Chapter Three: A Kingless Land
One month after Siggy's death, Kattegat gathered at the docks to watch the return of the Viking warriors. Aslaug held Ivar aloft while Sigurd and Rúna stood close behind. Black dots on the horizon grew to smudges to vaguely boat shaped masses to the Viking longboats Floki so proudly built. King Ragnar's black flags and King Harald's yellow streamed high in the sky.
"Sigurd, do you see Father? Or our brothers?" Ivar asked, nearly bouncing with excitement in the circle of Aslaug's arms.
"Not yet," Sigurd answered woodenly. "They should be the first boat to dock."
The ocean wind whipped through Rúna's hair, sending her skirts swirling around her legs. Salt spray freckled her cheeks, so close did they stand to the edge of the pier in Ivar's excitement.
But that excitement soon dampened when Björn stepped on the pier flanked by Ubbe and Hvitserk. The oldest son of Ragnar Lothbrok scooped up the third, holding Sigurd up and greeting him. He ruffled Ivar's hair with his other hand and spared a passing smile to Rúna, motioning for his brothers to follow him.
"Björn!" Aslaug called after him. "Where is Ragnar?"
"Not here." Björn threw over his shoulder. He led the three younger boys through the waiting crowd, parting the masses to clear his path to the great hall.
"Father is dead?" Ivar asked, voice breaking over the last word. Aslaug began consoling him immediately, tucking him closer.
"Shhh, my love, there is no need to cry. That is not what Björn said. Let's go see what tales your brothers have brought back from Paris, hmm?"
Rúna was left alone for a moment, unsure if she should follow Ivar or wait for Helga and Floki. Her dilemma was soon solved; Helga's warm, soft hand slid into hers and Floki's giggle sounded behind her. "You're looking well, little Rúna! Come, we must let Björn Ironside tell Kattegat of our defeat."
Floki spit the last word—literally, saliva hitting the wooden pier beneath their feet. He took Helga's free hand, the three of them forming a chain as he marched toward the great hall.
Björn's story was not one that anyone enjoyed hearing. Ragnar had been considerably bested by his brother, Rollo, now a duke in Paris. Their numbers had been depleted in the defeat. King Harald and Lagertha, Björn's mother and an earl in her own right, left Kattegat the next morning.
There was no victorious feast for the return of the other boys. Instead, Kattegat fell into a depressive state quickly. The mood was heavy and quiet around the table, though Aslaug still fed all the returned warriors.
"But where has Father gone?" Ivar demanded from his mother's lap when the royal family and warriors gathered around the long, formal table in the great hall. Björn looked down into his horn of ale and sighed.
"I do not know, Ivar. As you saw, he did not make it to land with us. He must have slipped away at night, swimming to shore when we came into sight of it two days ago. When everyone woke, there was no sign of him on any of the boats."
A silence followed Björn's confession. Sigurd jumped on the lull, tugging at his eldest brother's sleeve until Björn bent his head. Rúna watched from down the table, knowing exactly what it was Sigurd must be whispering in his brother's ear.
She had heard the man called Ironside, for his ferocity in battle, but she wondered now if it was also for his lack of emotion. His expression did not change upon learning of his daughter's death, no tears springing to his eyes.
Perhaps Rúna's and Sigurd's were the only tears that would ever be wept for little Siggy.
Ivar had been watching, too. Rúna could feel the burning blue fire of his eyes on her cheek, but she refused to look away from her plate. She didn't need to see his face to know he would be gloating.
At Björn's insistence, there were search parties sent out in an attempt to find Ragnar. At Ivar's insistence, he was a member of these search parties. When the terrain allowed it, the brothers and Rúna took turns pulling his cart. In other places, Björn or Floki carried the boy.
Sometimes, though, no matter how loudly little Ivar yelled, Queen Aslaug made him stay in the great hall. Those were on Ivar's 'blue eye' days. How blue are Ivar's eyes today? It was a question that initially perplexed Rúna. Never was the question asked until Ubbe and Hvitserk returned from Paris and roughhousing resumed for all four boys.
The first time Aslaug had asked her, Rúna had furrowed her brow in confusion. "Ivar's eyes are always blue, Queen Aslaug." That was the wrong answer; Ivar screamed at the top of his lungs anytime Aslaug raised her hand to Rúna, but that didn't mean she was immune to punishment. With Yidu also absent from the returning party from Paris, Rúna was made to scrub the entirety of the great hall so it would be clean enough for Ivar to crawl on.
How blue are Ivar's eyes today?
This question was not meant to judge the base color of Ivar's eyes, which was always a bright blue. Aslaug was asking about the whites of his eyes, and how much of a blue cast they carried. Ubbe, Hvitserk, Sigurd, Rúna. Every child got asked in turn: How blue are Ivar's eyes today? If anyone answered 'very blue', it meant that Ivar may break a bone and would not be allowed to leave the great hall—or Aslaug's close eye—for the entirety of the day.
And how Rúna hated those days, for that was when everyone got the brunt of Ivar's anger. He would yell and throw anything in his reach, especially if he could lob it at one of his brothers. Rúna had to stay with Ivar and Queen Aslaug, enduring his anger and her drunkenness, while everyone else searched for King Ragnar.
Her singular nighttime prayer to the gods was that the wayward king would return so her headaches from Ivar's yelling and her own crying could cease.
These efforts—and Rúna's headaches—continued for weeks, and, for all those weeks, not one piece of evidence of Ragnar's existence was found.
Eventually, Björn called them off.
When the search for Kattegat's king ended, Floki and Helga had questions for Rúna. She was just happy to be back in their seaside home, away from Aslaug's moods and Ivar and Sigurd's arguing.
"Little Rúna," Floki gave her a heaping bowl of the stew Helga had made for their dinner, "How was Ivar while we were raiding and fighting?"
Rúna's hand stilled on her spoon—a spoon she couldn't believe was hers, tiny and perfect for her hand, made by Floki himself—gray eyes flicking up uncertainly. However, she found herself entirely unable to tell him anything other than the truth when she looked into his smiling eyes. "His legs would hurt sometimes, and sometimes Queen Aslaug wouldn't let him go outside. He was mad on those days, but it wasn't so bad even then. Ivar taught me to play hnefatafl, and we made other games to play, too."
"And Queen Aslaug?" Helga asked, filling their cups. Floki and Helga never gave Rúna ale the way Sigurd had that night by the fire; she always drank water at the cabin, though sometimes Helga did sweeten her water with honey. "How was she with you? With her sons?"
Again, Rúna was unable to stop the truth spilling from her mouth. "I did not see the queen very often. She was with a man named Harbard many days, and when she was not with Harbard, she would take Ivar with her and send me to clean or play with Sigurd."
Neither Floki nor Helga asked about Siggy, but the little girl's death had been weighing heavy on Rúna's heart and mind. "Siggy died while you were gone. She drowned in the river in town, and Sigurd told me children always drown when Harbard comes to Kattegat."
Both stilled across the table, hands freezing on their own spoons. "Did Harbard see Ivar while he was here?"
Rúna shrugged. "Maybe when Sigurd and I were sent to bed. Ivar does not sleep with his brothers. Queen Aslaug keeps him in her bedroom. I slept in the other room with Sigurd and Siggy."
There was silence around the table for a few heartbeats. Then, Floki gave her one of his big, bright smiles. It made Rúna smile, too, on reflex. Floki reached into his shirt, producing a little pouch from some hidden pocket. "You're a very good girl, little Rúna. We did not do much raiding in Paris, but we did snag some things."
Rúna opened the pouch to find a broach in the shape of a sunburst, golden and shining in the fire and candlelight. It was heavy in her palm. "Pretty."
"You'll need something to fasten your cloak," Helga smoothed Rúna's hair from her face. "The weather will be turning soon. Nights are already turning cold."
Her new broach was so pretty that Rúna would have liked to look at it forever, but Helga plucked it from her hand. "I'll cut a cloak for you from one of mine. You will need it for tomorrow night's sacrifice."
Floki explained at their first lesson together after Ragnar's disappearance that the sacrifice would be in tribute to the gods, of course, asking for blessings for Kattegat in King Ragnar's absence and for his return.
"My father will come back if we ask the gods and make a sacrifice?" Ivar asked, hope shining from his face.
"Perhaps," Floki said tentatively, trying to temper his innocent desire. "Perhaps not. The gods decide our fates when we are born, remember, and we cannot change that. But we can ask the gods for many good tidings and make sacrifices to honor and please them."
Ivar swallowed those words, lips pursing in a pout as he thought them over. "People say my father was once favored by the gods. Perhaps he still is."
"The gods loved Ragnar. They guided him to discover new lands and expand our world, they gave him five sons, and they made him a king. Perhaps the gods still love Ragnar indeed, Ivar. Now, you two, listen to this story of my first sacrifice."
Floki launched into a retelling that had both children giggling, despite Rúna's worries over the coming evening. Ivar, on the other hand, was excited as Floki recounted watching a young woman sing the praises of the gods even as a knife pierced her heart. "Her singing only became louder and heartier as she joined the gods in Valhalla."
Rúna was left chilled by Floki's story, though Ivar had listened intently, curiosity and excitement shining from his eyes.
"Who will Björn sacrifice tonight?" Ivar asked, but Floki only giggled, scooping Ivar in one arm and Rúna in the other.
"That is between Björn and the gods. Now, my children, we have boats to repair."
Ivar had a critical eye, crawling and pulling himself up to perform inspections while Floki and Rúna made prepares. At one point, Rúna reached down and locked her hands around Ivar's wrists, pulling him up the rest of the way the plank and into the hull of the ship.
"You are so heavy for someone who is supposed to be boneless, Ivar." She grunted between gritted teeth, digging her heels into the rowing bench to tug Ivar over the lip of the ship.
Floki stilled below, where he was replacing a warped piece of wood near the bottom. Ivar was unarmed, but he was surely strong enough to knock the little girl over the edge should he be enraged. But to Floki's surprise, Ivar only laughed. Tipping his head back, he watched Ivar pull himself along the benches.
"I have never been on a boat. Mother says I will die if I board a boat in water."
"Not if Floki builds it," Rúna argued. "Floki's boats never sink."
Smiling, Floki returned to work while the two children played over head.
Rúna wasn't sure what she thought a sacrifice would be like, but she hadn't expected the thick, scented smoke from a myriad of fires. The heat was oppressive, and she would have shirked her new fur-lined cloak had Helga not made it for her. As it was, she followed along behind Floki, holding tight to his hand and wide, gray eyes roaming all around.
Queen Aslaug stood on a platform between two larger fires, her hair braided back from her face. She wore a simple white shift, smudges of black rimming her eyes. Still, she made an imposing figure, with the firelight playing over her sharp features. In her hands she held the concealed knife Björn would use.
Nearest the platform stood Ubbe, Hvitserk, and Sigurd. Ivar sat on a stump in front of Ubbe, his brother's hands on the younger boy's shoulders.
Rúna's heart was nearly choking her in her throat when Floki plopped her down beside Ivar. "You two should have the best view for your first sacrifice. Sigurd-Snake-in-the-Eye! You are taller than when we left for Paris."
As Floki prattled on with the older boys behind them, Rúna whispered to Ivar, "Are you scared?"
Blue eyes glared at her, bright as lightning flashes in the firelight. "No."
For all his indignation, Rúna felt his hand seek hers under the cover of her cloak. Ubbe nudged both children, calling their attention to the back of the crowd. Björn had materialized from the smoky haze, his formidable form walking silently along the aisle made by the crowd. Behind him came a man Rúna did not know, dressed in a white shift similar to the queen's.
"He's the sacrifice," Hvitserk whispered to them. "See how straight he walks? He does not fear death, for tonight he will be with the gods."
The man joined Queen Aslaug and Björn on the platform, the two men nodding to one another. Björn's booming voice cut through the quiet hum of conversation buzzing in the crowd. "Trygve has offered himself as sacrifice this night. We are without our king. Now more than ever before, we must ask for guidance, protection, and good fortune from the gods for Kattegat and Ragnar, wherever he may be."
A call of agreement swept through the masses, yells of 'skol' and blessings upon Trygve, Kattegat, and Ragnar alike. Rúna and Ivar were seated so closely that it was all too easy to overhear Björn thanking Trygve and reassuring him he would soon meet the gods. Turning to Aslaug, Björn retrieved a long, wicked blade carved with the names of the gods from her bundle. Unflinching, Trygve ripped the thin fabric of his shift to expose his chest.
Rúna was unable to tear her eyes away. There was no singing here, like Floki had described. Instead, an eerie and absolute silence had come over the crowd. She hardly dared breathe as Björn stepped closer to Trygve. Ragnar's oldest son did not look away from Trygve's eyes, nor did Trygve look away from Björn's as the knife pierced his skin.
Thick, dark blood ran down Trygve's chest, obscuring the scrolling tattoos. As his knees buckled, his life's blood draining from him, Björn guided the dying man so that his blood flowed into a basin. Fire crackled and bowed in the night breeze, but the world was otherwise still all around as Trygve died. The air felt heavy the same way it did before a big storm.
Thor. The gods name passed through Rúna's mind as Ivar spoke it in a whisper that was all breath beside her. Somehow, she knew it was true.
Queen Aslaug dipped a saucer into the man's blood, climbing down the steps of the platform with the saucer and a brush in her hands. To Rúna's surprise, Björn leaned forward to allow her to splatter his face with Trygve's blood. She paused before Ivar, flicking blood across his face just as she had Björn. Sigurd, Ubbe, and Hvitserk got the same treatment before Aslaug bent at the waist in front of Rúna.
The blood was hot on her face, stinging her eyes and salty on her mouth. Ivar turned his bloodied face to Rúna when his mother left, leaning close to whisper, "Do you feel the gods with us?"
Her head felt heavy on her neck as she nodded, causing the excitement to shine brighter in Ivar's eyes as he smiled.
Floki had been right. The gods were wondrous and terrifying all at once, collecting Trygve unseen. Rúna felt as if the night fires were inside her, the presence of the gods burning in her veins.
There were no raiding parties sailing out of Kattegat after that.
In fact, Kattegat changed considerably after the disappearance of King Ragnar. Björn began to co-rule with Queen Aslaug in his absence, though he never took the title of 'king' for himself, nor did he ever sit in his father's throne. The seaside town should have been thankful for Björn Ironside, for Queen Aslaug spent most of her days in her cups.
"It's because she caught Harbard having sex with other women," Sigurd would say to explain away his mother's drunkenness, strumming all the while on his oud. Though Rúna still feared the snake in his eye, she liked to hear Sigurd play. "He was back again, in Kattegat, when you had all gone. We all saw him, even Rúna."
"Or because Father hasn't returned yet," Ivar would counter heatedly. Only Rúna knew how, at night, the little boy would crawl out when everyone was sleeping to sit on his father's throne. He missed their father more than he would ever admit.
Rúna knew there was more truth in Sigurd's words, but she also knew that Ivar would never look at Queen Aslaug's drunkenness from his brother's serpentine eyes.
"It does not matter," Ubbe would say, tone hard and brooking no argument. He was the oldest of these brothers, not counting Björn, and he couldn't stand to listen to Sigurd and Ivar fight all day. "Father has abandoned us, little Ivar. We must do as Mother and Björn say now."
In the first months of Ragnar's disappearance, Ivar held a secret desire for his father to return. He took to sitting on the pier not far from Floki's cabin, watching the waves for any signs of the missing king. Rúna would sit beside him, watching the scales of fish shimmer underwater in the late summer sunshine. When summer turned to fall, it was much harder to catch a glimmer of a fish, but still she sat with him on the pier.
"He will come back." Ivar always said this. His voice had been resolute at first, but by harvest time, it had weakened into a whisper. Bound legs dangling just over the waves, blue eyes focused on the horizon, Ivar slowly lost hope. "He will!"
"Yes, he will," Rúna always agreed, though at night she listened to Floki and Helga talk about how Ragnar was likely dead—as much as Floki hated to admit that possibility. "The gods did not come to Kattegat for nothing. We will see King Ragnar again."
A/N: Thank you to GodzillaSquatch91, XxPetitPandaxX, and caligirl538 for following this story, and the guest who left a review! I know the Vikings fanfiction community is pretty small, so I wasn't sure how many people would end up finding this story. I've had this idea bouncing around in my head for a while after binging the whole Vikings series, and I wanted to share! I hope everyone continues to enjoy it.
I promise Ivar and Rúna won't say children forever. Next chapter will move things along to get them to about fourteen years old, a few years before Ragnar returns.
Fun fact: this story is titled after the Viking saying "When men meet foes in fight, better is stout heart than sharp sword." (Volsunga, c. 19). I like to think of Rúna as the 'stout heart' and Ivar as the 'sharp sword'.