Chapter Six: The Will of the Gods

When Rúna trained with Ivar and his brothers or helped Floki with his boat building, she wore shieldmaiden clothing: trousers not unlike a man's usual garb, a tunic cinched with a leather belt, and supple, flexible leather boots. The boots, like so much in her life, were Floki's design.

Or, rather, his idea, though Rúna and Helga had brought them to fruition. The soles were thin, allowing Rúna to still feel the earth beneath her feet. More often, she was feeling wood, gripping with her toes to keep her balance as she worked on the sail masts. Just now, she was scooting her way along the crossbeam of a blackened mast, toes gripping the wood through the leather soles.

"What do you think, huh?" Floki called to her. "Do we have some building to do, my girl?"

"Blackened," Rúna called back. She walked the length of the beam several times, pressing her weight on it to show Floki the wood still held structural integrity. "But not burned out. Thor must not have been too angry that day."

Floki's giggle drifted to her on the sea breeze. Rúna walked to the very edge of the mast crossbeam before jumping, landing in a splash, feet cushioned by the sand just below the shallow waves. "Perhaps it will be a lesson to Björn not to set sail in a storm, just like I told him, hmm?"

"They should call him Ironhead rather than Ironsides." She again elicited Floki's high-pitched giggle with her joke. Rúna loved the days she got to spend working on boats with Floki—even when all the work was administering repairs for Björn's rough sailing.

"We will give it a good sealing, then, to get a few more trade voyages out of this one." His words were punctuated by the thunk of his bucket, filled with Floki's sealing concoction. "You work from the top, Rúna, and I will work from the bottom. We will meet in the middle."

"Now you tell me, when I have already jumped off!" She dodged Floki's attempt to snap her with his rag, shimmying her way back up the mast. Once seated on the crossbeam, Floki threw a sealant-drenched rag to her. They worked in silence, the music of the waves and seabirds the only sounds, but Rúna's mind was loud. She was still thinking of Ivar and Harbard and Siggy, and what it all meant.

Well, what she had decided it must mean, based on what she knew. Harbard was a name that Odin sometimes took, and it was surely within a god's realm of power to walk among humans in Midgard. But was Harbard missing an eye? Rúna couldn't say, having never seen the man herself. Maybe that wasn't important, though. The gods were surely capable of choosing how they appeared to humans.

Say Harbard was Odin, though. Ivar said himself that Harbard would take the pain from his legs. That would mean Odin-as-Harbard had done a service for a human, and such a service required a sacrifice. And that, in turn, would explain why children drowned when Harbard came to Kattegat. If all Rúna's musings were true, that would mean…

"Rúna!" Floki's voice was so loud and harsh that she jumped, nearly losing her balance. "If we are renaming Björn Ironhead, perhaps you should become Rúna-Nothing-in-Her-Head."

The taunt sent a shiver down her back, the rhythm of Floki's nickname mirroring Sigurd-Snake-in-the-Eye too closely for her liking. Her focus called back to her surroundings, Rúna realized that he was calling for her rag to soak it again in sealant. She tossed it down to him, watching the bend of his shaved head.

"Floki, do the gods ever put themselves in service to humans without a blót?" Her question spilled from her lips almost unbidden; certainly before Rúna could think better of asking it.

"Gods show their favor to humans all the time," Floki said mildly. "They have been abundantly kind to Kattegat."

The rag plopped into her waiting hand, sealant running over her fingers. She pressed the rag to the wood in front of her, weighing her words this time as she buffed. "Yes, that's true, but not what I meant. I mean, do the gods perform service for humans unbidden?"

She met his black-rimmed eyes when Floki tipped his head back. He was squinting, whether against the sun or to scrutinize her, she couldn't say. "What's brought this on?"

"Harbard," Rúna said softly. Floki's head whipped around, to where Helga stood not-so-far-away on the shore, repairing a sail. Björn and Ubbe still used Ragnar's black flags; the one Helga was repairing had been long suffering even before the ship it adorned was struck by lightning.

"Come down, Rúna."

She did as he bid her, letting herself hang from the crossbeam, feet dangling. Shimmying to the left, Rúna positioned herself to land on one of the rowing benches before dropping her weight. Floki waved her forward, so that Helga wouldn't overhear. Harbard was a touchy subject for Helga, Rúna knew. Her crumpled-in face at the mention of Harbard's name, from all those years ago, flashed through Rúna's mind.

"Why are you thinking of Harbard?"

"Ivar…he told me, when Harbard would come to Kattegat when he was small, that Harbard would take the pain from his legs. That he would touch Ivar's legs, and the pain would go away. And you taught me that Harbard is a name that Odin has been known to use. I was thinking, perhaps, that Harbard could have been Odin, no? Taking the pain from Ivar's legs? Everyone says that King Ragnar was favored by the gods, so would his sons not also be? If Harbard was Odin in disguise, and he was taking Ivar's pain, that would explain the drownings. Odin-as-Harbard must have taken the children as sacrifice for Ivar's pain."

Floki's face was passive as she rambled, so much so that Rúna began to feel a blush heat her cheeks. Perhaps she was stupid to think that Harbard could have been a god…but then Floki took her face between his hands, pressing a hard kiss to her forehead.

"You clever, clever girl." He smiled wide, so obviously proud that it made her heart swell. "It has always been just in front of our faces, hasn't it? But what has brought all this on? Ivar is not fond of speaking about Harbard."

That was true enough, and Harbard himself was not what connected the pieces for Rúna. Helga had taught her so well to be pleasing and demure when it came to Queen Aslaug that saying her next words felt almost like a betrayal. "Ivar also told me that he did not believe that Queen Aslaug is a volva, that he pestered her for proof. When Harbard came back to Kattegat, she told Ivar she could prove it to him and told him she had foreseen a child drowning in the coming days…"

Rúna looked up at Floki though her lashes, watching the realization dawn on his face. "Siggy."

"Mmm," she agreed. "Do you…do you believe the queen to be a volva, truly?"

Here, Floki's face clouded over. He looked past her, to the steely blue sea beyond. "Yes. Her visions differ from the Seer's—"

Her laugh interrupted his sentence, turning his expression to surprise once more. "That's just what Ivar said, exactly the same!"

Floki shrugged, not bothering to pursue that track of conversation any longer.

"Aslaug is many things, Rúna, and I dislike most of them. I do not doubt her visions, though I can see you understand, now, her motives in sharing her visions are seldom innocent. A blind man could see how Ivar is favored over his brothers. I believe the only thing that would break Aslaug would be losing Ivar, and she cannot have him straying too far, can she? Whether that is creating absolute faith in her visions or opposing his independence in crawling, as she used to. Now, back up you go, Rúna. We have work to tend to."

Rúna was sent back up the mast with her thoughts. Getting confirmation from Floki had done little to soothe her concerns about Aslaug, but it did reassure her somewhat. If Harbard had been Odin in disguise and he had taken Siggy's life as a sacrifice, then her life was not wasted. Her mind wandered back to the night of the sacrifice made for Ragnar and Kattegat, holding tight to Ivar's hand, the warm splatter of blood.

Becoming a sacrifice to the gods is a great honor, she reminded herself, balancing herself along the crossbeam on her stomach to buff down below.

Sigurd could no longer be mad at Ivar over Siggy's death if he knew the truth.

The older boy had his arms crossed, holding tight to his elbows while Rúna explained. Sigurd was beginning to grow a beard, she noticed, the golden hairs along his lip catching the light as he scowled.

"You truly believe Harbard to be a god, Rúna?" He looked skeptical, back rigid.

"It would explain it all…not just with Ivar, either. What is it that you heard Harbard tell those women? That he could heal them?"

A roll of those unusual eyes. "He just wanted to have sex with those women."

"I doubt he was having sex with Ivar."

"But he was with Mother, and Father wasn't even gone then."

"Why do anything nice for Ivar at all if his only goal was to have sex with Aslaug?"

The two argued back and forth in hushed tones, secreted away in the doorway to Sigurd's cabin. Each of Aslaug's sons had cabins adjacent to the great hall, though Rúna had only ever been inside Ivar's. After some time of whisper-shouted objections, Sigurd threw his hands up in defeat.

"Fine, Rúna! I can see the logic in it, but I do not like it. I do not like the idea that Ivar would be favored by the gods over us. He is already favored by Mother."

"Who is to say that the rest of you are not also favored?" Rúna asked. She tapped her finger below his serpentine eye. "One could argue that is a mark of favor from the gods."

He swatted her hand away, still irritated, but his face softened. "Why do you do this, Rúna? You always craft a defense for him even when he does not deserve it. Or years later, like now."

The question threw her. She opened and closed her mouth, unsure how to respond, color rising in her face. It was so easy to get a blush out of her, and she hated it. "Siggy…it had never left my mind, either. I…I do see it, Sigurd, the bad that shows in Ivar sometimes, but…it's not for nothing, can you not see that?"

He stood still, pinning her under his gaze, studying her. "He is good to you," Sigurd finally said after great length. "Always. And he is good to Floki. Mother, Hvitserk, Ubbe, Björn...he can be good to them, too. How often is he good to me?"

"How often are you good to him?" Rúna asked, turning the question back on him. She left him, then, slipping out of the shelter of the doorway. If she spent anymore time talking in circles with Sigurd, she would be late meeting Ivar. She thought he needed more healing; Ivar insisted he had lost enough days already not practicing his walking. It was a short walk to Ivar's cabin, from Sigurd's.

She let herself in without knocking, finding Ivar playing hnefatafl against himself. While she shut the door behind her, Ivar took hold of his binds to swing his legs up onto the bench. He was already halfway through the buckles and laces, hands practiced and quick, by the time Rúna crossed the room to help him. Together, they replaced the binds with braces. The left set ran from Ivar's hip down to his ankle, to provide extra support to the weaker of his legs. His right brace was only from just below the knee to the ankle, but both were made of the rigid, reinforced leather as his arm braces, and attached to a belt that had loops to secure his crutches to.

"Will you pull the shutters?" Ivar asked, already striking a flint to light candles on the table before him to give them light. "My crutches are next to my bed."

Ivar's cabin, like his brothers', she assumed, had one-room. A large hearth sat in the center of one wall; directly across was his bed, piled with fur blankets. Aslaug and Rúna had weaved the rug the bed sat upon themselves. She walked across the now-faded red and brown pattern to retrieve the crutches before crossing to the window.

Rúna did as he asked, pulling the shutters tight so that no one passing by might see what they were doing. Aslaug hated that Ivar tried to walk as it was; should she know that he was practicing even now, while recovering from his self-inflicted injuries, Rúna would have no doubt there would be trouble. For her, specifically.

The crutches Ivar used were tipped with metal spikes, allowing him to plant them firmly into earth or wooden floor alike. He did so now, getting a solid grip before hauling himself upright. Grunting, Ivar shifted his weight until his feet were flat on the ground.

He's already breathing heavy. Rúna worried at her sleeve, folding the fabric between her fingers again and again. She was silent as she watched him move first one and then the other crutch. Some days, when they practiced, Ivar was able to shuffle his legs independently to take steps. But today was not one of those days. His legs were stiff, moving together though unbound. Ivar had to swing his hips and legs alike, grunting again when his feet hit the floor. He'll ask for help if he needs it.

Ivar made it to the other end of the room, turning himself carefully. When he was facing her once more, she saw the sweat beading his forehead. Again, his face was ghostly pale beneath his close-cropped dark hair. He smiled at her despite his bedraggled appearance, a smile Rúna returned on reflex.

But that smile wasn't enough to fuel him much farther. Before reaching the middle of the room, Ivar faltered on his crutch, body listing to the side. Rúna caught him in his fall, crouching as she guided him down. "I told you it was too soon."

His answer to her reprimanding was a cold, blue glare. "Is it exhausting, Rúna, knowing all that there is to know on this earth? Shall I notify the Seer he is no longer needed, when we can ask you for answers instead?"

"I would hate to put the Seer out of a job," Rúna said more mildly, leaving Ivar on the floor to fetch him a cup of water. "Besides, I think I make a better boat builder than a Seer."

Pushing himself up on his elbow, Ivar accepted the cup. He drained it in three huge gulps, letting the cup roll from his hand as he flopped onto his back. Rúna sat cross-legged beside him.

"You're perfect as a pain in the ass." His hands shook when he ran them down his face. Then he grabbed his crutches, disconnecting them from his belt and throwing them away from him. They clattered against the wall, though Rúna didn't think they looked broken after a quick assessment. Rúna kept quiet for a beat, refusing to rise to Ivar's taunt.

Ivar laid on the floor, shallow breaths slowly regulating as he stared up at the ceiling. Eventually, his head fell to the side. When he spoke, his voice was small and quiet. "Would you heat some water so I can wash my face?"

Evening was upon them, which meant Ivar must get to the great hall soon for dinner with Aslaug and his brothers. Showing up to table with a sweat-streaked face would draw concern and suspicion from the queen, given Ivar's still-healing injuries. "Do you want tea, too?"

"You should not call that concoction tea," Ivar told her from the floor. "Sane men call it poison."

He did not object, however, to Rúna brewing a cup of the herbal tea she made for him when he was hurting. By that time, Ivar had gathered the strength to crawl to the table and haul himself back onto the bench. Each of his braces clattered to the floor in turn before the sound of water splashing filled the cabin. She presented the tea to him with a dramatic bow, earning herself a snort of derisive laughter.

When he took the cup from her, his hand still shook. The cup audibly hit his teeth, a rivulet of tea rolling down his chin as he drained it. He grimaced against the taste, nose crinkling and mouth twisting. The medicine had turned his voice thick. "Will you help me with my bindings?"

She gently pulled his legs into her lap, fitting the leather binds over each of his shins. This had become routine to her, over the years. She had never balked at the too-thin anatomy of his legs, the prominent feel of bone where there should have been the cushioning of muscle and fat. However, she was concerned about the slight tremor that ran through his legs. He had pushed himself too far, she knew, but she also knew that pointing that out to Ivar would do no good for either of them.

"Is it too tight?" Rúna asked, straightening and aligning the bindings so they would be easier to buckle together. She slipped her finger in the space between the binding and his leg, making sure it wouldn't be cutting into his skin.

"No," he said softly. "It feels good."

She nodded, doing up the straps and buckles that connected his legs together, Ivar watching all the while. When she was finished, Rúna glanced up at him. Ivar turned away immediately, splotches of red rising in his cheeks that Rúna took for a fever. She reached out to touch his face, but Ivar caught her hand, not ungently. "Care to play hnefatafl, Rúna?"

"What about getting to the great hall?" Despite her question, Rúna was rearranging the pieces on the game board for a new match. "Aslaug will miss you at table."

"Then she will send one of my brothers to fetch me." So, even he knew that taking himself to the great hall wasn't a good idea at the moment.

"We should undo the buckles on your binds, then," Rúna pointed out, making the first move of the game.

"No. Whoever comes for me can throw me over his shoulder as if I were a dead man for all I care."

So obstinate. Rúna suppressed her smirk, scratching at her nose to cover it while Ivar considered his next move. They had played each other in hnefatafl so many times that all predictability had been removed. Each time the board came out, the two spent hours trying to out-think the other. After great length, Ivar moved a piece past the midpoint of the board, 'invading' her side of the board. Clearly pleased with himself, Ivar crossed his arms across his chest and leaned back, smirking.

They had begun keeping count of victories when they were nine. To date, Ivar had won one hundred sixty-five games and Rúna had won one hundred sixty-three. Incomplete games or rounds that ended in draws were never counted in victory totals.

Rúna tucked her legs beneath herself, leaning across the table to get an aerial view of the board. Her teeth worried over her lower lip while she considered her moves and how Ivar might respond. Fingers hovering over a less powerful piece, she heard Ivar huff. She glared up at him, grabbing the piece and moving it in stubborn defiance.

Back-and-forth the pair continued, so engrossed in their game that neither noticed Ubbe's arrival until he cleared his throat. Ivar's head shot up in surprise while Rúna twisted in her seat. Ubbe was smirking, blue eyes bright with humor. "Mother is waiting, Ivar."

"A true tragedy. Ubbe, be a good big brother and carry the cripple."

Ubbe chuckled, coming forward when Ivar reached for him. Just as Ivar had said earlier, he had his brother sling him over his shoulder. When Ubbe reached the door, Ivar picked his head up to smile at Rúna and mouth 'tomorrow'.

The next day's walking practice went marginally better than the first. Ivar made two full passages across the room before Rúna was helping him to the floor. This time, though, he nearly became tangled in her skirts as they sunk down. Ivar sputtered and swat the green fabric away from his face, making Rúna roll her eyes at his dramatics.

"It is so much easier when you wear your training clothes," Ivar complained, laying flat on his back with his arms flung wide. He was not so pale today, the shaking not nearly so pronounced.

"We didn't train today, and there was no boat work to do. Dressing that way would be suspicious, no?"

"I am fated to tangle and suffocate in your skirts, then, I suppose." He gave the hem of her skirt a gentle tug, but she still knocked his hand away.

"Tear my skirt and I will tear you, Ivar. I spent too many hours sewing it for you to ruin it." Rúna had spent nearly a whole month sitting beside Helga in the evenings, embroidering the hem of this dress with a vine and flower pattern.

This proved to be the wrong thing to say, inspiring Ivar to roll himself onto his stomach and make another grab at her skirt, smirking all the while. Rúna squealed, clutching her skirts and backing away immediately, though she was laughing. Ivar was so quick, lunging and making mostly futile attempts to get a handful of fabric. They danced an evasive circle around the room.

"I will end you!" She threatened despite her smile, backing up until her back hit the table, at which point she hastily climbed on top.

"Trying to get the high ground on a cripple?" Ivar pulled himself up onto his knees, leaning his torso over the table to get her ankle. "You know that has never stopped me."

He gave a little tug, not enough to upset her and send her flying off the table. Blue eyes shining with excitement, Ivar raised a dark brow.

"I yield!" Rúna nearly shouted through her breathy laughter. He released her ankle, popping the leather strap of her summer sandal before retreating. While Rúna tried to climb down from the table with at least a small shred of dignity, Ivar sat leaned back and smirking. "You must be feeling better if you're being a pain."

"Have I any other choice?" Ivar mused, pulling himself up onto the bench. He poured his own water today, offering a second cup to Rúna. "Poor Ivar, the cripple boy. What fun would it be, to let them be right?"

Rúna smoothed her mussed—though unharmed—skirt, tucking it under her as she sat across from him. Their game of hnefatafl sat unfinished on the board. They had left off on her turn, and she pillowed her chin in her palm while she thought.

"No fun at all," she admitted. "Speaking of, when do you leave for the summer hunting trip?"

Every year, the sons of Ragnar hunted in the mountains together. Ivar scowled, though. "Hvitserk may be fun, and perhaps Ubbe. Björn is bringing Guthrum this year."

Guthrum was Torvi's son from her first marriage, about twelve, if Rúna had to guess. More than old enough for a hunt. If she had to guess, Ivar's displeasure with the boy joining the summer hunt had little to do with Guthrum and much more to do with how Ivar may compare to him.

She didn't want to lose the good cheer Ivar had been in moments ago. "I spoke with Floki about what you told me about Harbard…how he would take your pain away."

"Oh?" Ivar didn't look up from the board, fingers fluttering over his pieces as he planned, but his face did relax some. "What did the old boatbuilder have to say?"

Here, she pitched her voice low, despite the closed shutters. "We both agree Harbard was a god."

Her revelation gave Ivar only the briefest of pauses before he made his next move. "My father said something similar, once. Before you came to Kattegat. I did not believe him."

"Floki believes it," Rúna insisted, "And I do, too."

A snort of amusement, not at all unlike Floki's, had her raising her head to meet Ivar's eyes. "Why? Explain it to me, Rúna."

The game was forgotten between them as Rúna leaned over the table. "Can you explain how he took your pain away?"

Ivar's mouth twisted, but she didn't give him time to respond. "No, you cannot. How could an ordinary man do such a thing? I have never seen a healer do such a thing, and I would bet you never have, either. Children drowned when Harbard was in Kattegat. Too many times to be a coincidence, I should think. When we ask favor from the gods, we make a sacrifice, so would it not make sense for a god to take a sacrifice when favor is given unbidden?"

"I am a cripple, Rúna. The gods did not even show me favor at birth."

"If that were true, you would have died in the woods when Ragnar left you there, would you not? You are smarter than your brothers, and stronger. What is all that if not favor from the gods?"

He was quiet for so long the silence became a deafening roar in Rúna's ears. Sitting and staring at his hands, unmoving, until finally Ivar raised his head. A sharp sort of smile played at his lips, hand shooting out to move make a defensive blow to one of her pieces on the game board.

"It's your turn, Rúna," Ivar said, words punctuated by the clink of her fallen game piece hitting the table.

A/N: I'm genuinely having such a fun time writing this. It warms my heart that people have actually been reading it! Thank you again to everyone who has been following, favoriting, and reviewing. It means so more than you know!

TeatimeTurbulence-I have something similar planned between Ivar/Aslaug/Rúna coming somewhat soon! :)