"No! Don't pull it out! Ubbe, Hvitserk, quick, help me get him to the infirmary!"
With a burst of adrenaline, Rowan shouts orders, and they are obeyed. Sigurd's expression is terrified as he tries to process what is happening. She has to slap his hand from pulling the axe out every few minutes as his brothers carry him to the infirmary.
Wulfgar stands up in surprise as they burst in and watches in confusion as Sigurd is laid on one of the cots, groaning in pain. Rowan's mind races to try and figure out what she needs to do. She'd helped Oddune tend to wounds at least as critical several times before, and she searches through the supplies to find what she needs. Wulfgar comes to stand beside her.
"What is happening?" he asks.
"His idiot brother threw an axe at him!" she snaps, rooting around frantically.
Wulfgar frowns at the sight of the injured boy, groaning in pain as his brothers try to soothe him. "What can I do?"
She turns to look at him, momentarily surprised. "Wine, the strongest you can find." then switching languages she adds, "Hvitserk! Go with him. I need strong wine from the kitchens and you need to make sure no one stops him."
Hvitserk gives a short nod of understanding and follows after the Saxon, relieved to have something to do. Rowan gets Ubbe started building up the hearth to boil water while she does her best to cleanse her hands with harsh soap before beginning to inspect Sigurd's wound.
For the moment, the axe is helping to stem the flow of blood, but it must be removed for her to see what in all has been damaged. She cuts away the sleeve and tries to ascertain how deep it has gone.
"Rowan?"
Ivar has caught up with them, and sits in the doorway looking positively stricken. She turns to tell him to fuck off, but then realizes that she can't afford to be angry right now. She needs all the helping hands she can get.
"Help me with this!" she commands, and he crawls over as quickly as he can. Showing him the rudimentary tourniquet she's applied above the injury, she instructs him to hold it tight.
Taking a deep breath, she pulls the axe out with a quick, clean movement. Mercifully, the tourniquet is tight enough that the blood flow is properly restricted. It makes it much easier to find and stitch the larger vessels shut with a length of catgut.
"It is boiling, what now?" Ubbe calls over from the fire.
"Bring me a bowl. Mix in some of that vinegar on the table."
He brings the mixture over and watches as she uses it to try and clean out the wound. Without all the slippery mess of blood, her hands are steadier as she begins to suture the wound shut in layers. By the time she's finished, Wulfgar and Hvitserk have returned with the wine, and she uses it to soak the bandages that will cover the wound.
It's the best Rowan knows how to do. She can't even be sure if it's right or not. All she has is some research from her previous life and Oddune's teachings to go on. The brothers look at her with so much faith, but once the first rush of adrenaline passes, she's as lost and shaken as they are.
"He will be alright now?" Ubbe asks.
"I don't know." she admits, shaking her head, "There may have been damage done that I cannot repair. Infection may set in. I can't…"
She covers her face with her hands to try and stifle the sob. Ivar touches her arm, but she shakes him off.
"You've done enough." Ubbe says to him, low and harsh.
Ivar looks around the room, at Ubbe and Hvitserk who regard him with open hostility, at Rowan crying softly into her bloodied hands as her uncle pats her on the shoulder awkwardly, and finally to Sigurd, who has long since fallen unconscious from the pain and loss of blood. Shamed and regretful, he crawls out of the room, leaving them to clean up the mess.
~...~
The next day when Sigurd awakes, Rowan is right beside him. She gives him what herbs she can to relieve his pain, but there is only so much she can do. Not only that, but it's quickly apparent to her that he has some sort of nerve damage. His right hand hangs limp at the wrist, and no matter how hard he tries, he can't move it or his fingers. But still, it could have been much worse. From what Ubbe tells them, if Sigurd hadn't turned at the last second, Ivar's axe would have struck him right in the chest.
Rowan holds him as panic sets in. The realization that he may never hold a sword again is bad enough, but that he can't play music either. Although she thinks the thing he struggles with the most is that Ivar's aim hadn't been to merely injure him, he'd meant to kill him.
And his is not the only trauma to be dealt with. Floki has already buried his wife, and Tanaruz hovers about him, her expression no longer quite so empty but still lost. She tries to cling to Floki as a familiar, friendly face, but he's in no state to provide comfort and support to a desperately confused adolescent. So more often than not he sends her to the infirmary to help Rowan.
As for Rowan herself, for days she can't bring herself to leave Sigurd's side. She remains constantly vigilant for any signs of infection. She soon discovers that he isn't inclined to tell her when he needs something, and from what Ubbe tells her this isn't new behavior for him. He says that Sigurd has always been this way, ever since he was a small child. His quiet nature meant he'd often gone unnoticed in a family with so many louder brothers, in addition to having a younger brother with a condition that took so much of their mother's time and attention.
So Rowan sets herself up on the cot beside his, and pesters him night and day until he learns that the only way to get her off his back is to promptly inform her when he needs water or his bandages changed.
Once he reaches a point where she feels more comfortable leaving him alone for longer than a few minutes, she spends some time wandering the halls of the villa. It's strange to her that she had actually lived here far longer than she'd lived in Kattegat, and yet this place had never felt like a home. It had always seemed more like a stop on the way to someplace else.
She finds herself stepping carefully down a familiar flight of stairs and into the small cell she first met Ivar. It's much the same as it was during those long days they'd spent there, just sitting together and talking. She sits on the narrow cot and remembers the calm she'd felt then. She'd been so sure that he was just a teenage boy; angry and hurting, yes, but still a boy.
Rowan sits there until she realizes that evening has come and it's grown far too cold to stay any longer, and so she continues her wandering. She can't bring herself to go near Oddune's library, so instead she visits the weaving room, where she spent so much of her time, and her old bedroom.
And then, passing by some of the guest rooms, she sees that one particular door is slightly ajar. It's the room Ivar had stayed in during those last few days, the room where…
Peeking through the gap, Rowan's suspicions are confirmed when she spots Ivar, sitting quietly on the bed. From the looks of things he's claimed it for his own, and has probably spent much of the past several days there.
He seems to sense her presence, or perhaps she makes some noise that she's unaware of, but in any case he looks up at her. Rowan steels herself and steps in, arms hugging herself as they scrutinize each other warily, neither quite sure where they stand. The room itself doesn't help. It's an uncomfortable reminder for both of them, though for very different reasons.
"What can I say?" Ivar finally asks, "I am truly sorry for what I did."
Rowan shakes her head helplessly. "I don't know. I don't know what to say either. I don't want to be angry, Ivar, but you could have killed Sigurd. I can't just forget that. You want so badly for people to fear you, well… I'm afraid."
"You think I would hurt you?"
It's clear that the mere suggestion angers him, but Rowan can't back down to spare his feelings, not when there's so much at stake.
"Not on purpose, no. But if you can lose your temper so that you nearly kill your own brother, then how can I believe that I'm any safer? I cannot make decisions only for myself anymore, Ivar, I have to protect my child."
He looks at her for a moment, his mouth twisting bitterly. He seems to struggle with himself for a moment, and then opens his hand and shows her what he's been clutching there all this time.
Bothild's mother's pin.
"How did you…?" she asks, brow wrinkled in confusion. It's the first time she's seen it since she bartered it for… well… her hand instinctively comes up to rest on her belly.
"One of the men found it in a cottage. Why would it have been there, Rowan, hm? Did someone take it from you?"
"No."
"Then you gave it away willingly?"
She doesn't respond. There's something faintly accusatory in Ivar's tone, and she knows that anything she says is likely to only make him more upset.
"Who?" he asks, and then when she doesn't reply he adds with a cracking voice, "A lover? The father?"
She's shocked by her own reaction to his question. That he should ask that here of all places. Was he so convinced he couldn't father a child? Or did he actually want for there to be another man? Whatever the reason for his willful obtuseness, it brought a hot flush of indignation to her cheeks. Of course he seems to just interpret it as confirmation of her supposed 'guilt'.
He draws himself up, squaring his shoulders with his thoughtlessly reclaimed feeling of superiority. But whatever he intends to say he never has the chance. Rowan gives a cry of frustration and marches forward to snatch the pin from his hand. Giving him a final glare for good measure, she stomps out of the room and back to the infirmary. There, Wulfgar listens in pained silence as she rails on about the pure, stupid evil that is Ivar Ragnarsson.
~...~
Wulfgar has remained by Rowan's side throughout all. The Vikings haven't been particularly pleased by his presence, but Bjorn has a much milder view of the Saxons than many of the others. After questioning the tall warrior, he makes it clear that his presence amongst them is allowed. Still, Wulfgar keeps mostly to the infirmary and out of the way of any who might be tempted to disobey their leader's orders.
One night, several days after her last encounter with Ivar, Rowan is awoken by the sound of the door opening, followed by a soft scraping as he drags himself inside. She can faintly see that Wulfgar immediately moves to block him from coming closer to either her or the still sleeping Sigurd.
She can't see Ivar's face in the darkness, but she can hear the annoyance in his voice as he snaps, "Get out of my way, Christian."
"No."
The sound of his own language coming from the other man's mouth is apparently enough of a surprise that Ivar is silent for a moment, then he cautiously asks, "You speak Norse?"
"I learned some, the settlement." Wulfgar replies simply.
"What is with your family and pretending not to understand me?" Ivar mutters under his breath before addressing her 'uncle', "In that case, I have another task for you."
"Oh?"
"Yes, you will teach me your language."
Wulfgar remains silent, and apparently unmoved by Ivar's order because she can hear the younger man's tone grow even more irritated.
"It is in your best interest to be as useful to us as possible."
"I am."
Rowan has spent enough time with Wulfgar to know that he's taking a tiny bit of enjoyment out of riling the young prince. In her mind's eye, she can see Ivar twisting his mouth and scowling. One day, he would really have to work on not letting his every emotion show so plainly. That or start wearing a mask.
"Besides watching over Rowan. You will start tomorrow. Now get out of my way."
"She's sleeping." Wulfgar stops him again, his tone firm but also oddly gentle.
Once again, Ivar pauses, then very quietly he asks, "She is well?"
"She is."
The next morning, Wulfgar makes no mention of Ivar's evening visit, and Rowan doesn't ask. Nor does she comment when he starts meeting with Ivar each day to teach him the Saxon language.
Ivar comes to see her and test his knowledge. The limits of his vocabulary mean that they don't speak of Sigurd, or of the pin and his accusations.
~...~
Sigurd slowly recovers… physically. Mentally, it isn't hard for Rowan to see that he's fallen into a deep depression. He and Ivar do not speak, and for once it occurs to her that it's probably best to let the brothers sort things out in their own time. At least they aren't actively antagonistic for now.
The winter days pass, and Rowan feels the first flutterings deep inside her, like a butterfly is trapped inside her belly. The first time it can be felt from the outside she is with Tanaruz, and she gasps and takes the girl's hand to see if she feels it too. Tanaruz still doesn't speak, but she understands a great deal and communicates through gestures. Her smiles are rare, but she nearly beams with excitement to feel the baby kick.
It's something that all of the younger Ragnarssons seem to find utterly fascinating. Sigurd especially, since he was too young to be aware of his mother's pregnancy, but Hvitserk and Ubbe are also pleased and comment on how strong the baby is. Although just as likely their amusement is due to the fact that she's currently the most interesting thing happening at the villa.
Half of the Great Army has returned to Repton to guard the boats, while the other half remains where there is shelter and provisions to keep them through the winter. No one mentions that one small motive for staying is the relative safety and comfort of the villa for the birthing of a child.
Late in her pregnancy, Rowan makes a kind of a pilgrimage. The river she fell into, where she emerged in this new body, is a short walk from the gates. She'd gone to a part of it to swim when she'd lived there as Bothild, but she's never returned to the part that is surrounded by a small forest.
Now she finds a fallen tree where she can sit and watch the water racing by, and for probably the thousandth time wonders at her presence in this place and time. Is there some sort of a purpose that brought her here, or merely some trick of fate? Was it due to a science not yet understood or by magic?
She senses a presence, and looks up to see the lone figure that stands watching her.
"Uncle."
"There have been stories about the water here, as long as anyone has lived here." Wulfgar muses, squinting out across the river, "Stories of people dying in or near it, and coming back changed."
Like me, Rowan realizes with a jolt, he knows.
He continues. "I never put much faith in those stories. Relics of the time we were all pagans here, I thought. But my mother believed. She was a cunning woman, there's some who would say she was a witch, but I never saw much Devilry in what she did. Seeing you, the way you tended to that boy, it reminded me of her."
She can see in his face how much he misses her, something she can sympathize with. But she's bewildered by the subtext of his words.
"I wish I could have met her."
It sounds so silly once she says it, but Wulfgar nods. "She would have liked you."
His hand, calloused and worn, comes to rest on her head, his thumb softly tracing the raised scar there. They silently watch the river, with its strange waters for a time before he interrupts the silence, his hand now held out to beckon her. "Come, you shouldn't be out late, Rowan"
Rowan almost freezes before quickly recovering. He's never called her that before, never commented on the name that all the Vikings call her. He knows. Perhaps he's always known, but he still chose to seek her out. It may no longer be his niece's mind, but it's still her body. The blood of his brother and his family flows through her veins. She feels another pang of guilt as she rubs her rounded belly. The things she's putting this body through, the things it's about to go through…
*.*.*
Ivar hasn't said anything else about my supposed Saxon lover. I get the feeling that it's not so much he's changed his mind as much as he regrets saying anything about it. I honestly don't know what his deal is. He's still obviously trying to fill in what his idea of a father role is, but I think it honest-to-god doesn't occur to him that this baby is his.
Honestly, I've pretty much decided not to tell him until I can see with my own eyes how he is with him/her. I know that there's some element of paranoia involved, but I keep seeing that fucking axe in Sigurd's arm. Every day I see the reminder that Ivar's not entirely stable, that he can be very, very dangerous.
The one good thing that's come from that whole clusterfuck is that they haven't been fighting anymore. In fact, they don't really talk at all. It might be for the best. I never fully realized just how horrible some of the things Sigurd would say really were to Ivar. He's an incredibly perceptive person, and he knows just where Ivar's greatest weaknesses lie.
Some of the things I said were inexcusable too. I tried to apologize to Ivar, but he won't let me talk about it. I'm not going to push him on it, just because I can tell how truly shaken he is. They all are. Ubbe doesn't look at Ivar the same way anymore. I can't imagine what it would have been like if Sigurd hadn't turned away. I don't want to even think about it.
I've been trying to help him with learning to use his off hand, but it's slow going. He gets frustrated quickly. He's lost the ability to do everything that gave him purpose, and I don't know how to help him find a new one.
~...~
Wulfgar's been surprisingly chill about the presence of the Womb Gremlin. Doesn't seem too interested in the father as long as I wasn't forced. Seems a bit squicked out by the topic, so he hasn't pried.
Wonder about what he said about the water. How many others has this happened to? Is it the water itself? Why some people and not others?
I asked him about his mother. She was what will later be called a wise woman, a practitioner of folk magic that's been used since pagan times. She used spells and charms to help local people, while still being a devout Christian. Very interesting. The church leaders don't like it, but to the average person it's an important way to try and control their existence. Prayer is one thing, but a charm is a tangible thing that can provide a lot of comfort even if it doesn't actually do anything.
~...~
Punched Hvitserk again today. He deserved it. Not sure of exact translation for word he called me, but it could be used when describing size of whale. Even Bjorn told him he was asking for it.
~...~
He's been very solitary lately, and I don't have it in me to try and draw him out. I have so much on my plate already. At least he's been occupying himself with learning Old English with Wulfgar. He hasn't said why he wants to learn, but I know he still wants to use the army to fight the Saxons. I can only assume that he wants to know his enemies language.
Turns out that Wulfgar totally kicks ass. He's a full-time soldier, which is pretty unusual for both Saxons and Vikings. So he's been training some of them to pass the time. Not much else to do around here other than watch me gestate.
~...~
I know it's not fair to blame Ivar for everything that's happened, for his father's choices, but I can't help but feel resentful. Between that and attacking Sigurd, things have been pretty strained with us. Especially as time passes and I keep getting bigger and bigger.
It seems to make him uncomfortable, he doesn't try to feel the Womb Gremlin kick like his brothers. It's like he doesn't want to acknowledge the reality that I'm inevitably going to have to give birth and then raise an actual flesh-and-blood human being. I don't blame him, it's scary for me too. I just hope that he'll come to terms with it once the baby's here. It's important for a child to have a father, and I think he could be a really good one.
Only then I remember that he's not even seventeen yet and I don't know if I should demand too much of him. I hate myself for letting this happen. But now I've made this mess I have to do what I can not to compound the error, and it feels wrong to completely deny him the choice of being a father to his child or not.
I have to admit it to myself at least, I'm angry. I've been angry for so long that sometimes it's hard to tell what I'm angry about.
It's finally here! Wow, this season has been quite a ride, and it's taken me awhile to figure out how to fit the events I want to happen within the framework of the show. But now I know where I'm going so hopefully the next few chapters will come a bit faster!
Question 1: What do you think of the changes with Sigurd? How do you think he's going to handle his new circumstances?
Question 2: The Womb Gremlin cometh. How do you think that's going to go? Also, boy or girl?