Chapter Eight: Homecoming

Since the night of the attempted ambush, Lagertha had insisted on a constant watch along the city wall. Lagertha's plans had changed as well; rather than staying just a few days to help Torvi with baby Hali during the fall cleaning, she decided to stay until Björn and the others returned. She called on Rúna every evening to train with herself, Torvi, and the two shieldmaidens that had travelled to Kattegat with Lagertha.

Rúna saw Lagertha in a new light, in those days, especially after walking into an argument between the shieldmaiden and the queen. She had been summoned by Aslaug, she assumed, for some errand or another.

Sometimes Rúna doubted that Aslaug remembered she was not, after all, one of her many slave girls.

Aslaug was nearly beside herself, wine cup clutched in her hand. Rúna had just been relieved from a wall-watch duty by an older girl named Astrid. She was dark-haired, lithe in her movements, and part of the shieldmaidens Lagertha had brought with her for the visit. Rúna thought they should all be thanking the gods for Lagertha's shieldmaidens after their bloody night.

"The gods have forsaken Kattegat," Aslaug slurred, her words stilling Rúna at the huge doors of the great hall. "It took them long enough, but we are forsaken, just as Ragnar was forsaken."

Pressing her back to the wall, Rúna tried to blend into the shadows. Interrupting Aslaug might anger her, but so might eavesdropping. Wine moods, Ubbe called them, turned Aslaug unpredictable. She would have to time it just right to make her presence known.

"Kattegat is not forsaken," Lagertha contradicted. "If it were, that paltry raiding party would have overtaken us and usurped your seat. Perhaps, rather, this is a lesson from the gods."

"A lesson! And what lesson might that be?"

"Forgive me for speaking out of turn, Queen Aslaug, but it seems to me that Kattegat is ill-prepared for many dangers, not just the one we faced a few nights ago. Torvi and Rúna are the only known shieldmaidens, and that night was Rúna's first real taste of fighting. All the boys left in Kattegat during the hunt are too young to fight. I think it would be of great benefit if you had Torvi, and Björn when he returns, train any women who show interest in learning to fight. There is never any harm in increasing your number of warriors, after all."

From the shadows, Rúna watched Aslaug swirl her wine in her mouth. Eventually, she conceded, "I can see the value in that."

Lagertha nodded, Aslaug's agreement apparently bolstering her for the quip that came next. "Perhaps the leadership of Kattegat should not be doused in wine, either."

Just then, Rúna very much wished she could truly melt away into the shadows. What had possessed Lagertha to speak so baldly to Aslaug? The queen straightened her back, pulling herself to her full height to tower over the smaller Lagertha. "What did you say?"

"Kattegat has become a trading town. There are vendors in and out each day. Do you really think they don't talk? How easy it would have been to overthrow Kattegat and usurp a drunk queen's throne, had there been more men and even less of a defense than we had that night. Five shieldmaidens, and only two who reside here. What is more important, Aslaug, that wine or keeping Kattegat secure for your sons? Ubbe will never sit your throne if you drink it away."

Scowling, Aslaug gripped her cup so tightly that Rúna was surprised it didn't shatter in her palm. She knew what was coming next. Before Aslaug had a chance to throw the wine cup at Lagertha, Rúna reached behind her to slam the door as if she had just walked through. Moving from the shadows, she hoped desperately her face was calm and not betraying her panic.

"Queen Aslaug, you sent for me?" Rúna stopped a few feet behind Lagertha, putting on her deferential show by dropping her gaze toward the floor and dipping her head.

"Rúna." Her name sounded like a swear. "Yes. Come, dear. Lagertha, go."

Aslaug only called her 'dear' when others were around. The pet name felt no different than when Aslaug called her an idiot when she was displeased. Still, she followed the queen into her bedroom, where Aslaug all but tossed the remainder of her wine into Rúna's hands. "Drink the rest of that."

She did so in three quick gulps, honeyed wine thick and cloying in her mouth. The alcohol went straight to her head, making her feel light and a little dizzy. Aslaug did not look away until the cup had been drained. Only then did she take a seat, turning her back on Rúna and holding her hand out signaling for the girl to wait. Lingering in the doorway, Rúna watched the queen pull a strand of beads from a small box. When she held them up to frame Rúna's face, the beads caught the sunlight and sent refracting, shimmering light all around the room.

"These will match that blue dress of yours nicely," Aslaug murmured. "And the contrast will be striking in your hair. You'll wear them for the feast when my sons return in two days' time."

"Yes, Queen Aslaug." The beads felt unnaturally sharp in her palm; a threat cloaked in generosity.

"I know you're proud of that green dress, but you look better in blue. It brings out the silver in your eyes. Shockingly, you are not an ugly girl, despite your origins, Rúna. You would do well to use that to your advantage. A pretty face will serve you far more than shieldmaiden skills when it comes to men."

Ah. So there it was. The queen, so used to being unchallenged, was upset by Lagertha's new presence in Rúna's life.

When her silence stretched too long, Aslaug spun on her heel, flames in her black-rimmed eyes as she spat her question. "You'd like a husband one day, wouldn't you?"

"I, um, suppose so?" The reply came as a question, catching Rúna off guard and multiplying the dizziness she already felt from the wine. Before that very moment, when Aslaug presented her with that future possibility, the thought had not much—if ever—crossed her mind.

Aslaug's laugh was a harsh bark, wine-scented breath washing over Rúna's face. "You suppose. I worried spending so much time with the boys would have this affect." A flick of the hand left Rúna flinching away from the queen, though she was only waving away her thoughts. "Never mind. You will wear those beads with your blue dress. I didn't gift you the silver thread for the embroidery on that dress for you to waste it."

"Yes, Queen Aslaug. Of course." The smile that response elicited was tight and bitter, all fangs.

"Yes, Queen Aslaug," she mimicked. "Such an obedient girl. I like that about you, Rúna. Now go."

Taking leave of the great hall was all too easy for Rúna. She clutched the beads in her palm, forcing herself to maintain a normal stride though she would have liked to scurry away. Somehow, Rúna managed to hold her leisurely pace until she reached the edge of town; from there, she broke into a run until she reached the seaside cabin she shared with Floki and Helga.

The stars were still heavy, horizon just barely turning gray, when Ivar slipped out of his and Hvitserk's shared cloaks. His brother did not stir, not even as Ivar crawled around collecting his things. Skinning knife, bow slung across his back, quiver of arrows. The last of the strawberries Rúna had given him. A skin of ale. That was all he would take with him on this solo hunting expedition.

Ivar had noticed a buck, twice as large as the one Sigurd had felled and taken from him, but this time he had told no one. Instead, he kept careful, silent track of the beast. This deer would be his. It would easily be the main dish of the fall feast when they returned, while the deer Sigurd stole from him would be cast off, the meat used for drying into winter stores instead.

Early morning frost crunched beneath him, biting at his fingers and palms as he made his way out of the tent he shared with Hvitserk and away from the camp. Perhaps he should have woken Hvitserk when he slipped out…no. Hvitserk would have woken Ubbe and Björn in turn, and his plans would be spoiled. There was no way but this one if he intended to follow through.

There was a clearing he was almost certain he would find the stag in, the only issue being that the clearing was in a sunken valley. Not much of an issue… if Ivar had fully functioning legs. He took a self-indulgent moment to curse his crippled lower body before flexing his hands. They had grown almost numb in the chill of the morning and the frost. He would need them pliant and flexible if he was to pull himself up the hill that crested the valley and then into that valley itself.

I should have brought my spikes. Never before had he needed them on any hunting trip, let alone the annual fall hunt. Sometimes he used the spikes at home, when his legs were especially stiff or painful. As it was, the best he could currently manage was tightly binding his legs with rope so they wouldn't get in the way. He paused at a tree, pressing his back to the trunk for support to do just that.

Despite the cold, Ivar could feel the slick sheen of sweat on his skin beneath his clothes. It added to his chill, so that he had to hold his muscles rigid lest he begin shaking. He didn't need to shake just now. Wrapping and tying the rope did wonders for his stiff fingers, warming them despite the cold.

The trek upward had him grunting through his teeth. Dragging his weight on the incline, with the thin, frosty air burning in his chest, was not an obstacle he had anticipated when he laid awake earlier that night planning his solo hunt. This was typically the terrain that his brothers or Floki would carry him through. Still, he persevered even when his arms began to shake from pulling his weight. Ivar was fairly certain his wrists would give out beneath him just when he crested the peak of the hill.

He pushed himself up and turned, taking hold of the rope bindings to swing his legs straight out before him. The ground beneath him was slick enough with melting frost that he easily slid downhill into the valley.

How he would manage to climb back out of the valley would be an obstacle to face, surely, but he had time enough to think of a solution. Presently, he was pressed with the challenge of either finding or constructing cover for him to watch from. Confined to the ground as he was, Ivar highly doubted that would be enough of a detriment for the stag to walk plainly in front of him.

Once sufficiently cloaked in greenery, Ivar settled his back against a tree trunk, bow laid out across his legs. A rumble in his stomach had him reaching into the little pouch, withdrawing the last of his dried strawberries. The sweetness melted across his tongue while he caught his breath. His sweat from earlier chilled him so that he was thankful when a warm, rising sun peeked over the hill.

He said a quick prayer to Odin, asking for the stag to appear before the others woke and realized he was gone.

Now he must begin his wait.

Training with Lagertha felt like the total opposite of training with Ivar and his brothers.

"You fight like a boy," Lagertha had told her the first day, a wry smile playing at her lips. "All arms and legs. It reminds me of Björn when he was younger."

The comparison had left her blushing, but Lagertha didn't seem to notice. Rather, she took Rúna by the arm, put a blunted sword in her hand, and positioned her in front of Astrid. "Strike her."

Rúna complied, swinging the sword in a sideswept arc she had learned from Sigurd, one that would have been brutal had her sword been sharp…and had it connected with her target. Instead, Astrid danced away from the blade.

"Again."

Her second stroke came from above and should have caught Astrid in the crook where neck meets shoulder. But, again, Astrid ducked away, dipping low and stepping back in one fluid motion.

At Lagertha's instruction, they repeated this routine until Rúna was left sweating and huffing for breath. In contrast, Astrid wore a self-satisfied smirk, blue eyes drifting to Lagertha for praise. She got what she wanted when the shieldmaiden squeezed the girl's shoulder before turning back to Rúna.

"You've proved to be skilled with a bow, accurate even in the dark. I know you are much stronger than your size would suggest. Your axe skills yesterday were impressive." Lagertha took the heavy sword from her, tossing it aside in the grass, before drawing her own sword and offering it to Rúna. "But that sword is too heavy for you, even with all your strength. You wield it as well as you can, I do not deny that, but it slows you down. It is a man's sword in a girl's hand, and I'm shocked my son and his brothers cannot see what a disservice a sword such as that is to you."

Rúna didn't bother to correct Lagertha's inclusion of Björn, though in truth, it was rare for the oldest brother to attend training sessions. Her use of the heavy, broad sword had more to do with Ubbe and Hvitserk, but she doubted those details mattered at that moment. Turning Lagertha's sword in her hand, the weight difference was markedly different. The hilt was shorter, fitting in her palm much nicer. Tentatively, Rúna took a swipe at the empty air.

Unlike the blunted sword, this blade whizzed through the air. It didn't feel heavy on her wrist when she wielded it. Her surprise must have shown on her face, because she looked up to see Lagertha smirking. "You'll use my sword for the rest of the day. Astrid? Come face Rúna again."

Together, Lagertha and Astrid taught her a new way to wield a sword. Luckily, Astrid now had a shield; Rúna's swings were sloppy and too forceful at the start. She caught the blade on Astrid's practice shield more than a few times as she became used to the lighter weight in her hand. Rúna had always been light on her feet—mostly thanks to Floki's design of her boots and all her work on his boats—and Lagertha taught her how to use this to her advantage. It wasn't long until she was dipping, skirting, spinning; dodging intended blows with the same fluid ease Astrid could.

Lagertha ran the two girls through drills until they were both left with clothing and hair sticking to them, faces slick with sweat. Rúna's sword strokes improved from it, though the repetition left her shoulder burning and her knees watery. They were rewarded with apples, heels of bread, and pulls of ale from Lagertha's skein while all three sat in the grass.

"What do you think?" Astrid asked. She was a mostly quiet girl, letting her cool blue eyes and feline features speak for her. "Does our training hold up to training with princes?"

Her wording gave Rúna pause. She forgot, often, that Ubbe, Hvitserk, Sigurd, and Ivar were indeed princes of Kattegat. Each of the sons were so vastly different from Aslaug—largely her only point of reference when it came to royals—that it was easy to forget their status. King Ragnar had left so soon after Rúna herself came to Kattegat, and they saw King Harald too infrequently for Rúna to form an opinion.

All she knew of kings and queens, truly, was Aslaug's hard, cold, detached ruling. This was not in line with Ubbe's fairness, Hvitserk's easy smiles, Sigurd's sensitivity, or Ivar's wit.

"It's surely different," Rúna eventually conceded, taking a bite of her apple nearly before her sentence finished so her mouth would be too busy to answer further.

Lagertha fixed her with another of her smirks over top of Astrid's head.

But the biggest surprise of training with Lagertha was waiting at home for Rúna. Furniture was all rearranged inside when she walked through the door, half of it pushed against one wall.

"Careful," Helga warned. "The floors are still wet."

Rúna pulled her boots off, leaving them just outside the door, lest she ruin any of Helga's hard work. "I'll move it all back when the floor is dry," she promised, tiptoeing across the room. The floorboards were slick and cold beneath her feet.

"We'll do the front room together," Helga amended. "But I do need you to move the furniture in your bedroom if you want a clean floor before winter."

Her shame at not having been home to help Helga with the first round of cleaning blinded Rúna to the mischievous glint in the woman's eyes. She tiptoed the rest of the way across the floor, slipping behind the curtain that hung in her bedroom doorway so that she might begin the process in her own room.

A glint caught her eye. The window shutters were open, letting late afternoon sunlight stream into the room to catch and reflect off… many things, really. The string of pale, pretty sea stones that Floki had hung across her ceiling when she was still a little girl; the beads Aslaug had given her, shining beside the polished looking mirror she used to dress her hair; and something metallic on her bed, which she did not register as a bare sword until she was standing over it.

Almost an exact copy of Lagertha's, with a shorter, thinner blade than the swords she had seen men wield. The pommel and cross guard were simple metal, the handle wrapped in dark leather to give a good grip in the hand. Just beneath the cross guard, two runes had been etched into the metal: ur and yr. Strength and protection.

"She brought it this morning, when I sent you into town for linen." Helga explained from the doorway. A deep blush burned in Rúna's cheeks. Her hand drifted toward the sword only to be snatched away, tucked against her chest as if she'd been burned.

"I can't accept this!" Her voice squeaked. Just trying to imagine the cost made her head swim. Helga laughed behind her.

"Think nothing of it, Rúna. This is Lagertha's way. She will only be offended, though she would never show it, should you try to refuse her generosity."

Rúna was so shocked by the sword she hadn't realized there was a leather sheath for it as well. She took no notice of it until Helga lifted the sword, sliding it out of sight beneath the leather, and presenting it to Rúna. Helga was still taller than her, though only just barely. Her stern look made her seem ten feet tall in that moment.

"If you insist on being a shieldmaiden, your wielding a sword like Lagertha's would ease my worries some."

"You could have been killed." Björn wore his serious face, the one that him look like a crumpled, wrinkled, rotten apple. Ivar only shrugged, self-satisfaction diffusing him too thoroughly for him to be overly worried by Björn's badgering.

"It's not the first time I've been alone in the woods… today it was by choice, is all." Ivar mused. This seemed to only frustrate his oldest brother; Björn sighed, running a hand over his head.

"And what would your mother have said, if I brought her your body? Or nothing at all? What if a bear had come?"

"Ah, yes, and I am not the great Björn Ironside, killer of bears, am I? No, just the pitiful youngest brother."

The slam of Björn's hands on the makeshift table merely rattled the wood. Ivar sat as still as ever, watching his brother's frustration hit a fever pitch.

"Dammit, Ivar! Do you not see the danger you put yourself in today? And for what? A deer? We've gotten plenty on this hunt!"

Ivar smiled then, cold as his icy gaze. He leaned forward, tapping Björn's hand where it still lay flat on the table.

"The biggest deer," he amended, a low chuckle slipping past his lips at Björn's incredulity as he took his leave. Ivar did not crawl far before encountering Floki's giggle.

"You owe Hvitserk an apology. He was nearly hysterical over waking to find you gone." Floki himself didn't seem very sorry, eyes bright with humor. He fell into step beside Ivar, keeping pace with him just like Rúna always did.

"I didn't mean to frighten him," he said mildly. It was true. Worrying Hvitserk had not been part of his plan, only angering Sigurd.

"Some of the men are saying yours is the biggest stag they've ever seen." Floki held the flap of the tent he shared with Hvitserk open for him. "They're rather jealous."

"Good." Ivar hauled himself onto his and Hvitserk's cloaks, rolling to his back so he could work his fingers loose of his arm braces. He should have done his leg bindings first. Now he had to sit up to reach them and the very idea had him groaning.

Pulling himself up hill, then downhill, sitting still for so long he thought his muscles had frozen in that position, firing four arrows in quick succession, covering the stag in shrub branches to dispel any opportunistic animals who might have come through the valley, and repeating the uphill/downhill trek… Ivar was amazed his wrists hadn't failed him. The joints throbbed, now, when he was finally able to rest.

Mother would be tearing into him ferociously, making Björn's outburst seem like a lullaby in comparison, but at least she would have rubbed his wrists for him. As it was, he had to do it himself, regarding Floki with a cool, steady gaze as his thumb pressed into his tender muscles.

"His taste better be worth the effort." The words left his mouth already slurred, exhaustion ebbing into his mind and body alike. Sleep would take him soon, he knew. The stag hunt had pushed him past his typical limits.

Ivar was vaguely aware of Floki crouching down beside him. He felt his boots slip free of his feet. A fur cloak brushed against his cheek, Floki's hands tucking it close around his shoulders. Sleep pulled him over, Floki patting his head the last thing he was aware of.

Rúna weaved Aslaug's beads into her braids, Helga helping her sew them into a crisscross pattern across the back of her head. Half her hair was pulled back from her face with the braids, the other half left loose and floating around her shoulders.

"The beads are pretty in your hair, as Aslaug said they would be." Helga tied off the hair string, tying it tightly and tucking it into the braids to hide it. Rúna wasn't quite sure what to think of Helga's expression, reflected to her in the polished looking glass. She looked almost sad, which made no sense. Astrid had signaled the return of the hunt that morning; Helga had been thrilled to see Floki, as she always was after any kind of absence from each other.

It lasted only for a moment, then Helga smiled and turned Rúna by the shoulders. She tucked back an errant hair at Rúna's forehead before smoothing a hand over the light blue skirt. "And you do look so lovely in this color. The Seer says we are in for a harsh winter, so you'd best have your fun tonight before we're all locked away for a season."

"Let the winter winds howl," Floki must have overheard their chatter in Rúna's bedroom. He gave an impressive imitation of the winter winds from the front room, leaving Helga and Rúna laughing. "I have work to do, no matter how much snow Tyr sends us from the skies."

"You'll not sail on winter seas," Helga admonished, leading Rúna behind her. "And certainly not with Rúna. Your new idea for the boats will do you no good if you're drowned at sea."

They traded goodhearted arguments and teasing back and forth as they made their way through town. Everyone was in good cheer, throwing out greetings with ease as they passed.

The success of the annual hunt and the end of summer were celebrated in a massive feast the night the men returned. All the best of the kills were used in the feast, with the rest preserved and divvied up among the people of Kattegat in a show of Aslaug's generosity as a queen.

Never mind that, according to Floki and Helga, the tradition of the yearly hunt had been around since before Ragnar sat the throne as king. Only the idea of sharing the wealth of the now-massive hunt was Aslaug's own.

Either way, Helga wasn't wrong. Until the Yule celebration in midwinter, the hunting feast was the last hoorah before the cold and dark of winter came to Kattegat. It was a feast for all, but Aslaug chose who feasted in the great hall and who feasted at the tables that sprawled all around outside. The boatbuilder's family was always seated inside.

The great hall was warm and filled with the smells of the feast—roasting meats and vegetables, fresh-baked breads, sweet wine and sour mead. It was also filled to the brim with people. Lagertha had been given a seat of honor close to the dais where Queen Aslaug and her sons ate. Björn, Guthrum, and Torvi, little Hali in her arms, sat at the table with Lagertha and Astrid. All the tables were arranged around the center of the room, where the cooking fire was. That night, the flames shot into the air from said fire, licking at the browning, dripping skin of a massive deer.

"You'll likely get an earful from Ivar," Floki whispered low in Rúna's ear. "That roasting stag we'll be feasting on tonight was one of his kills."

Rúna's eyes flicked to the beast. To Ivar's credit, it did take two male slaves to turn the spit so the stag might roast evenly. Her eyes drifted next to the dais, picking out Ivar's dark figure among his fair-haired brothers. He was laughing at something Ubbe had said, throwing his head back in his humor.

Ivar sobered in time to spot Rúna in the crowd, another smile overtaking his face. She smiled back at him, lifting her hand to wave to him. He leaned forward over the table, beckoning her over.

"May I go with Ivar?" She asked. Typically, she ate Helga and Floki first, then found Ivar during the mingling that followed the feast. The huge stag was not done roasting yet, though, and everyone was milling around in the meantime.

"Of course," Helga granted. That was enough permission for Rúna, already making her way through the crowd. "But find us when the feasting begins!"

Watching her red hair trailing behind her, neither Helga nor Floki were entirely sure Rúna had heard that last bit. Lagertha had spotted them by that time, waving them over. There were three empty seats at her table, a request she had made for Floki and his family.

"They are both so young," Helga said with a sigh, Floki taking her arm to lead her to Lagertha. On the dais, Ivar had scooted down the bench to make room for Rúna. She was sitting beside him now, smiling as he motioned a braced hand toward the stag dominating the center of the room.

"We were all young, once," Floki said mildly. "And not one of us have managed to change our fates, hmm?"

"Ivar." He waved his hand at Rúna's tone, face souring.

"Don't you scold me, too." He was too proud of himself and the stag, however, that he was unable to stay sour for long. His smile was back in mere seconds.

"Fine, I won't." She regarded him, gray eyes lighting up with humor. "Though I will say, if you had died in that valley, you would have died a cripple and an idiot."

It was a turn of phrase on one of Ivar's favorite sayings—I'm a cripple, not an idiot.

His brow lowered and furrowed, and he very nearly spit his mouthful of mead at her in retaliation, but even he was remiss to ruin her dress. Ivar knew he would never hear the end of it, so he swallowed instead. "You are so funny, Rúna."

"As you've been telling me for years." Aslaug had given Rúna a cup of her wine when she had appeared at table beside Ivar, but she couldn't stomach to drink it. She took Ivar's cup from his hand instead, taking a sip of the thick mead.

"I hear you've had adventures lately, too." Ivar dropped his voice, so only she could hear him beneath the din of all the celebrators. She sighed, feeling antsy just as she had every time someone brought up the night the intruders came to Kattegat. Though Lagertha, Torvi, and Floki had all congratulated her on her part, she was still struggling with the fact she had killed someone.

A bad someone, sure. But still a someone.

"It's scary, the first time, isn't it?" His whispered question pulled her out of her own conflicting thoughts, articulating something she had been unable to. His hand found hers beneath the table, giving her a reassuring squeeze. But Ivar was right. She had been scared, when that man's lifeblood ran hot and thick over her hand.

Rúna knew Ivar had been a child the first time he had taken a life. It happened just before she came to Kattegat herself. Hearing the account from both Ivar and Floki—not to mention a very drunk Aslaug, once—she firmly believed Ivar hadn't meant to kill that other boy all those years ago. It had, however, introduced him to killing early. There were only two others, Rúna knew, who had died at Ivar's hands. He had never seemed much bothered by those two.

One man had tried to rob him, a foreigner come to trade, not knowledgeable to the fact that the crippled boy was a prince and far stronger than his appearance let on.

The other had been a younger man, little more than a teenager himself, who had come for Ubbe over a betting dispute following a game of dice. Ivar had caught the young man when Ubbe had turned his back, stopping the axe blow that might have caved his brother's head.

A death from anger, two in defense. Despite those differences, there was one constant: Ivar did not regret any of the three. Rúna didn't regret the death she was responsible for, either.

"It is," she agreed. "I didn't think it would be."

"Don't worry. It gets easier."

She hoped it would, set on the path as she was for a shieldmaiden life. Rúna had just opened her mouth to tell Ivar about Lagertha's training and her gift when she was cut off by Aslaug. The queen wore a blood red silk dress, her sandy hair piled atop her head. Rubies glittered at her ear and around her neck. She held her wine cup high.

"There is a toast in order." She smiled, but Rúna was close enough to see that it didn't quite reach her eyes. "Rather, toasts would be more appropriate."

When she raised her cup above her head, everyone else followed suit. "To our hunters, for bringing the gods' blessings home to Kattegat to see us through the winter!" There were cheers all around, with shouts of 'skol' and drinking. Aslaug's smile seemed frozen on her face, firelight glinting off her teeth. Rúna sipped her wine, forcing herself to swallow it. She should have taken another drink of Ivar's mead instead.

"My youngest son, Ivar, shot the stag we will be dining on this night." Now Aslaug's smile appeared genuine, once Ivar's name slipped from her mouth. There were additional cheers for him, and Rúna clinked her glass against his.

"To you," she teased. "Mighty hunter Ivar the Boneless."

The wine was not so repulsive on her next pull, drinking to Ivar's prowess.

"I am sure many of you have heard the rumors of an attack on Kattegat. Calling it so is entirely too generous. We were lucky to have shieldmaidens to defend us, to defeat the foe as they passed through the gates. Any plans for attack were over before they began. Another toast, to Lagertha." There was such an uproarious noise at the earl's name that Aslaug had to pause. Rúna was among the cheering, clapping unabashedly. Björn pounded the table with his fist, so that the clinking of all the plate and cutlery on the table joined the din.

Aslaug's smile wavered as she waited out the celebration. "To Astrid, Ingrid, Torvi, and Rúna as well."

Sigurd clapped her on the back. Hvitserk let loose the loudest shout of 'skol' she had ever heard. Ubbe, ever quiet in his nature, lifted his cup in her honor. Floki and Helga cheered for her as well, and Lagertha sent a true smile her way.

But when she thought of this night, she knew what she would remember would be Ivar's eyes bright with pride. He squeezed her hand beneath the table again, threading his fingers through her own. Despite his brace, keeping her palm from truly touching his, a lightning-like tingle shot up her arm at the touch.

Rúna took another drink of wine, this one much deeper, to hide her blush.

He did not let go until the feast dishes were trotted in from the kitchen, and Rúna had to return to her place beside Floki and Helga.

A/N: Fun fact, hair sewing is a real thing! Look it up. There's a lot of really cool YouTube videos about it, particularly Silvousplaits. She also does a lot of Viking hair tutorials.