Chapter Five: Midsummer

"We have Freyr to thank for good harvests," Floki's voice sounded in Rúna's memory as she looked around the outdoor feast. Pigs had been sacrificed during the blót, in homage to Freyr's golden boar Gullinbursti, the runes of Freyr's name carved into the sides of the animals. The life's blood had been collected during the blót; the carcasses of the pigs were strung up in the trees.

In the absence of raiding, Kattegat had leaned heavily into celebration for excitement, and Rúna loved it. She loved the rituals of honoring the gods, the smells of the feast, the sound of Sigurd's oud (though she was still mad at him) drifting across the summer air. These were all things that made Kattegat feel like home to her, reminding her of Floki's bedtime stories all through her childhood.

"Rúna, come see the baby," Helga waved her over, holding Björn's newborn son, Hali. Torvi sat beside her, watching over the child and looking resplendent with all the flowers in her hair. She and Helga had spent the morning braiding and sewing flowers into Rúna's hair as well, creating a circlet around the crown of her head.

When she was close enough, Helga pressed Torvi's baby into Rúna's arms. Looking at the baby's rounded cheeks and dusting of blonde hair made her think of Siggy's bloated, white face. The memory turned Rúna's stomach. She made herself smile at the baby, even as she glanced at Sigurd across the field the feast had been set up in.

The younger sons of King Ragnar all wore crowns of sorts rendered from twigs and leather cord. Sigurd's did well to hide the angry cut Ivar had given him; Rúna wondered if this earthy princely vanity Aslaug had insisted upon was for this very purpose. Björn had left his head unadorned, aside from his braids, of course.

Just last night, Rúna had been angry with Sigurd for using Siggy as an excuse for the constant animosity between him and Ivar. Yet, there she was, thinking of Siggy herself even after all these years…

"He's beautiful," she told Torvi politely before passing Hali back to Helga. Even with her arms empty of the baby's weight, Rúna's mind kept drifting back to helping Sigurd lift Siggy into her grave. Despite the warmth of the hazy summer sun filtering through the clouds, Rúna rubbed at her arms as she walked away toward a circle of men watching goodhearted wrestling matches.

"Get out of your head, Rúna." Hvitserk's voice startled her enough to elicit a jump. He only chuckled, plucking a flower from Rúna's hair and tucking it into his crown. "We're celebrating, but you are walking around as if still asleep."

Hvitserk coaxed a true smile from her, catching her up on the wrestling matches—who had won against who; which of the spectators was winning big on the bets. "You made it in time for the best show. Ubbe has challenged Björn."

"Is he making your bad choices for you while you're hurt?" Björn was a man grown, having seen thirty summers himself. Ubbe only had nineteen summers in comparison. Rúna knew Ubbe was strong, but the people of Kattegat didn't call Björn 'Ironsides' for nothing. Ubbe had some raiding under his belt, sure, but Björn was battle-hardened.

"Well," Hvitserk smirked, gesturing to his bound arm, "Ubbe seems to be the only brother available for such a task, no? Sigurd is building a harem with his oud."

With a tilt of his head, Hvitserk drew her attention across the field. Sigurd was surrounded by young girls while he strummed the instrument, each of them gazing at him. Rúna couldn't help but giggle at the barely contained smugness playing across Sigurd's features.

"And Ivar must still be hurting. He has not left Mother's side all afternoon." On the opposite side of the field, Ivar sat beside Queen Aslaug. She was resplendent in the spotty sunshine, the errant rays catching all along the jewels in her hair and making her shine.

"Was she terribly mad?" She whispered. Hvitserk took so long to respond beside her that Rúna thought he didn't hear her over the grunted of the men wrestling. A glance up revealed Hvitserk to be watching his mother and youngest brother.

"You have not gotten your share of wrath, then?"

"No." A warm breeze fluttered through Hvitserk's long, braided hair. It nearly knocked her flower from his crown, but Rúna saved it from being carried away. "Ivar refused to let me accompany them when Floki took him home."

"Well," he said again. "Let's not worry about it today. Think Floki would bring Ivar to us? I doubt he wants to miss watching our brothers' brawl."

Floki was all too happy to retrieve Ivar, giggling over Ubbe's intention to take Björn on. He held Ivar on his back, pushing his way through the crowd until he was standing between Hvitserk and Rúna. Ivar's face was still pale despite his excited smile, creating a striking contrast with his dark hair and bright eyes. Rúna tugged on his sleeve to get his attention, raising her eyebrows in an unasked question. Are you okay?

Ivar twisted his mouth in a pout, waving away her concern with a flutter of his hand. "Hvitserk, I thought Ubbe was our smart older brother. What has gotten into him, to take on Björn?"

"I think he intends to steal away some of Sigurd's girls he's collected." Ivar's face clouded over at the mention of his brother's name, brow furrowing. His fingers drummed against Floki's shoulder. Rúna watched him turn to give a retort to Hvitserk, but the words died in Ivar's mouth. Instead, he leaned over Floki's head, plucking her flower from Hvitserk's hair and tossing it behind him.

There was no denying the flower had been hers. While other girls and women had used a variety of colors, Helga had used only white wildflowers to adorn Rúna's hair.

Floki caught Rúna's eye, raising his eyebrows in that comical way that always made her laugh as a little girl. Even now, that look had her smothering a giggle in her palm. Hvitserk was laughing, too, even as Ivar took a halfhearted swipe at his head.

"Rúna," her name sounded like an annoyance in Ivar's mouth, "you are lucky you have no siblings. All my brothers are idiots."

"Seems to me a Lothbrok trait," Floki teased. "Your father once fought his brother for his first wife, Lagertha. And don't forget that both Ragnar and Björn married twice. Now, boys, my advice to you would be to pick two women. Marry the one you like least first, for it will be her you leave your second wife for."

Floki had the two brothers laughing as the unconscious loser of the wrestling match was carried away by friends. Rúna, though, was chilled again at the mention of Björn's first wife, her mind drifting once more to Siggy. She shook her head to clear her mind of the little girl, forcing herself to focus on Björn and Ubbe as they entered the circle.

Björn had always been a formidable force, tall and broad-shouldered and heavily muscled. Ubbe was shorter, slighter, but fast. He had a quick mind, despite Ivar's assessment of him as an idiot. If he could stay ahead of Björn's brute strength, Rúna wagered that Ubbe stood a chance at victory.

"Let's make a bet." Ivar's breath washed over her air, making a shiver run down her spine. Rúna hadn't realized he had leaned over Floki to whisper to her as his brothers squared off in front of them.

"That's no good," she argued. "We would both pick Ubbe."

"Humor me," he insisted. "I will pick Björn, just this once."

Björn made a grab for Ubbe, but he slipped from the older man's grasp like a fish. Everyone always said how strongly Ubbe resembled King Ragnar when he had been young. Rúna could see it now, though she hadn't known Ragnar as a young man. Ubbe and Ragnar had the same lightning-quick smile, the same flashing blue eyes.

"What are the stakes?"

Ubbe nearly danced around his brother, so light was he on his feet, staying just out of reach.

"I'll think of those later."

"Depending on if you win or lose, no?" Ivar smiled and reached over to push her, put Rúna caught his hand. She gave it a squeeze before letting his hand drop back to Floki's shoulder. Ubbe finally got fully behind Björn, creating an opportunity for himself to bend low and rush his brother. He managed to get Björn on the ground, but this was where the real trouble could start for Ubbe.

"He's like to forget his legs," Hvitserk commented absentmindedly. He was watching the match intently, his thumbnail was worrying over the small chip in his front tooth—one he had earned thanks to a hard hit from Sigurd's shield once. "We are so used to wrestling with Ivar."

"My being a cripple must be a disadvantage for all of you, too, Hvitserk? And here I thought I was the only one who hated my legs." There was hardly any anger in his voice, though. They both knew what Hvitserk meant. Nicknamed 'Boneless' or not, Ivar's legs were heavy when he let the weight fall. It was a common strategy for him in wrestling matches with his brothers to let his lower half go to deadweight, pinning their own legs uselessly beneath. When Ivar managed to get himself atop one of his brothers, it was all but a won match.

Ivar knew his strengths, after all, and he had become skilled at skewing odds in his favor.

Ubbe did not forget his legs, though, digging his knees into Björn's thighs to keep him pinned beneath. It was a good attempt, but Björn outweighed Ubbe considerably. All it took was bucking his hips to get the younger brother unseated. Ubbe rolled away along the grass to avoid being caught again.

It went on like this for some time, Ubbe keeping a careful distance until he had an opening. He was trying to wear Björn out, hedging his bets on stamina rather than strength. Björn Ironside seemed indefatigable, though. But then Ubbe swept Björn's legs from under him with a solid kick to the back of the knees. He fell with a heavy thud on his back, Ubbe using Björn's size against him. Ubbe wasted no time throwing himself atop his older brother, pinning him while Björn was still catching his breath.

When it returned to him, Björn laughed heartily, rolling underneath Ubbe. They became a tangle of limbs as they tried to stand, Björn slapping Ubbe on the back when they were finally righted. "My little brother is a man!"

There were cheers for Ubbe all around. Hvitserk slapped his unbound hand against his chest, yelling all the while. Rúna didn't realize she was holding Ivar's hand once more until he raised them together in celebration.

She did not recall reaching for him, nor him reaching for her, yet their palms were clasped together and raised high in Ivar's excitement.

"You were smart to pick Ubbe," Ivar had told her during the feast. Floki had used some of the blood from the blót to draw Freyr's runes on Ivar's cheek. They crinkled with his smile as he complimented her.

She had pointed out that Ubbe fought with his mind first, where as Björn rushed fully in with his body. That made Ivar tap her forehead, smiling again.

Perhaps it had been the fact they were surrounded by others, or Ivar's insistence that Rúna sit beside him during the feast, or his happiness to be analyzing Ubbe's win…whatever it was that kept Queen Aslaug at bay, Rúna was thankful for it. She had been pinned beneath the queen's glares all through the feasting, much as she tried to distract herself with Ivar's analysis of his brothers' individual skill during the wrestling match.

Rúna thought about all of this while laying in bed. She twirled her doll between her hands, just at Ivar had done, watching the rotations in the moonlight. Her mind was spinning in a similar fashion, trying, not for the first time, to reconcile the Ivar that Sigurd saw with the Ivar she knew.

"Ivar, Ivar, Ivar…" she murmured to herself. "What will we ever do with you?"

She knew his temper. It had only been physically directed at her the one time, when he had hit her when they were children. He got that temper from Aslaug, though where hers was seething, Ivar's burned bright. Sigurd got the ire most often, though Ubbe and Hvitserk were certainly no strangers to it themselves.

Not that Aslaug was immune, either, though Ivar had always been exempt from his mother's anger.

Sigurd did have a habit of throwing barbs at Ivar, though. Rúna couldn't deny that Ivar's anger was sometimes seemingly unfounded, but other times Sigurd brought it on himself.

I am going to drive myself crazy, Rúna thought. What a puzzle the sons of Ragnar Lothbrok had proven to be for her. She sighed, hugging her doll to her chest as had been her habit since Ivar gave it to her, and rolled over to wait for sleep to claim her.

The hard smack of Ivar's sword against her hip left Rúna sucking her breath between her teeth. Ivar only used a blunted sword when they trained together, but the dullness of the blade did little to take away the bite.

"You should have been able to block that," Ivar stated plainly, no remorse on his face even as she grabbed at her hip. She glared, making a swipe at him with her shield. It was easily blocked by Ivar's hand, though, rendering her vengeance futile. "You're in your head, Rúna. It will be your death in a battle."

Sighing, Rúna tossed her shield to the side. "I don't want to train anymore."

"If you cannot best a cripple with a blunted sword sitting on a stump, how will you call yourself shieldmaiden?"

She ignored him, sinking into the grass and rolling onto her back. A few moments later, she heard the rustling of the grass, signaling Ivar moving to lay beside her. Head lolling to the side, Rúna met Ivar's eye.

"Ivar, why did you laugh when Siggy died?"

Dark brows drew together instantly, a scowl overtaking his full lips. "Why are you still thinking of this now?"

Sighing, Rúna turned her gaze back to the watery blue sky. Before she could speak, Ivar all but spit his brother's name. "Sigurd."

"Hali," Rúna countered. "Holding Björn and Torvi's baby made me think of it." She could feel his gaze on her cheek, but if he thought her bluffing, he didn't call her out on it.

This time, Ivar sighed. "And if I do not want to tell you?"

"You never named your stakes for our bet. A bet I won, so would it not be logical for me to choose my reward?" Ivar laughed heartily, one of his rare belly laughs. They were hard to come by, typically elicited when Ivar was caught off-guard.

"Not here, where my brothers might easily find us." He rolled himself beside her, pushing himself up onto his hands. In Rúna's opinion, Ivar was still too pale to be crawling around unassisted. She didn't like the look of the dark circles underscoring his eyes, but she also knew how stubborn he so often was. Her offer to help him had already been blown away by an indignant snort earlier that afternoon.

It was not lost on her at all, however, how Ivar altered his typical crawl to tuck his knees beneath him as much as he could. He may refuse to admit that his cuts and bruises on his thighs still bothered him, but his actions spoke what he wouldn't. Shaking her head, Rúna fell in step beside him as he led them from the forest meadow they trained in.

Ivar's path had them trekking up over the crest of a midsize hill, from which they could see the meadow through the young, sapling trees that grew in this part of the forest. Sunlight filtered green through the leaves here, painting Ivar's face with an almost ghostly glow. When he decided they were in the perfect spot, Ivar rolled himself again, fitting his back against a tree trunk and patting the ground beside him.

Rúna pulled her knees to her chest, resting her head atop her folded arms and watching Ivar's face. His mind was always working, she knew, and sometimes you could see the process of his spinning mind in the twist of his mouth. It was several moments before he spoke.

"My mother is a volva. You know that." She nodded, chin pressing into her folded arms. "When I was small, I did not believe her. How could my mother be a volva? She looks nothing like the Seer, not ancient and gnarled. Besides, she cannot even control what or how much she sees! Mother always told us the story of prophesizing the snake in Sigurd's eye, and there were little things. Visions she would have of a ruined crop if we didn't take precautions, or a ship that would be lost on unseen rocks. Everyone believed her visions, but I wanted it proven to me."

He picked at a loose thread in his trousers, keeping his eyes resolutely trained away from her. "I pestered her about it. She must have been sick of me, I am sure. It took years, but Mother finally said she would prove it to me. She told me she had a vision a child would drown in three days' time…and Siggy did."

Words failed her terribly just then, though Rúna opened her mouth in an attempt to respond.

"I laughed because Mother had been right, and I was excited. Siggy was nothing to me. I was frightened it would be someone else, as Mother did not tell me who would drown. If it had been Ubbe or Hvitserk, had they returned earlier, or you, I would have been upset. Even Sigurd drowning would have saddened me. But Mother proved herself to me, and I had not lost anything in it, so I was…excited, I suppose."

He soldiered on. "I know Sigurd resents me for laughing that day. And for Harbard because I did not hate him. I liked Harbard. When he came to Kattegat, the pains in my legs was not so bad. I do not know how he did it. All Harbard did was touch my legs, and the pain would leave me. I did not care so much about what Mother did with Harbard, not the way Sigurd did."

"Ivar…" Rúna forced herself to speak around the leaden lump that had risen in her throat. She had no idea how to frame any of her thoughts into words. His face crumpled for just a moment before setting into a hard scowl. But in that moment, she saw all the sadness and fear he was so quick to hide away.

"Do you resent me now, as Sigurd does? Do you hate me?"

"Oh, Ivar." They were sitting close enough together for her to easily rest her head on his shoulder. The weight of his rested atop her own. Pieces of a puzzle Rúna had never understood before were clicking into place even as she told him, "I would never hate you."

Sometimes, Queen Aslaug invited Rúna into her bedroom to dress or undress her hair for her. This was a common task for one of Aslaug's slaves, but when Rúna performed it, the task was meant to be an honor. It didn't make sense to Rúna, but Helga had taught her better than to argue with the queen.

Rúna had insisted on seeing Ivar home to the great hall, not liking the persistent pallor in his cheeks. The queen had caught her there, instructing Rúna to accompany her.

"Inga does lovely work, but so tight. I would be hopeless, trying to undo the braids myself."

Aslaug sat before her, back ramrod straight. As Rúna began to work, they were quiet, each of them listening to Ivar's shuffling in the great hall. His mood had remained sour throughout the trek back to Kattegat, so much so that he announced he was going to sleep. Rúna was halfway finished unwinding the first braid when it had been quiet for long enough she felt safe Ivar wouldn't overhear.

"Queen Aslaug," she said slowly, picking and choosing her words carefully, "I am sorry we did not bring Ivar to you immediately the day before last."

"I am sorry, too." Her words were measured and cold. "Each of you knew better. Do not think I am not disappointed in you as well."

Rúna took a deep breath, releasing it slowly as she finger-combed the queen's sandy hair, so like Hvitserk's. "I know. We did." Agreeing was the easiest route to get it over with. Rúna never felt like herself when she was with Aslaug. She felt like an animal, almost. A prey animal, pinned beneath the glare of its most feared predator.

"Ivar insists you are a smart girl, but I do not see it. If you know, then you should do as you're told."

"Yes, Queen Aslaug."

"You would be nothing but a used-up girl if I had not sent Helga to fetch you from that brothel."

Here, Rúna had to grit her teeth and bite her tongue. Though it had been years since she had seen the shack or the girls who had lived there, Rúna wouldn't have considered them 'used-up'. They had been loving and fun, from what she remembered, bright-eyed as they helped each other prepare for the night's work.

She made herself ground out another 'Yes, Queen Aslaug'.

"You know how much Ivar means to me, Rúna. I would not stand losing him. There would be consequences, Rúna."

These reprimands were not new. They didn't cause Rúna's fingers to falter in the slightest, but she would be lying if the words didn't make her heart race. She liked to think the words no longer shamed her as they did when she was a child, turning her face red as her hair while Aslaug belittled her.

"Of course, Queen Aslaug. Thank you for reminding me."