"How much further is it? My feet hurt!"
"Stop complaining! I thought you had the memories of a grown woman? Anyone would think you were a child."
Rowan stops mid stride, Ivar mid-crawl. Simultaneously, they both decide to pretend that comment was never made and continue on their journey through the forest.
"Why don't you just tell me where we're going?" She continues to gripe.
Ivar rolls his eyes. "Because then it wouldn't be a surprise, would it?"
He'd come over that morning, fairly bursting with excitement, to demand that Rowan come with him so he could show her some great surprise. She'd started out happy to finally be let out of the house since she'd been in what she privately called protective custody for the past couple of days. After traipsing through the forest for what felt like hours, however, she's cold and cranky and ready to go sleep some more.
"Here it is!" Ivar announced, turning with a grin to see her reaction.
Rowan tried to gulp down a knot of panic that rose in her throat. "It's a… chariot."
Ivar nodded eagerly.
"With a… a horse."
"Yes, that's how it moves, Rowan. The horse pulls it. Do you see? I will be able to go into battle! It will be like my legs!"
She is happy for him. Truly she is. But old nightmares had returned over the past few days, and memories with it. Even though the animal before her is apparently a calm enough creature, she can't help but want to keep her distance.
"Well, what do you think?"
"It's beautiful, Ivar." She replies.
"Come, I'll take you for a ride with me." He crawls forward and climbs up and then holds his hand out to her expectantly.
Her hand goes instinctively to her belly, rubbing it in an attempt to calm herself. "I-I don't think that's such a good idea."
Ivar frowns. "I have been practicing. I promise I will go slowly."
Rowan wants to argue, but she also wants to show Ivar that she really does trust him. So she approaches carefully all while eyeing the horse warily. Ivar gives her a hand up into the chariot and guides her to sit in front of him. With his front firm against her back and his arms encircling her on either side, she is surprised to find that she's become calmer.
"Comfortable?" He asks, looking down at her warmly.
She nods, gripping the cushion in front of her tightly as Ivar flicks the reins and the chariot lurches forward. True to his word, he goes at a slow and steady pace out of the clearing and down the shoreline.
"Floki made it for me." he explains along the way, "I thought we could go and meet him today, since we're close by."
Ivar, always plans within plans. Rowan leans her head back against him and sighs. It's so warm with him surrounding her, and the gentle rocking of the chariot is soothing enough that she just might…
"Reynir?"
"Huh?" Rowan startles back awake.
They've stopped in front of a small hut by the lakeshore. Outside, a strange man stands and gives the two of them an even stranger look as Ivar gently wakes her with a whisper in her ear.
"Floki, this is Rowan." He introduces her proudly.
Rowan scrambles down from the chariot and take the reins from Ivar without a second thought, holding the horse's head still while he climbs down.
"Ivar has told me much about you." Floki says. His eyes, rimmed with black, are narrowed and suspicious.
"He has told me of you as well." she replies, "And of your wife."
Floki gives a pained smile. "Ah, well, Helga is inside with…"
She nods, letting him know that he doesn't have to elaborate. Ivar has already told her of the new addition to their household, trying his utmost to prepare her without coming out and saying that they thought the woman had completely lost her mind.
The tall man motions for them to enter the hut. Rowan can feel his sharp gaze following her, and senses that he doesn't entirely approve of her presence there. Ivar seems to notice as well and is noticeably uncomfortable.
Inside the hut, a woman sits with a young girl clutched to her side. Helga, like her husband, wears dark makeup around her eyes, and her blonde hair falls in loose waves about her gentle face. To Rowan, it is obvious that the girl is distressed. Her expression has a blankness that she's seen far too often in a mirror to mistake.
She greets Helga politely, who seems pleased to see Ivar with a friend, before turning to the girl, Tanaruz. Perhaps there was something she could do to help calm her? Not that Rowan blames her for her current mental state. From what she's heard, the girl has been through a terrible ordeal. But remaining terrified and withdrawn isn't going to help her survive long enough to perhaps return home.
"Salaam." Rowan says with a nod, hoping that the greeting is familiar enough for Tanaruz to recognize.
Her reaction is instantaneous. She sits up abruptly, her face showing shock, and begins a stream of rapid words that Rowan can only assume are Andalusian Arabic.
Rowan holds up her hands to stop her, trying to somehow show that she doesn't understand, that the greeting is all she knows. Tanaruz slumps back down, once again looking sad and defeated.
"How did you know that?" Floki asks with a mixture of curiosity and suspicion.
With a glance to Ivar, Rowan confirms that he's told them about her memories before replying. "I have memories of learning about many people. The greeting is very common. It means 'peace'."
Something changes in Floki's demeanor. "You know of her people, about their gods?"
"Yes." Rowan nods, "They are Muslim, and they worship a single god called Allah."
A strange sound comes from Tanaruz, and Helga immediately tries to 'soothe' her. She frowns at Rowan, displeased with her for upsetting the girl. Rowan tries to apologize and assure her that she means no harm, but the woman is like a lioness with her cub, fierce and defensive.
It quickly becomes apparent that her presence is only causing problems. With flushed cheeks, Rowan hurries to excuse herself, saying that she should return soon before Torvi starts to worry. Once outside, Floki again regards her carefully, only now with less hostility.
"Ivar says that you are a Christian who is not like other Christians. To be honest, if I had met you ten years ago, I would not have believed him but..."
"I suppose I am." Rowan admitted, she unwittingly found herself standing by the horse, stroking his nose. For the first time in years, she's calmed by the smell of leather and horse sweat instead of panicked.
"In my dreams, I have seen a world where my people have turned from our gods, forsaking them for the Christian's dead god."
She laughs humorlessly. "In the world I have seen, all gods are nearly dead. It's not personal."
Ivar, meanwhile, has situated himself on the chariot, and beckons impatiently for her to hurry up and join him. He has been disappointed by the visit, although Rowan isn't sure what exactly he'd expected. She's reminded of their first conversations when he'd expressed his loathing for people of her faith. And it occurs to her how much he's chosen to set aside in order to be close to her.
They are silent for a long time on the ride back to the village. Ivar is obviously brooding, and Rowan can't help but feel guilty. For what, precisely, she isn't sure.
"I'm sorry." she finally says, hoping that it's enough to break him out of his mood. "I thought I could help."
"Whether you believe it or not, Reynir, we survived quite well for a long time before you came." He doesn't say it cruelly, which just makes it sting all the more.
"I do know that, I…" she struggles for the words, "I don't know how to explain so you'll understand. Everything that I valued, everything that was vital to my existence, it all means nothing here. And every time I feel as if I've found some kind of… stability, something happens and it kicks my feet out from under me."
He pouts thoughtfully before asking, "What kinds of things, what values?"
"Just… kindness. Being good to people no matter who they are. And yes, I know it's a very Christian thought, but it's the truth."
Back in the village, he gives her an arm to help her down before turning to take his chariot back to the stable.
"Ivar!" Rowan calls after him, and he stops, "What is your horse's name?"
Ivar shrugs. "He doesn't have one." he gives her a charismatic smile and, with a shake of the reins, sets off again, but not before saying, "Why don't you think of one?"
~...~
The evening before Ubbe and Margrethe's wedding, Rowan answers a knock at her door to find Ivar and Sigurd. Their presence isn't so much of a surprise as the fact that they're carrying all their belongings. When she only stands there in dumb silence, they brush past her to come inside and immediately start to argue over sleeping arrangements.
"Excuse me!" she asks, "What exactly do you think you're doing?"
"Ubbe and Margrethe are getting married tomorrow." Sigurd explains.
Ivar makes a face. "And I refuse to be anywhere near the cabin tomorrow night."
"So we thought that, since we'll be leaving in only a few days, we would stay here with you. It will also make it easier for us to protect you if we're right here."
Rowan crosses her arms. "And where exactly do you intend to sleep?"
"On the floor." Sigurd replies, as if it were an obvious response.
"No," Ivar corrects him snidely, "you will sleep on the floor. I will take the bed."
"And where will I sleep?" Rowan asks.
"On the bed." Ivar rolls his eyes, and it takes all she has not to point out how much he sounds like his brother in that moment.
Sigurd immediately objects, but Ivar smiles at him unpleasantly.
"What are you worried about, brother?" He asks, and something about the question makes Sigurd sputter with indignation and give up his argument.
As for Rowan, she takes one look at Sigurd and agrees. His face is very much like that of a man who's about to see the woman he loves married to his brother. She doesn't have the heart to tell him he has to go back and, what, pretend to sleep while they consummate the marriage?
"What about Hvitserk?" She asks, looking at the door, worried that yet another Ragnarsson is about to burst in and demand a place in her small home.
Ivar dismisses him with a wave of his hand. "Who knows?"
Rowan has been weirded out enough by the strange affairs between Margrethe and the brothers, and decides not to put any more thought into the question.
~...~
Sitting high above the ground. A flickering in the corner of her eye. Something is coiled around her throat. A shrieking in her ears. Her seat rears up, throwing her off, but she's caught and finds herself swinging and colliding with the wall. Stunned, she looks up in time to see a flash of silver as-
"Reynir! Reynir, wake up!"
She is awakened from her nightmare by Ivar shaking her by the shoulder. Blinking the sleep from her eyes, it takes her a moment to remember where she is.
The room is lit by the glow of the small fire. She can see Sigurd on the floor beside them, still fast asleep on his bed of furs. Ivar is propped up on his elbow beside her, regarding her with a worried expression, and she tries to give him a reassuring smile but her lips are trembling.
"I'm alright." she says, "It was just a bad dream."
Ivar lies back down. In the small bed, they are close enough that they can speak quietly and still be heard, without waking Sigurd.
"Tell me?" He asks.
Rowan sighs. It's not something she's talked about a great deal, even in her old life. Rather, it was one of the many things she'd tried to bury deep down, unable or unwilling to face it.
"In my memories I loved two things, swimming and riding."
"You hate horses." Ivar pointed out rather bluntly.
"I don't hate them. I… I'm afraid."
Ivar listened quietly while she told him the story. Her parents had bought her a mustang, a formerly wild horse that she would work with a trainer to tame. Even then, he would always be a little skittish, more in tune with his instinct to flee from possible predators than an animal born and raised in captivity.
She knew it wasn't a good idea to wear a scarf, but she'd convinced herself that she knew what she was doing. She also knew it was a bad idea to mount the horse while he was still tied up. But she'd gotten it into her head one day that nothing would happen, she would just get on, lean over his head, and release the rope from the hook.
A wind had blown through and caught the end of her scarf. It had fluttered by the horse's head and become tangled on the hook. The horse startled, throwing Rowan off. But she was attached to the wall by her neck and found herself hanging there, choking as she was too stunned to get her feet back under her.
The horse had still been tied up and, panicked, he'd reared up again, trying to get free. He'd come down right on her leg, several times. She didn't remember what happened after that. Somehow he'd gotten free and, in the process, dislodged the scarf from the same hook. The next thing she knew she was looking at bits and pieces of her left leg spread out on the asphalt in front of her.
"The healers were skilled, and they saved my leg. But I was angry and bitter and I didn't do what they told me to help it heal. You asked me once if there was anything I liked better here, and there is. Here, there's no more pain."
Ivar has taken all of this in without comment. He seems almost bewildered as he says, "So when you said that you have seen worse than my legs, that is what you meant."
Rowan nods. "No matter how hard I try, I can't get that image out of my head."
"And the nightmares?" He asks.
"Come and go." she replies, "I want you to understand, I know I can be… critical, but it's because I know you can do better than I did. My mother protected me too. She let me give up because she didn't want to push me and risk making me angry with her. And the only other person who might have made a difference was… indisposed."
"Your father?"
She snorts. "Hardly. He was always rather absent, in mind if not in body. No, I was speaking of my brother."
"What happened to him?"
"He…" She pauses, unsure of how to explain in a language that doesn't have the word 'addiction', "There was a… something like an herb. It soothed his pain, but it hurt him too, and he would have done anything to get it."
Ivar sits up on his elbows, agitated. "My father, my brothers tell me that he was similar just before he left us."
"Then perhaps you know," she muses, "people like them, they can become manipulative. Edmund was already charming. My mother is… was a uniquely brilliant woman. She could take a pig and turn it into a mountain of gold. My brother, on the other hand, could take your mountain of gold, give you a pig, and make you feel thankful for it."
Rowan chuckles a little at her own joke, briefly lost in her memories of happier times, before she remembers herself and goes on.
"My parents told me that he wasn't allowed in our home, but I didn't listen. When they were away, I would let him stay there. One day, I realized that he'd stolen a necklace that was very precious to me. When I confronted him about it, he was under the effects of that… stuff, and he," she has to take a deep breathe before she can admit, "he hit me."
Ivar is angered by this. Offended that someone would harm her, even if it had been years ago and a millennia in the future. "His own sister? What kind of a man strikes his own sister?"
He seems to have conveniently forgotten what happened when they first met, when he'd reacted without thinking and hit Rowan to keep her from touching his legs.
"A very sick one. He was trying to change before I fell into the water. I truly thought things were going to be better."
He strokes her head gently and says nothing. Likely, he doesn't how what to say. But Rowan has determined to be more open with him, and confiding in him about the things that still haunt her seems like the best place to start.
Finally he tells her to go back to sleep, that he will wake her again if she has another nightmare. It isn't necessary. Her sleep for the rest of the night is deep and peaceful, undisturbed by ghosts from the past.
~...~
The wedding goes surprisingly well. A chair is set up for Ivar, and Rowan sits in the grass beside him. She's started to feel her energy coming back, but she still has moments where she's suddenly overcome with fatigue and has to rest. He offers for her to sit in his lap with a cheeky grin, but she shakes her head and rests her head on his hip.
Torvi stands behind them, surprisingly tolerant of Ivar's presence and the familiar way he pets Rowan's hair.
Later, at the wedding feast in the brother's cabin, Hvitserk has to serve everyone due to losing a footrace against Ubbe. Ivar and Sigurd are both deeply pleased by this, and join together in teasing him. It once again amazed Rowan how well they could get along when they were momentarily distracted from their usual, mutually abusive tendencies.
Near the evening, Rowan excuses herself to retire. As she steps outside, a small voice calls out to her. It is Margrethe, and Rowan feels compelled to show her the bare minimum of politeness only because it is the other woman's wedding day.
"I wanted to thank you for the work you did on my dress. It is beautiful."
Rowan shrugs dismissively. "I said I would."
"But you didn't have to," Margrethe says, "after what happened. I want you to know that I will treasure it always."
Rowan twists her mouth, trying to control herself, but she's grown tired of this woman and her incessant expression of doe-eyed naivete.
"Margrethe, I wish the best for your marriage but, in truth, the people I hate the most are those lacking in integrity. And you seem to be a person who stands for nothing aside from that which is easiest for you. I hope you learn some sense of loyalty, for Ubbe's sake if not your own."
Margrethe's sweet smile falls. "It is easy to be loyal when you were born free. Complete strangers are so eager to protect you, but I was born a slave. There are no laws to protect us. Our lives are about serving our masters and surviving any way we can."
She cocks her head and regards Rowan. "You are very pretty, I'm sure your mother told you that when you were a girl."
Rowan frowns, confused by the statement, but nods.
"My mother would tell me that too. She would tell me that one day, I would grow to be the prettiest girl in the village and then, at night when she thought I was sleeping, I would hear her weeping."
Rowan's stomach falls. It doesn't take a lot of thought for her to realize the implication of that. Margrethe continues.
"The people we belonged to had no interest in shielding me. But then I was bought by Queen Aslaug, and I saw the way her sons looked at me, possessive. I knew that if I became something to even one of them, they would never allow another to lay a hand on me ever again." she smiles without humor, "Ubbe was bold and charming. It was so easy just to… give in. He was different from other men. He treated me like I was more than just a warm place to put his prick. Then Hvitserk said he wanted me and I thought, wouldn't two be better than one?"
"What about Sigurd?" Rowan asks, remembering the way the two would look at each other.
Margrethe's expression turns wistful. "Sigurd was… different. He was too shy to pursue me, but I wanted to know what it would be like with a man like him. He is… tender, sensitive. He would ask me about my thoughts and dreams, like I was a real person."
"You're in love with him."
The blonde doesn't speak, but her expression confirms Rowan's observation.
"And he loves you, but you chose to marry Ubbe."
"Sigurd does not have the character to ever become a great leader of men. Ubbe is the oldest. He is the one with the most authority. People already respect him." Margrethe replies. Her logic is impeccable and cold-blooded, and Rowan finds it completely infuriating.
"And yet you betrayed him, both of them." she accuses, "Because of you they weren't there when their mother was killed."
Margrethe defends herself with an argument as old as time. "I had no choice!. Lagertha bought me. She told me to keep them occupied. I didn't know that she intended to take Kattegat, or kill their mother."
Rowan scoffs. "You're not an idiot. You had to know she was planning something."
Margrethe's mouth forms a stubborn line. "Slaves do not question their master's orders."
"And people do not betray their friends," Rowan almost shouts, "not even if it means risking their own lives! You can't demand to be treated as an equal and then say you had no choice. You can't have it both ways."
With a sigh, she tries to calm herself, aware that it isn't good for her to become irate in her current condition.
"I am truly, deeply sorry for what you've gone through, and I understand that you believe you've only done what you had to survive. But I really despise people like who use their circumstances as an excuse for doing terrible things. I only hope that, someday, Sigurd will find someone who truly values him."
Margrethe doesn't respond, and they are soon interrupted by Ivar and Sigurd coming out. They are surprised but pleased to see that Rowan is still there, having decided that it wasn't safe for her to walk home alone. They usher her off, with Sigurd asking every few steps if she's warm enough and Ivar rolling his eyes and huffing that Rowan obviously doesn't want his smelly cloak, so stop bothering her.
~...~
Everyone had been mercifully understanding when Rowan had 'politely declined' attending the sacrifice to ask the gods for their favor. The final task complete, there is a tremendous bustle of excitement as The Great Heathen Army prepares to set off.
The docks are filled with families bidding their men goodbye; Bjorn is stomping around, barking like a mad chihuahua; and a small group are trying to figure out how to get Ivar's horse onto one of the boats. They'd gotten the chariot on by rigging up a ramp, but the horse refused to set foot on it, unused to the swaying and rocking of the boat in front of him.
With a sigh, Rowan stepped forward and held out a shawl. "Put this around his eyes. If he can't see where he's going, he might be more cooperative."
The men seemed surprised, but agreed that it was a good idea. The horse was already wearing a harness with blinkers, so he adjusted relatively quickly when they tied the cloth over just his eyes. Sure enough, with a little coaxing they finally managed to get him up the ramp and into the boat with only a little extra fuss.
"Have you thought of a name yet?" Ivar chuckled as Rowan startled at the sound of his voice.
"Fahrvergnügen." She snaps, not really meaning it but annoyed at him for sneaking up on her, again.
His eyes light up. "I like it, Fahrvergnügen."
For roughly the thousandth time, Rowan wishes Oddune was there. As it is, no one alive can fully appreciate why she has to fight to keep a straight face at Ivar's intense pride in having a chariot horse named after the Volkswagen slogan.
"What is so funny?" He asks suspiciously.
"Oh, nothing." she tries to shrug casually.
All of the Ragnarssons will sail on one boat, along with several others including Floki, Helga, and their adoptive daughter. Floki does not look pleased by this.
"I suspect," Rowan says in a lame attempt to lighten the mood, "That we're really going to England because Hvitserk… has eaten everything. If we starve on the way over you know who to blame."
Ubbe and Sigurd snort in amusement, while Bjorn gives her a dark look.
"Does he… have a sense of humor?" She asks Ivar in an undertone, and he shrugs.
"Not that I know of."
The moment has come. The boats head out, lead by the sons of Ragnar Lothbrok. As they reach the mouth of the inlet, Rowan turns back to get one last view of Kattegat, and nearly chokes with surprise.
The shape of the mountains, the shoreline, she knows now why it had seemed so familiar. She had been too overwrought when she first saw the village from this vantage, but now she realizes. The docks and the ships are different; there are no rows of shops and townhouses; and the house up in the mountains where her Mormor lives won't be built for another thousand years, but she knows this place.
She has to laugh at the irony because, in a way, she'd been home this entire time.
*.*.*
It was happening again. I'd pushed too far, thought I knew what someone was capable of and didn't. All I could think was that I can't trust him to be calm and reasonable. So even though he was right, and I need to start treating him like an adult, I can't help but want to wait until I can be sure before letting him be a father. Right now, there's too much that's uncertain. He's unpredictable, a little unstable. I don't know how he would react to knowing This is his.
~...~
My home has become infested with teenage boys. May have to burn it down.
~...~
Ivar wanted me to go to the sacrifice. I said, "Fuck no". He looked shocked by my language and I was just, like, Hvitserk's been really, really educational.
He didn't come back until very late, long after Sigurd. Acted all weird. Wouldn't look at me for awhile in the morning. Kind of seemed… guilty?
Whatever. Hard to say without a period to count from, but about 12(?) weeks now. No bump, but it'll be awhile due to abdominal muscles.
Not sure of Bothild's birthday. No one really celebrates them so they aren't really kept track of. Definitely 15 by now, and it occurs to me, I may have misjudged physical maturity because of a couple things.
Bothild's build is different from what I was before. Generally less curvy. Probably more developed than I realized because I was expecting things to be… well… more dramatic.
Been very physically active, so even when I put on weight it was muscle and not fat. Could that have delayed menarche?
General question comes down to, Rowan, why you so stupid?
Wish I remembered more from those classes. How big now? Lime? Plum? Not sure. Also not sure Ivar quite grasps that there is a little person involved here. Been very focused on me being comfortable/safe, but hasn't asked about the Womb Gremlin directly. Ah well, lots of time.
Must get back to work. Nappies won't sew themselves.
So, there's my attempt to give Margrethe a personality. It's not really intended to be a likable one, but at least something that is human.
Question 1: Heading back to England! What do you think some of the people she knew before will think of her new 'situation'?
Question 2: How many stupid character deaths should I write out? XD