed, she could not disregard what had happened in the past. Maybe she had never explicitly promised him anything but Dagny could not blame Hvitserk for expecting something of her. She was young and the princes were young and no one should need oaths now. In fact, hadn't she been told by every single one of them that vows such as that did not matter? That sharing was something Vikings did? No, she realized. Ivar had never said a thing like that to her and she had not once considered his opinion. Dagny's stubbornness melted away.
"And what of marrying him?" His fingers found skin. Dagny wondered at how obvious it was that this was all it took to get a positive answer from her.
"I am not a child, who thinks of marrying for love," she responded. "But I will not marry at all until I am older and wiser. Who am I to stay what the gods might have in store for me?"
Ivar smiled, baring his teeth like a crescent moon. It was at odds with the calculated innocuous look on his face, as if he had mastered the perfect combination of sweet and sinister. "They have you in store for me. That is my fate."
"I will make a deal with you, Ivar." He raised his eyebrows and his fingers moved up her back. Dagny tried to ignore how her skin prickled beneath his touch. "Because the things you say are true and I know that I want you above all others." He gripped her shoulder blade, his features relaxing into the happiness that comes from getting exactly what you wanted. "But I would be doing Hvitserk a dishonor that he does not deserve. I would be denying years of history between us."
Ivar smirked. "Then what is your deal?"
"I want him three times, each at a moment of my choosing." Three seemed a good number. It was always used in the stories for deals with witches or monsters or gods. Ivar sometimes had qualities of all three. Even now, he was grinning, abandoning all pretext of the least amount of pleasantness.
"Only three?" he asked and pulled his hand from beneath her tunic.
"Only three," she murmured. He leaned back into the grass, away from her, and laughed. This was a sound she imagined most in the sagas heard when they made a deal that would not prove as fortuitous as they thought.
"You are so astute, Dagny. Each time I think I can trick you, you prove me wrong." There was enough respect in his tone that she, still starved of validation, felt she had made the right decision.
"And so this was a trick?"
"No." He was abruptly vulnerable, strangely embarrassed. "It should not matter to me but it does."
Dagny turned and laid on her back beside him. "I understand." Was this not her entire reason for initially disliking Margrethe? Frankly, she understood his reasoning completely. But it did not make it any easier to deal with. "I'm sorry," she said, apologizing for more than being insensitive, for more than complicated feelings.
He grinned and Dagny knew the conversation was over, at least for the moment. "Show me what new skill you are trying to master."
Margrethe touched her goblet to Dagny's and they each took a drink. Dagny was going to need it for this night. The great hall was crowded. They were surrounded by visiting raiders and she'd heard many of them mention Ragnar with love. She wondered where they'd been when the old king had needed decent warriors for his final journey.
Margrethe had part of her hair pulled back from her face so it was easy to see the way she stared at Lagertha. Dagny thought of asking her why she hated the new queen so much when Margrethe had never cared for Aslaug. But she remembered Lagertha offering her freedom and sentencing Margrethe to work in the mud once she'd served her purpose. The enmity between the two of them was just beginning to disappear and Dagny had no desire to see that foiled.
"She's not a good queen," Margrethe said. Dagny only nodded, taking another drink and looking around. Lagertha was upon the dais, receiving tokens from the visiting raiders. "She does not deserve gifts."
"She's a usurper," Dagny agreed, "and she will get what she is owed."
If she'd let Aslaug walk away or even killed her with the dignity typically afforded a queen, Dagny would forgive her. But Lagertha's plan had always been betrayal. It was always intended to be passion.
Across the hall, Ubbe was talking to a group of warriors. He caught Dagny's eye and smiled. She guessed they would help take care of Lagertha's shieldmaidens. The crowd parted and she could see that Ivar had arrived, intentionally late. He looked brilliant to Dagny's eyes but the other raiders were laughing. Her grip tightened around her cup until she saw Ubbe successfully take care of it.
She turned back to Margrethe, to keep her included in conversation if not the plan, and the girl wasn't there. Instead, there was Sigurd, predictably looking at Dagny like he could see straight through her. She felt a thrill that in a few moments she could be putting him in his place. But Sigurd typically thought he was doing what was right. He just did everything possible to make it difficult to be his friend.
"Has it been a rough few days for you, Dagny?" he asked, moving to stand beside her.
"Why don't you play me a song, Sigurd, and we can forego your pretending to care," she responded. Sigurd actually chuckled, pouring himself some ale.
"Do you think me so mean?"
"I think you go out of your way to be callous when it would cost you nothing to be kind." He gave a low whistle.
"Then what must you think of Ivar?" Dagny shifted and knocked his full goblet onto the ground. Watching the ale sink into the floorboards and seeing the shock on his features gave Dagny a sublime pleasure. "You are so petty. All I have done is tell you the truth."
"There are ways to be honest without cruelty. I am just treating you in kind."
"Have you been giving much thought to the future?" Dagny stubbornly did not meet his eyes. She kept her gaze on the queen, now wandering among the new raiders and speaking to Ubbe. The doors to the great hall had yet to shut, which was the signal they were waiting for. Dagny kept her fingers near the axe in her belt.
"No more than you have, I'm sure," she replied. Sigurd laughed again.
"Oh, I have been thinking of it a great deal." There was something malicious in the tone so she did turn to look at him.
"You loved Margrethe?" At this, he shrugged. Dagny thought about asking what everyone saw in her. "Well, I think you have been given the greater lot in life. Ubbe will regret marrying her."
"How do you know that?"
"I just have a feeling," she murmured. Sigurd scoffed.
"I have had that same feeling. It's envy."
Dagny wanted to bite back and say she'd wasted the ale by tossing it on the floor. It should have gone down his front. But Lagertha was back upon the dais and the doors to the great hall closed.
She drew the axe and wrapped an arm around Sigurd's chest. The blade rested upon his throat. He struggled and might have even managed to get away but when the axe drew blood, he stopped.
"What are you doing?" he hissed.
"Shut up, Sigurd," she replied, mouth to his ear. The new raiders had done the same, targeting shieldmaidens and those loyal to Lagertha in the hall. The crowds parted to reveal Ubbe and Ivar in the center of the floor.
Lagertha rose, face solemn and picked up a sword. It would be useless against two warriors of the princes' skill but Lagertha was still regarded as the greatest shieldmaiden to have ever lived. She would put up a good fight.
She walked down to the floor regally and Dagny was forced to admit to herself that she respected her. Were she to go to her death in this manner, with it staring her in the eyes, she did not know that she could be so brave. But the queen was not rattled. In fact, she seemed to have expected this to be coming.
Ubbe readied an axe and came around behind Lagertha, with Ivar eager with a blade at her feet. She could match either of them alone but together, Dagny doubted she stood much of a chance. Ubbe would never attack from behind but he'd give her the impression that he would. And Ivar… Ivar would do anything. He did not hear the rules of honor or useless codes of nobility. He would knock her to the floor and kill her. It would not be pretty or proper but it would be done.
Dagny thought for a singular moment of the silver-haired shieldmaiden who had murdered Asdis. Her grip on Sigurd's chest tightened.
The doors to the great hall came open. Not at all part of the plan. Dagny and Sigurd turned at the same time to see Bjorn Ironside accompanied by a large force of raiders. There was no way to describe the plummeting feeling in her stomach. Sigurd just reached up and took her hand off his shoulder. It was what was happening to most people around them, others immediately conceding to Bjorn without any kind of defiance. Dagny wanted to scream. But all she heard was Sigurd's ironic laughter and Bjorn's harsh commands.
Yeah, not a lot happened but I am taking this New Year's Resolution seriously! Lol. But next chapter, even if I have to make it 10,000 words, I think they might head to England! So exciting. Also this season was wild. What did y'all think of it?