Ivar bears the voyage much better this time. While his phobia isn't completely relieved, knowing that he is capable of swimming seems to lessen it enough that he can put on a brave face in front of his brothers.
Or perhaps it is something else that draws his attention away from his fear. With every league they come closer to England, not only Ivar but all of his brothers grow more and more pensive. Rowan can feel him drawing away from her into the recesses of his own mind. She knows he must be remembering the last time he was in that country, the last time he saw his father alive.
The intensity of the emotions around her is unsettling. She tries to keep herself occupied with sewing, but her hands are too stiff from the breeze of the ocean to properly work the tiny stitches.
The strain is only increased by the presence of Helga, who clings to her adoptive daughter, completely unaware of the girl's distress. In the end, Rowan finds herself singing quietly to herself, trying to soothe her frayed nerves.
"See the line where the sky meets the sea? It calls me. And no one knows, how far it goes."
"Can it hear you?" Hvitserk hides his unease better than his brothers. Since learning of her special knowledge he asks her all sorts of questions, some she can answer and some she can't.
"You mean…?" Rowan gestures towards her belly, and he nods, "No, not yet. But eventually, yes."
"Even from inside?" He seems enthralled by the thought.
"Yes." she gives a small, mischievous smile and is careful to keep her voice low, mindful of the solemn mood of their companions, "You're eyebrows look good."
Hvitserk ducks his head with a slight snicker. He'd been deeply amused when he woke from his drunken stupor to discover the prank, and there had been no animosity between them since. Luckily, his eyebrows grew quickly and are already filled back in for the most part.
Ivar's voice cuts in, quiet and tense. "Leave her alone, Hvitserk. I was enjoying her singing."
Rowan and Hvitserk exchange an amused glance. Of course, he himself could ignore her for however long, but Ivar still coveted every bit of her attention; jealously guarding it like a dragon with it's hoard of wealth. Hvitserk, relentlessly amiable in the face of his brothers' more dramatic tendencies, leaves her side with a smile and a cordial nod of his head.
~...~
They land near York. It's strange for Rowan, knowing that her father's ancestors are there at that moment. He would have known their names, occupations, and probably the exact number of goats in their possession. What would he say if he could see her now?
The non-combatants like Rowan and Helga remain with the boats for this first battle against the man directly responsible for Ragnar's death, Aelle, the King of Northumbria. There's a strange monotony to the waiting. Most keep themselves busy with various chores, cleaning salt from clothing or preparing food.
The warriors return several days later, victorious, and Rowan focuses on tending to any wounds. She pretends she's some kind of Red Cross nurse, bound to use her skills without bias towards or against her patients.
The brothers are in all kinds of moods. Ivar is exultant, Sigurd troubled, Bjorn… Bjorn hides it well, but she can see in his eyes that he fights back tears. They saw where their father died.
She knows what has been done to Aelle, understands it on a physiological level, but can't quite comprehend that these young men could do something like that. But then, if her father had been murdered in such a horrible way, would her anger be any less?
Ivar still maintains a distance from her. There is a restlessness about him. His mind is fixed completely on Wessex and the next battle, the next chance to fight. Rowan thinks, she should be horrified, but there are so many things in this world to be horrified by. She simply doesn't have the energy to spend thinking about all of them.
At least it's not so cold as on the open water. When she's done what she can for the injured, she's finally able to put more work into her sewing. She spends most of her days and nights in Floki and Helga's tent.
Despite his hatred of Christians, Floki seems to have decided that his Gods have some sort of a purpose in mind for her. While he doesn't treat her with the same affection he does Ivar, he is pleasant and always mindful of her condition. She wonders how much Ivar has said to Floki, whether he has told him of what happened between them the last time they were in England.
As for Rowan, she finds it more and more difficult to imagine broaching the subject every time she sees the wild, dangerous look in his eye as he argues with his brothers over the command of their army.
~...~
"It is called the River Trent."
"And it will take us to Wessex?"
Rowan shrugs at Bjorn's question. "I can't say. From what I remember, it crosses into and across Mercia. There is a tributary, the Tame, that runs down into Wessex, but I don't know that it is large enough."
"We shall have to find a good place to leave the boats and go the rest of the way by land." Says Ubbe.
And that is how, several days later, they find themselves camping nearby a village called Repton. They remain there for a short time to gather carts to carry their supplies overland as they march into Wessex.
Rowan, Helga and Tanaruz have mostly kept together. Despite the tension, they're still the most familiar people around. They usually sit in silence while Rowan sews. But, one day, the girl notices what Rowan is working on and cranes her neck to get a better view. Pleased to see her showing interest in something, Rowan smiles at her and touches her belly to show where her abdomen is now visibly distended.
Tanaruz reaches out cautiously, and for once, Helga lets her go, curious about what she will do. Two small, brown hands touch Rowan's rounded belly and, to both women's surprise, the girl proceeds to examine her with obvious skill. She palpates specific areas with a firm touch, and when she's finished, she looks up at Rowan and simply nods, indicating that all is well.
Tears well up in Rowan's eyes, a combination of hormones and just being touched that this frightened girl would be willing to do such a kind thing for her. She hadn't seen a midwife while in Kattegat despite Torvi's urgings. She'd been afraid of what they might say considering her small frame and the age of her body.
Rowan thanks Tanaruz profusely, hands folded over her heart. Her expression is reserved and anxious, but she nods again to acknowledge that she understands. Behind her, Helga smiles wistfully.
~...~
They travel the main road boldly. No one dares to approach an army of several thousand strong. Ivar fairly orders Rowan to ride with him, insisting that she shouldn't walk so much in her condition. Having had some time to calm down since their first battle, he and Sigurd have started taking turns fussing over every little thing she tries to do.
Near the border of Wessex, a scout arrives to tell them that the Saxon army is close. Bjorn decides that they will make camp where they are. Ivar wants to inspect the battlefield, to see if he could devise a strategy that the English won't be expecting. His brothers disagree and, for a moment, tempers flare.
To Rowan's surprise, it's Bjorn who actually asks Ivar why he wants to change their tactics. To her even greater surprise, Ivar responds to him with a reasonable, convincing argument and invites his eldest brother to join him. Bjorn finally agrees, and mounts his stolen horse. Ivar nudges Rowan, telling her to go with the others. She fusses him a little, but finally dismounts with a chivalrous hand from Ubbe, and watches as the two brothers ride off.
They return later, Ivar buzzing with excitement. He has formulated a plan to confuse the Saxon army using the hills and forests, making them believe that their best bet would be to ride towards Repton to destroy their ships. Only the Vikings will keep half their army back, and the Saxons will end up surrounded on all sides by their forces.
The next day, Rowan waits again with Helga and Torvi. She knows that even if they win, there is a chance that one of her friends could be wounded or killed. For the first time in years, she feels compelled to pray. Even though the forces they're fighting are Christian, still she bows her head and silently begs.
God, if my being here is somehow part of a plan, and not just a random trick of fate, please help me. I know it's selfish of me, but I can't mourn another friend just yet.
She leaves the tent, unable to bear another minute of sitting and pretending she's not terrified. They have camped amidst a forest next to the road, and she stands for awhile, straining to listen for the sound of an approaching chariot. The only sounds come from the camp itself. With a sigh, she turns back to try and occupy herself with something useful.
~...~
Ivar's chariot comes tearing into camp ahead of the others. It's impossible for Rowan not to hear him with the whooping and hollering he's doing. She races out of the tent where she's been checking bandages, and he lights up when he sees her running to meet him.
"We won!" he crows, "The English are retreating!"
"Is everyone alright?" Rowan asks almost before he's finished speaking.
He looks confused. "What? Yes! Did you hear me?"
"Yes, I heard you." She assures him as she climbs up to look him over, making sure none of the blood spatter was his.
He tries to dodge out of her grasp, but Rowan persists despite his protests. There are no tears in his armor, no visible injuries to his face, and no arrow sticking out of anything, so she finally wraps her arms around him and buries her face into his neck.
Ivar freezes the instant her first sniffle reaches his ears. Casting a quick glance around at the people watching, he puts an arm around her shoulders and pats her head awkwardly. She knows that he's trying to play it cool, but she can feel a tiny smile when he touches his lips to her forehead. Of course he's enjoying the attention, the assurance that she was worried about him.
"Get your things together." he says, ruffling her hair gently, "We will hound the English all the way back to their King. And you, my Reynir, will ride in by my side."
~...~
She knows that he means it to be a moment of triumph for them both, but to Rowan, the sight of the royal villa looming ever closer fills her with dread. It's like a nightmare, both for what is there and what is not.
When Bjorn gives the order for the men to charge on the village, Ivar holds back, riding slowly at the back of the army. His expression is serious, contemplative, lost in his own memories.
They break down the front gate to find the village empty. The inner gate to the villa is wide open. The English have abandoned this place to them. The Vikings scatter about, preparing to strip the buildings of everything of value, and Rowan's first thought is to get to the infirmary and secure the valuable supplies there.
Ivar reaches out to stop her, but she shakes his hand off and hurries through the mud to the stone building. She halts before opening the door. It swings slowly, revealing the familiar room. Unlike the last time she saw it, there is no body lying on a cot. It is empty, Oddune was buried long ago.
Oddune! Rowan turns and races through the halls. All around her the Vikings are burning everything they can, laughing at the careless destruction. At the entrance to Oddune's library, she stops and stares in horror.
"What are you doing?" She screams as Sigurd casually drops an armful of scrolls into a bonfire.
She runs at him, pushing and pounding on his chest as she curses him. He reacts with mute surprise, hands held out at his sides. Her blows mean nothing to him, her words are vicious and cut deep.
"You idiot! You ignorant, witless barbarian!"
With a sob, she rushes to gather as many of the precious scrolls and books as she can, heedless of the flames around her. Sigurd slowly moves to pick up a few rolls of paper that escaped the fire and hands them to her.
Rowan knows that he is trying to apologize, that he didn't know what these things meant to her, but all she can think is of the hours Oddune spent meticulously translating, copying, and studying the words on these pages. Now all that knowledge is lost, destroyed because the people she lives with see it as worthless.
Gripping the precious items to her chest, she numbly returns to the infirmary, blind to the the continued destruction around her. It doesn't matter to her. There's nothing more that can be taken from her. Her family, her home, Oddune, and now even his memory has been defiled by the careless brutality of the world she's been forced into.
"Bothild."
The deep, quiet voice startles her from her dark thoughts, and she looks up only to be surprised again at the tall man standing in the doorway.
"Uncle." Rowan's voice is cold.
Lord Cat Butt Face himself approaches, his expression grave as examines her from head to toe. On instinct, she stands to greet him, the movement a little awkward as her center of gravity has started to shift. This detail does not go unnoticed by Bothild's uncle. His gaze falls to her abdomen, and he pales.
"You are…" He can't finish, his gruff voice choked with emotion. "I had hoped… I had prayed that they wouldn't harm you but…"
He falls to his knees in front of her, head bowed. Rowan doesn't know what to think. He'd always been so distant, so proud when she'd seen him.
"If you were so concerned, why did you want to send me away?"
"It was not my decision." he shakes his bowed head, "If it had been, I would never have allowed Botwine… my brother's only child to be put in that situation."
"You never seemed to care so much about me before." Rowan snaps.
The man nods. "I know, I know. I wish I could deny it, but the truth is that I harbored resentment."
"Because my mother was a pagan."
He looks up at her in surprise. "You don't know?"
"Know what?"
He sighs, standing slowly and gestures for her to sit back down on the cot behind her while he pulls up a stool. In any other situation it would strike Rowan as comical looking. He is an extremely tall man, even taller than Bjorn, and the stool is very short.
"I assumed you would have heard. My quarrel was never with your mother, but my brother."
Rowan sits up straight, alarmed by the dark, sad expression on his face. He goes on, his manner uncomfortable, but determined to tell the story in its entirety.
His story starts many years ago. Their family had once been Thegns, landowners, Anglo-Saxon nobility. Only he and Botwine's grandfather had become known for behaving in a corrupt manner, and his property was revoked by the King. Without land, the family was reduced to the status of Ceorls, simple freemen.
Their father was already a young man and married when this happened, and as the uncle told it, he spent the rest of his life trying to overcome the shame his own father had brought on them. But his greatest regret was that he was no longer able to give their mother, a kind woman with fragile health, the life she deserved.
With no other skills with which to earn a living, the brothers became members of the local Ealdorman's household guard. The Ealdorman was not an inherited title, it was bestowed directly by the King himself. So as the brothers gained respect from their master, he was able to put in a good word for them. Eventually, their bravery earned them positions in the King's personal bodyguard.
Botwine, the elder of the two, was especially favored by the Ealdorman. A betrothal was arranged between him and the Ealdorman's daughter, who upon her marriage would receive a large inheritance. It was the perfect way to insure their family's future. Their mother was ailing, but the marriage would have allowed them to make her final days comfortable.
Then they had gone to the settlement, and Botwine had met Hildegunn. Rowan can see the rage the uncle still bears as he describes the discovery that the pair were involved, and the reaction from her family.
"The Northmen did not take kindly to their daughter being dishonored. Ecbert and that she-wolf that led the Northmen wanted to maintain the peace, and came down on him like the wrath of Almighty God himself. And my brother, he didn't even regret it. Said he was 'in love'."
His eyes take on a somber, far-away look as he describes spending the next few years far away from his brother. When he'd died, the uncle was left trying to find a way to grieve a brother he'd once loved and now resented. Not only that, but he'd found himself the guardian of a strange child that never spoke. He - Wulfgar, Rowan makes the conscious effort to think of him by his name - was a soldier, with no idea what to do with her.
Rowan nods. It's not difficult for her to understand Wulfgar. Yes, he could have done much more for Bothild. But she can also see that he's just a man, with as many strengths as he has flaws.
"Why are you here?" she asks, "Why aren't you with Aethelwulf and the rest of the army?"
Wulfgar gives a derisive snort. "I decided I was through following the orders of arses."
She bursts into laughter, and when he realizes that she isn't offended by his language, he joins with a wry smile.
"I'd hoped you would be with the Northmen when they arrived. Wanted to see how you'd been treated."
"They've treated me well." she touches her belly, "This… happened before I left."
Wulfgar takes this in stride. It seems that, as far as he's concerned, she and the child are both family, and this time, he means to do his duty by them.
There's one more question she needs to ask. "If you didn't want it, why was I sent away?"
Wulfgar clenches his teeth in anger. "Ecbert commanded it, told me to let you believe it was my doing. I thought, he is my King, I must obey him. To refuse would mean my dishonor. It wasn't until you had gone that I realized that the dishonor was in not you."
She frowns. "What? Why would Ecbert want me to go with Ivar?"
"Ask him yourself." is his gruff reply, "When I arrived, Aethelwulf was scarpering with his family, but Ecbert remained behind."
Rowan cocks her head curiously. "You aren't with him?"
"Ah," Wulfgar scoffs, "like I said, there's no honor in following an arse, even an arse appointed by God."
Just then, the door swings open and Ivar crawls in. When he sees the pair of them, he frowns.
"Ivar, this is my uncle, Wulfgar. Uncle, I believe you should recognize Prince Ivar." She introduces each in their own language.
Ivar pulls himself closer to Rowan, looking the grizzled warrior up and down. "The one with the face like a cat's arse? Shall I kill him for you?"
Wulfgar may not understand his words, but he certainly comprehends the tone, as well as the distaste the younger man regards him with. But he is a man of far greater years than Ivar, and his own expression reveals nothing.
"If you would," he nods to Rowan, "tell the Prince that I am grateful for the kindness he's shown to my brother's daughter."
When she translates this, Ivar's eyebrows raise subtly in surprise. "You can tell him that the gratitude of a Christian means nothing to me."
Wulfgar smiles wryly at this, amused with the boy's fervor. "Perhaps not, but will he accept the service of one?"
Both Ivar and Rowan are surprised this time. Wulfgar explains that his abandonment of Aethelwulf's army means that he is as good as exiled. Now, his only interest is in seeing after the welfare of 'Bothild'. It's readily apparent to her that his dedication is not to her as an individual, but to the only child of a beloved brother who happens to be the only family he has left.
She also knows that Ivar really doesn't want to let the man live. However, he's made it clear that he wants to eventually lead the Great Heathen Army, and as that leader he won't always be available to protect Rowan directly. He is acutely aware that they are in hostile territory, and as he tells her, much as it rankles, it would be useful having a skilled warrior completely dedicated to her safety. So he reluctantly agrees.
"He says that Ecbert is here." Rowan says, remembering their earlier conversation with a fresh burst of anger.
Ivar nods. "He is."
"I want to see him."
~...~
The sight of Ivar, crawling through the halls with Rowan and a giant Englishman following close behind, must be a strange one to the other Vikings, but they don't dare try anything once Ivar makes it clear that this Christian is to remain alive.
Ecbert is in the same cage Ragnar was kept in, now hanging suspended far off the ground. As they enter, the King looks at her curiously for a moment before finally recognizing her. His gaze flicks between her and Ivar, and he appears greatly amused at what he sees.
"My uncle tells me that you were the one responsible for me being sent away." She says, trying to keep her voice firm and steady.
He inclines his head in confirmation.
"Why?"
"I was the one who gave the order," a strange, sly look crosses his face for a second and is then gone before he continues, "but it was King Ragnar who made the request that you go with his son."
A jolt of shock goes through Rowan, closing her throat and churning her stomach. Ivar doesn't understand their words, but Wulfgar does, and he steps forward.
"You told me nothing of this. Why would Ragnar Lothbrok care about the fate of my niece?" He sounds angry, betrayed knowing that he had put his trust in a monarch who had ended up deceiving him.
Ecbert smiles pleasantly as he casually shatters Rowan's world once again, saying, "He was very impressed by your devotion to his son, even though you had only known each other for such a short time. It was his belief that, away from the only home you had ever known, you would have no other choice than to rely on his son. He seemed to feel that Ivar would benefit from having someone with no other loyalties other than him."
Rowan feels like she may throw up right there. In the corner of her eye, she can see Ivar watching her with concern.
"Which meant, I'm afraid, that in the interest of securing our agreement and avoiding retribution for his death, I was forced to see to it that there were no lingering… connections for you here."
She can't process what he's saying. It's impossible. Those words simply don't belong together in that order. All she wants to do is reach through the bars of his cage and claw that carefully crafted expression of deep sorrow and regret right off his face.
"Oddune." She says.
"Indeed." Ecbert nods sadly, "If it is any comfort, I truly believe that, if he had known what was at stake, he would have willingly given his life to protect Wessex. Alas, it seems all was for naught. At least we can be assured that poor Oddune's soul is with God now."
"Then we can rest assured that you will never see him again." Rowan chokes out.
She can no longer bear to look at him. She turns and flees back to the infirmary, Wulfgar at her side. Ivar calls to her, demanding to know what Ecbert said, but she ignores him, and she moves too quickly for him to follow.
On the cot where she last saw her friend and mentor, she sits and weeps bitterly. Wulfgar stands at the door, a sentry, preventing anyone from entering and intruding on her grief.
~...~
Much later, there is a great bang as Bjorn comes striding in. For someone who's just succeeded in his revenge against his father's killers, he doesn't look particularly pleased. Rowan nods to Wulfgar to let him in, and Bjorn strides past him with a glare. It vaguely amuses her that she was correct in thinking that her uncle is a good two inches taller than the brooding Viking.
He gets straight to the point with no preamble. "You can read these people's writing?"
"I can."
"Good," he nods, "you will come with me."
It seems he expects her to follow with no other explanation. She assures Wulfgar that she will be fine without him to the time being, and follows after Bjorn.
They arrive in a room Rowan isn't very familiar with. It is a kind of office for the King that she never had any cause to enter during the two years she lived in the villa. Ecbert himself sits at a table. All the leaders of the Heathen Army stand before him. Only Ivar and then Bjorn sit across from him.
"Ecbert has agreed to sign over the legal claim to the kingdom of East Anglia to us. You will read this document so that we may be assured that it says what he says it does." Bjorn explains briefly.
Rowan stops, looking between Ecbert and the Vikings. True, she doesn't know the King that well, but what she does know is that he's a conniving snake that never does anything except for his own benefit.
"In exchange for what?" She asks.
"He will be allowed die in a manner of his own choosing." Ivar replies, obviously displeased with this. Noticing her expression, he tilts his head and asks, "What? Do you think it is a bad idea?"
"It is not a bad idea," she answers tentatively, aware of the many eyes on her, "It is not a good one either."
Bjorn, annoyed by this exchange, waves this off. With an impatient gesture he indicates the document laid out before them. Rowan steps forward to read it, casting a suspicious scowl at Ecbert.
"Does it say what he claims?" One of the other leaders, a man with face tattoos and a long braid, asks.
She's puzzled to find that it is exactly what Ecbert said, the deeds of transfer to the lands of East Anglia. Though she still can't shake the feeling that he's up to something, she can only confirm what she sees before her own eyes.
So the document is confirmed with the King's seal, and he is allowed to leave to meet his chosen death. Ivar is obviously angry about this, but he makes no move to stop him or otherwise break the agreement.
As they leave, a warrior steps up and whispers something to Bjorn, who frowns and takes his leave of the rest of them.
"What is it?" Ivar snaps.
The warrior pales and finally says, "The wife of Floki… she is dead.
~...~
As he says it, Helga had been walking through the halls of the villa when she'd realized that a burning beam was about to fall on her adoptive daughter. She'd quickly pushed the girl to safety, but in doing so had placed herself in harm's way. When Floki had found them, the girl was hysterical, and he'd only had a few moments with his wife before she passed. From what the warrior said, in her final moments she had appeared strangely content, as if a great weight had finally been lifted from her shoulders.
Despite everything, there is still a great feast to celebrate their victory. Ivar sits at the head table, set on a raised dais before all the others. There are dark circles under his eyes against an almost sickly pallor. His expression is lifeless, like all the emotion of the past few weeks has caught up with him and his mind has shut down under the onslaught.
"This place is cursed." Rowan mutters to him, "It must be. It takes and takes from us and…" Her throat closes up and she can't finish.
"What did Ecbert say to you?" He asks numbly.
"I don't want to talk about it."
"Of course you don't."
She doesn't dignify that with a response. In her current state of mind, anything she might say would come out far harsher than she intended.
Bjorn makes a great speech about how they have fulfilled their duty to avenge their father, and that they have also achieved his dream of having the legal right to some of the fertile soil of England. To the cheers of those gathered, he also announces that he intends to return to his exploration of the Mediterranean Sea, feeling free to follow his own destiny now.
Ivar's reaction is significantly less enthusiastic than the crowd's. He has no desire to become a farmer. Instead, he wants to use the Great Army to attack and raid other places.
With a small smirk, Ubbe quietly states that Ivar cannot lead the army. Annoyed, Ivar replies that he wishes to lead those who are still looking to raid. Hvitserk points out that just staking their claim in England will be a difficult task, and Ivar sneers at him for not talking like a "real Viking."
Rowan can feel a migraine coming on as Sigurd joins in, entreating Ivar not to try and break up the brothers.
"Frankly, dear Sigurd, I don't care what you say." Ivar replies, "The truth is, I wouldn't even piss down your throat even if your lungs were on fire."
"Oh for fuck's sake." Rowan groans to herself, resting her face in her hands and, for a moment, wishing them all a slow and painful death.
More shouting. More arguing. Sigurd finally snaps that he would never follow Ivar, that he is crazy, with the mind of a child.
"And all you do is play music, Sigurd!"
"I'm just as much a son of Ragnar as you are."
"I'm not so sure. As far as I remember, Ragnar didn't play the oud. And he certainly didn't offer his arse to other men!"
"You make me laugh." Sigurd mocks, "Just like you do when you crawl around like a baby."
"Shut your mouth!" Ivar shouts.
Rowan, finally at the end of her rope, stands up and slams her hands on the table. "Enough!"
Everyone goes quiet, startled by the bellow coming from her small frame. She looks between the pair, exhausted and angry beyond anything she's felt in years.
"You both act like spoiled little children!" she finally yells, "You and your stupid, petty little disagreements. Do you truly have no understanding of how lucky you are? You have your brother beside you every day. A sibling is something that is irreplaceable because no one else in this world will understand your origins, your history the way they can."
She's started to cry… again, but she can't stop the words pouring out.
"Even with everything he did, all the ways he hurt me, do you know what I would give to see my brother just one more time?"
Ivar and Sigurd both refuse to meet her eyes, expression stubborn. She can see that they resent her for calling them out like this in front of the whole army.
"You didn't get enough love from your mother?" she turns to Sigurd, then Ivar, "You're a cripple? Well, welcome to human existence where life is shit and then you die!"
All patience and energy drained from her, she turns to leave.
"What's the matter, Ivar?" Sigurd starts in right away, "Finally realized that she only lets you cling to her out of pity? Do you know how pathetic you look, crawling after her, hoping to have some pretend little family with another man's child?"
She can hear Ubbe growing anxious, trying to calm Ivar down, but she lowers her head and continues on.
"You can't take it? No, I guess it must be hard for you now that your mommy's dead, knowing she's the only one who ever really loved you."
Ubbe shouts Ivar's name once, twice, then there is a roar and the whole gathering goes deathly silent. Rowan turns, horror filling her as she sees Ivar, leaning forward in his seat with a shocked expression. And across from him, Sigurd stands with an axe embedded in his right arm.
Yes, Rowan was singing Moana. I usually forget to mention the actual songs referred to in the story, so please feel free to ask if you're ever curious.
I hated all the seemingly pointless deaths in The Reckoning. I didn't want to completely write out each and every one of them, but I wanted Helga to at least have a death that meant something to her. Tanaruz had so much potential as a character, I wanted to keep her around and give her the chance to find a voice.
Question 1: He's not dead yet! He's going for a walk! How do you think things will go with Sigurd?
Question 2: Rowan's had to realize that a lot of her assumptions about people are incorrect. How do you think this might change her behavior going forward, if at all?
As an additional note, I want to say that some chapters will take longer than others to complete. Sometimes I struggle with certain parts because I don't have them as well planned out as others. I'm also about to finish college and I have other commitments in my real life that take priority over writing. Please be respectful of that.