Chapter Fourteen: A Fleeting Youth
Rúna made an almost-immediate misstep in the battle of wills she had started, forgetting that Ivar had no qualms with playing a long game. She had seen it often enough in their games of hnefatafl, when he rocked back in his chair and he analyzed every move, bright eyes flying over the game board with the possibilities. Indeed, he ruminated for quite some time before implementing his revenge for having to sit through a dinner where he was tortured under the hazel and blue gazes of Aslaug and Ubbe.
Autumn came to Kattegat cold but dry, giving Rúna and Floki ample time to complete the last vessel of Björn's fleet. It was on one of those cold days, with the sun watery and weak in the sky and a nipping wind biting at their cheeks, that Ivar seized his opportunity. Ivar was sitting on the deck, in the space between rowing benches, obediently braiding a length of rope as Floki had tasked him to. Rúna was beside him, working on drilling a hole just over the lip, marking the space where a hook would be fashioned for shield-hanging.
"Floki always gives you the easy jobs," Rúna complained, pausing in her drilling to shake the ache from her arm.
"Pity the cripple," he replied, trying to keep the smirk off his face. The loose ends of his rope smacked lightly against her calf. She glared down at him, pushing the square of cloth she had fashioned into a headband up to wipe the sweat from her brow. Her hair had grown, but still tended to fall loose from her braids at this length, needing the headband to hold wayward strands off her face as she worked.
A jaunty whistle cut through the air, drawing Rúna's attention from him. She turned to the sound, though Ivar kept his place on the deck where he was well out of sight. Giving in to himself, the barely-contained smirk stretched into a mischievous smile as he tossed the rope aside.
The leather of Rúna's boots was thin enough he could feel the bony ridge of her ankle beneath. She shook her foot, turning to glare at him once more, but he merely smiled and gripped tighter. The bite of his wrist brace sent a shiver through her, one she desperately hoped he didn't feel reverberating in her leg. "What are you doing?"
"Continuing the game."
Her efforts to shake him loose were futile, Ivar easily keeping hold. Floki's voice commanded her attention, forcing her to still lest she call her father's attention to Ivar's… whatever he was doing. With her turned away from him, Ivar's hand trailed upward to follow the curve of her calf.
"Rúna," Floki was saying, but her head was swimming, the sound of the waves offshore raging in her head. Or was that her heartbeat? Though clothed in woolen pants, the touch of Ivar's hand made her skin tingle beneath. "How're the hook holes coming? I had best be getting the hooks from Frode today. He is an impatient man when it comes to waiting for coin."
She had to swallow before she could answer. Ivar's hand had reached the hollow behind her knee, thumb tracing idle patterns there. "We can finish drilling and fit them today, I think." The days had shortened, but it was still only midmorning. She could feasibly finish—provided Ivar could behave, that is.
Floki grinned from below, squinting against the morning sun. He said something in agreement to her, though if hard pressed, she couldn't say what it was. All attention had been stolen by Ivar's hand trailing ever-upward. When that hand breeched the valley of her knee to crest the swell of her thigh, it took considerable effort to keep her face frozen in a smile as Floki waved at her and called a farewell to the unseen prince beside her. Waving with one hand, the other slipped below the railing to swat at Ivar in a vain attempt to stop him.
When her father was sufficiently out of hearing range, Rúna ducked beneath the railing herself, swatting again at Ivar while he merely laughed. She flushed from hairline to collarbone—perhaps lower, though the rest of her was covered by her tunic. Embarrassment rolled off her in waves of heat.
"You are the bane of my existence," she accused, words nearly drowned out by his amusement. Rúna had slid down beside him far too quickly for Ivar to remove his offensive hand. As it was, that hand was currently trapped in the fold of her knee, fingers pressed between calf and thigh.
"Am I, now? My dear Rúna, have you forgotten that it was you yourself that began this exchange of blows?"
Her eyes narrowed into disapproving gray slits. "Curse of my life."
He gave her thigh a gentle squeeze, reveling anew in the way that small motion gave a stutter to her breathing even as she lifted her chin defiantly. Still, he fronted no argument when she took his hand and withdrew it from her leg, dropping it unceremoniously in his own lap.
Bracketed on either side by rowing benches, they were well hidden away from the sight of any eyes. In that secreted away space, Rúna rolled her eyes while Ivar continued to chuckle. "In front of my father!"
"Nobody but the gods saw. I doubt I would still be drawing breath had Floki caught a glimpse of what was happening."
"A plague on this earth."
She scowled as he laughed, trying to maintain her anger even as his eyes crinkled into blue slits from his mirth. That laughter shook him from his core, the hand that had been charting the territory of her leg now gripping his belly.
"And you, Rúna? Where would all the joy in my own life be without you?"
Before the autumn season concluded in Kattegat, Floki and Helga bestowed vastly different tasks on Rúna. Floki allowed her to sail the last of Björn's fleet to dock at the harbor alone—or, rather, relatively alone, since Ivar came along with her. Helga brought her to attend the birth of Torvi's third child. Of the two, Floki's permission to sail came first.
He had told her, grinning over his cup of ale at the dinner table. Floki had continued to grin as he watched her eyes grow wide in the firelight. "Really and truly?"
"Well, yes," Floki giggled. "You think me a cruel man, Rúna, to dangle such a thing in front of you only to snatch it away?"
Rúna's spoon had plopped into her bowl of vegetable stew as she abandoned her seat to throw her arms around Floki's shoulders.
"You ought to go armed," Helga cautioned, clearly not as enthused over the idea as Rúna and Floki were. "Just to be safe."
"Of course, Helga, my love. You thought I meant to send the girl out with no means of protection open water?" Floki teased over Rúna's shoulder.
"Perhaps," Helga teased back, taking a sip of her wine. It had been a gift from Aslaug; the fall harvest had been a great success that year, with Helga's farming knowledge and expertise a huge factor in said success. "I have known more foolhardy ideas to spring from your mind to your mouth and then out into this world, Floki, my love."
The chance of such a thing was infinitesimally small, Rúna knew, but she readily agreed. She was so excited that, by the dim glow of the banked night fire in her bedroom hearth, she rummaged through her chest to withdraw her sword. It came to rest beside her boots, pants, and tunic.
Come the morning, Rúna dressed quickly in the dark-gray light of predawn. She shivered into her woolen trousers, the same pair she had worn just days ago, the ones Ivar's hand had traversed. Shaking her head, she pulled on her undershirt and tunic, fastening her sword belt about her hips.
What a menace he can be, she thought, though the words held no venom.
Floki had cautioned her to leave early, before the sun had fully risen and the moon set, so as not to lose the tide. Once dressed, she grabbed the bag Helga had left out for her and slipped out the cabin door. Rúna walked straight into the bobbing tide, splashing through the little waves, and up the gangplank that Floki had left descended for her the night before. It was heavy and cumbersome to pull up on her own, but she managed to get the board lifted, dripping, out of the water.
Taking a deep breath, the crisp predawn air sent icy fingers down her chest and into her lungs. It eased away some of her nerves, settling her enough to cut the mooring line that tethered the boat to the shallows. The boat was left to the mercy of the waves then, bobbing in the shallows as Rúna took up the back most set of oars.
Only one person commanded those oars, whereas all others were done in teams. Whoever worked the back most oars helped to steer the boat among the waves. Or, in Rúna's case, to shove off from the bottom of the sea when in shallow water. She had done the same last time she had sailed with Floki. The motion, she knew, would send her out to open water.
The screech of an eagle made a shiver run down her spine and leaving her jumping from the oar bench all at once; Rúna was not so alone as she had thought. White tails flashing in the gathering morning light, two birds grappled over a large fish plucked from the shallows. Rúna chuckled breathlessly at her own startling over the creatures. They were getting an early start to the day as well, it seemed.
Indeed, she was not entirely alone in the early morning. All had been quiet in the cabin when she set out, leaving her to wrongly assume Floki and Helga still slumbered. Rather, they were awake in their bedroom, listening to the sounds of her preparations. When the door had shut behind her, the pair had moved from their bed to the cabin door, cracking it open just enough to watch her through the slit without revealing themselves.
"Don't fret so, Helga. She has done everything perfectly so far."
Aside from squabbling eagles, the morning was quiet enough that the rustling of unfurling sails floated back to the cabin. Fabric billowed out to catch the wind, poised to carry Rúna through the length of open water and into the mouth of the far-off fjord she was aiming for.
"She is only just now fifteen, with the passing of summer," Helga reminded him, twisting a lock of loose blond hair around her finger.
"I was raiding with Rollo and Ragnar by that age," Floki pointed out. "Sailing around a single fjord is nothing in comparison."
Helga hummed her response, eyes fixed on Rúna as the sun breached the horizon. It brought with it golden light, catching the girl's unbound hair and turning it to a bright smudge of flame among the gray-dark sea. Angrboda materialized in her mind's eye, the sweet cheeks still rounded with baby fat at the time the fever had taken her. Rúna's face appeared beside Angrboda's, the daughter she lost and the daughter she found side by side. Though the countenances were opposites—Angrboda's a reflection of Helga's own cool coloring, a juxtaposition beside the warmth of Rúna's tan and hair—she saw no difference between them.
Floki took her hand, giving it a squeeze at just the moment her heart constricted. Rúna and the ship were a dot on the horizon by that point, a strong breeze and a good tide carrying her swiftly toward the mouth of the fjord and out of their sight.
On the boat, Rúna's initial nervousness had abated entirely as the rising sun warmed her cheeks. She knew this route by heart; it was the only one she and Floki sailed to transport the completed ships to dock together at the harbor. She was quickly approaching on the narrowing passage where she would need to move between the jutting faces of rock that bracketed this stretch of the fjord.
Planting her feet, Rúna took up the rope and tugged hard, shifting the sails to catch the wind in a slightly different direction. The boat followed suit, slowly angling toward the mouth of the passage. Rúna's aim was spot on, the boat sluicing through the water to enter the passage perfectly in the center. Sheer drops of rocky cliff crowded close for some yards, the bleating of free-ranging goats joining the calls of rousing seabirds. Sunlight glittered golden on the water before her.
To properly traverse this waterway, Rúna must take up the oars again, to keep the boat from shearing against the rocky shores on either side. Due to Floki's clever building, despite the hulking mass of the boat, it was light and easy to maneuver without the weight of a full crew. It only took small movements to keep the boat on course and safely in the middle of the natural canal. This was far from rough sailing, leaving Rúna plenty of time to divide her attention between avoiding the shores and enjoying the newness of the day.
Though the sun brought with it a balmy warmth, the breeze stayed cool as it ran chilled fingers through her hair. Wayward goats munching on lichen and seabirds hunting their breakfast were not her only companions on her journey. The metallic scales of the very fish the birds sought flashed beneath the surface of the water at her as they shared the canal. Along the banks, playful otters dove into the depths and surfaced again with shells clasped between their paws.
Aside from the occasional boats, this stretch of fjord was largely untouched by human hands. The animals paid her no mind, accepting her as a part of this place rather than a danger. All around, they went about their own lives. Rúna wondered idly what it was the otters chattered over. Did they tell jokes and poke fun, like Hvitserk? Tell stories like Floki? Sing and hum idly while going about work like Helga? Bicker and grouse like Ivar and Sigurd?
I like the quiet here. Though it was not truly quiet, not with the lapping waves and the song of the wind weaving around the tapestry of animal sounds. It was serene under the morning sun, and though she sailed unaccompanied on Björn's boat, she didn't feel alone.
She was sad to see the end of it when she had fully maneuvered through the canal, once again in open water with the Kattegat harbor a smudge on the horizon. With no obstacles left in her way, Rúna abandoned the oars and left the ship at the will of the breeze to edge her ever closer to the docks. She sat astride the rowing bench, nibbling on the last of the summer berries Helga had packed her and watched her home come into focus.
There was the great hall, larger than the buildings around it, gilded in the morning light. From what she could see, there wasn't much movement. Likely only the most ambitious of stall keepers were milling about. Margrethe had risen, surely, tending to her tasks. Björn and Ubbe may be up at that hour, though she knew the three youngest brothers were late sleepers by habit.
What surprised Rúna, though, was the figure of Queen Aslaug standing on the end of the dock, her red silk in stark contrast to the clear blue sky. Black-rimmed hazel eyes watched Rúna as she docked the boat, tying the complicated, stiff knots Floki taught her to keep the boat in place. Aslaug extended a hand to her, helping Rúna dismount.
"I saw you sailing in." Her hand was dry and cool beneath Rúna's, fingers closing over her own, feeling like stony claws. "What a fine little voyager." How, Rúna wondered, were Aslaug's eyes so cold and sharp when Hvitserk's were just the same shade, but soft and warm? "Floki will be pleased, I'm sure."
"Thank you, Queen Aslaug." Rúna murmured reflexively. She had not been sought out, so much as directly addressed by the queen when she was not with Ivar, in nearly a year. Not since the sledding accident. The queen's lips curved, but Rúna would not have called it a smile so much as a grimace. She turned Rúna's hand so that it was palm-up in her own. Something cool and smooth was pressed into Rúna's palm; when the queen moved her own hand away, the sun caught and glittered over the pair of pearls left behind.
Aslaug tucked Rúna's hair behind her ears. It was too early for Yule and passed summer, when she had turned fifteen. The gift of earrings perplexed Rúna, though she was careful to keep her face blank.
"Not pierced yet, but you ought to have a proper pair for a young girl of your standing. Even if you are dressed like a boy presently." It hadn't occurred to Rúna to pierce her ears. Bodil and Gisli and their jewels gifted to them by King Harald drifted through her mind. Helga would help her pierce them if she asked, she knew.
No other explanation was offered. Aslaug simply took Rúna's hand again to force her fingers to curl closed over the earrings. As the queen turned away, Rúna felt a damp fog settle on the bright morning sun she had felt at her successful sailing endeavor. She knew she must remember her manners, despite the unsettling timing of such a gift.
"Thank you, Queen Aslaug," she repeated. "They are lovely."
Pausing, the breeze swirled silken skirts around the queen's legs. She glanced over her shoulder, not answering verbally, but nodding almost imperceptibly. Rúna watched her tall, proud stride as Aslaug retreated back to the great hall. Carefully tucking the earrings into her pocket for safekeeping, Rúna turned on her heel and set her own course home. Her mood brightened again when Floki met her at the cabin door, his triumphant smile echoing her own pride.
"Our little sailor." Floki gathered her into a hug, much warmer and softer than the impression left on her by the queen. An embrace from Helga was close behind. "You made excellent time."
"The wind was good to me," Rúna ducked her head. "It was easy sailing today."
"The apples didn't have time to finish, you were so quick. Perhaps they will be done by the time you comb all those tangles from your hair," Helga teased, turning Rúna toward her bedroom. Still smiling over Floki's praise, Rúna slipped from her damp sailing clothes and replaced them with a warm, dry woolen dress. There had been no exaggerating over her hair on Helga's part; it took quite some time and some rinsing to work all the wind-whipped snarls out while leaving her scalp intact.
Her bedroom became scented with the smells of butter-cream baked apples while she dressed. Before venturing out into those good smells, Rúna fished the pearls out of her pocket. She turned her palm this way and that, feeling the cool weight of them on her skin. Sighing, she placed them on her bedside table among her collection of river rocks and the carved bone hair beads Ivar had gifted her last Yule.
All thoughts of Aslaug and her gift were forgotten as soon as she sat down at table, Helga placing her celebratory baked apple before her. Sweetness coated her mouth as well as her thoughts, Floki insisting she recount her morning on the water for them.
"It was easy," she repeated, a light blush coloring her cheeks despite her wide, satisfied smile. "Going through cliffs was the most fun. There was a whole family of otters there."
Laughter over otter stories and the richness of Helga's baked apples filled the remainder of the morning, lifting Rúna's spirits high once more.
Well over a week passed before Rúna gathered the courage to ask Helga to pierce her ears for her. Floki was away for the day, helping with the late-harvest of the last of the fields. They had been sewing together beside a roaring hearth fire when Rúna posed the question, making Helga pause in her mending.
"When did you decide on this?" She asked, setting Floki's trousers in her lap and reaching out to touch Rúna's ear. Slipping a hand into her apron pocket, the young girl pulled out the pearl earrings she had placed there when dressing.
"A gift, from Aslaug."
Frowning, Helga took the earrings from her and brought them closer to the firelight. The pearls were pretty, Rúna had to admit, small but perfectly round, reflecting a pink sheen along the creamy surface. Lifting one, Helga held it up to her ear. "You do not have to pierce your ears just because you were gifted a pair of earrings by the queen, Rúna."
But Rúna shook her head, already having set her mind that night while thinking it over in bed. "I want to. Now is as good a time as any, now I've got a pair."
Helga studied her daughter's face, thrown into shadow on one side from the firelight. Those cool gray eyes were calm, freckled face smooth and waiting. After a long pause, she finally nodded. "If you are sure you want to do it for yourself."
"I do want to," Rúna repeated, relief washing over her even as her stomach twisted at the thought of a needle piercing her ear. With a wave of her hand, Helga shooed her away to change into an old dress and pull her hair back. When Rúna returned, she was positioned on her knees before Helga, face turned so that the fire could fully wash over her.
"You may want to close your eyes," Helga warned, holding a metal needle over the flames. "It helps a bit, sometimes, if you don't see it coming. There may be some blood, as well."
Only after her eyes fluttered shut did Helga take hold of Rúna's chin in her warm, soft hand. Carefully turning her head to just the right angle, Helga warned her to keep still before letting go of her face and taking hold of an earlobe instead. Heat from the fire washed over Rúna's face, soothing in its warmth.
"Deep breath," Helga murmured to her. Obediently, Rúna took a filled her lungs and slowly released it. She was still in the process of emptying her lungs, Helga plunged the needle through her right earlobe. Rather than continuing the exhale, Rúna sucked her breath in through her teeth at the sudden pain. But Helga was quick; the needle was out and the pearl earring in place within seconds. "On to the second."
Giving no pause for respite, Helga turned her face the other way and quickly pierced the left ear. The painful sting of the second was finished before the first was fully registered. Rúna blinked her way through the tears clogging her eyes, blurry vision clearing slowly while Helga dabbed at each ear in turn.
"Only a little blood." She sounded relieved, turning the bit of rag in her hand so that she could use a clean corner to dry Rúna's face. "They will need washing and turning every day until the skin heals. The pearls will look nice with your hair, though. You will have to keep them in while healing, so I suppose it is fortunate Aslaug has good taste in jewels."
Though her ears smarted from the piercing and now the weight of the earrings, Rúna attempted to give Helga a smile. It was shakier than intended, as was her hand when she pushed herself up. Rúna excused herself to her bedroom, pulling the curtain fully closed behind her. Taking up her little looking glass, she examined her face in the dim light.
Helga was too kind. Her cheeks were splotched red and her ears matched, angry and swollen around the earrings. Cool water from her bedroom ewer took some of the splotchiness away and soothed her burning ears. She took a deep breath, feeling it rattle through her ribcage. She may not understand, yet, what Aslaug meant with the gesture. What kind of test she had been put to. Perhaps she had passed; anyway, it was done, and the pearls now framed her face with their opalescence.
But Rúna knew one thing: she would not shirk away from the queen.
Helga took her from her bed in the dead of night, just days later, coaxing her from warm blankets to stand her disoriented on her feet.
"Dress quickly, in something old. You're like to get dirty before the ordeal is finished."
Head still bogged with sleep, Rúna had no idea what 'ordeal' she was being brought into. Soft, worn fabric was pressed into her hands and she dressed blearily in the dark as wakefulness came to her. Helga, too, was dressed in an old, threadbare dress. She usually wore her hair loose but now it was plaited into a serviceable braid that hung down her back between her shoulder blades.
Rúna's own hair had grown from being shorn during her fever but was yet too short for proper braids. Instead, Helga twisted it so tightly it made Rúna's eyes water and speared it through with a hair stick. "Where is it that we are going in old clothes in the middle of the night?"
"Torvi's baby is coming," was Helga's explanation as she pulled a cloak around her shoulders. "Margrethe was sent to wake us. We will be helping."
A pit pulled her stomach down, fingers stilling as she fastened the brooch of her own cloak. "Oh…and I must go?"
Spending her early childhood years in a brothel, Rúna had seen many intimate things, but birth was not one of them. She couldn't say how the older, working girls had prevented—or terminated—pregnancies, but she thought it no coincidence that she, Bodil, and Gisli had been the only children.
It seemed Helga had not heard Rúna's question, instead taking her hand and leading her through the dark cabin. A sharp pang of jealousy ran through her chest at the thought of Floki, still warm and sleeping in his bed. A full moon lit the cloudless sky outside the cabin door, shining silver all along the sand as they walked across the beach. Helga was not-quite-running, Rúna trailing behind her. Had Helga not still been holding her hand, she likely would have been dragging her feet through the sand.
The closer they drew to Björn and Torvi's cabin—glowing with candle and firelight in the night—the more Rúna's stomach twisted in her middle. Inside was overly-warm and bustling with activity. Dressed plainly in dark wool rather than silk, Aslaug tended a pot of water over the hearth. Margrethe was hurrying to and fro, her hair a sleep-mussed golden halo around her head where it was falling from her braid, arms full of bedding. The slave girl looked all at once relieved to see Rúna, pausing in her hustle.
"There is old bedding set out, if you do not mind," she tacked on to the end, eyes flickering to Aslaug. "I will hurry back."
"I can do it." Relief flooded Rúna as well, happy to have a task that was familiar to her. She hurried to the bedroom Margrethe had come from, noticing as she went that Björn, Guthrum, and Hali seemed to be missing from the cabin. Her relief was short-lived, Torvi's groan catching her attention and startling her as she picked up the bedsheet. Björn's wife stood beside the open window, letting the cold night air wash over her sweaty face. Dressed only in a shift, hair loose and damp around her, Torvi cradled her swollen belly with her eyes shut.
Rúna's breath stilled in her chest, her work forgotten. Instead, she watched Torvi's brow crumple as she grimaced. Birth hurt, she knew, but there was a difference between knowing and seeing. She felt oddly spellbound until Torvi's face relaxed and her eyes fluttered open.
"I'll be needing that bed, Rúna," the shieldmaiden softly reminded her. Duly pulled from the reverie that had held her, Rúna shook out the sheet she held before tucking it around the edges of the feather-stuffed mattress. Making quick work of it, the bed was soon done up in old, soft bedding. Margrethe had returned at that point, arms still full, though this time with a thick, stiff fabric. Not leather, but similar to the tarps Floki had been curing with whale fat in preparation for the journey to the Mediterranean. With a flick of her wrist, Margrethe placed the cloth between the bedsheets Rúna had just smoothed over. Not a beat was missed as Margrethe turned on her heel, skirts swishing, and took Torvi by the arm and guided her to the bed.
It was a slow progression, Torvi stopping often to cling to Margrethe for support as a wave of pain took her. The cadence of Margrethe's lilting accent was soothing even to Rúna. She murmured to Torvi through the pains, only continuing the slow shuffled walk to the bed once Torvi had picked her head up and nodded she was ready.
She is not so much older than me, Rúna thought. Perhaps a year or two. Yet she felt like a misplaced child with her hands wringing each other while standing in the corner. Margrethe had practice here, it seemed. She must, for Aslaug and Helga to leave Torvi in the slave girl's care while they made preparations.
"Here." Suddenly a cool, damp cloth was pressed into her hands. Margrethe pulled her from the shelter of her corner and gestured to the bed. "Sit with her. I must still fetch bundling for the baby."
Wooden legs carried Rúna to the bedside, where she knelt beside Torvi. Though stricken with labor pains, the shieldmaiden tried to give her a smile. "It is so hot. Aslaug has the fires up too high."
That was prompting enough for Rúna. She lifted the damp cloth Margrethe had given her, dabbing tentatively at Torvi's temples. Her throat felt tight; she was certain she wouldn't be able to speak, even if her buzzing mind were able to form a full thought. Under her hand, Torvi's face contorted again, startling her into quickly pulling it back. To her surprise, when the pain passed, Torvi laughed breathlessly and took her hand.
"Do not be so scared, Rúna. Freya watches over mothers." But there was an edge to Torvi's voice, one that undercut the confidence she tried to display. "Though I think you should hurry the others. This baby will not be one for waiting, I think."
Paling, Rúna nodded and rushed from the room, nearly colliding with Margrethe in the doorway. She sought out Helga in the front room, where she was mixing honeyed wine. Whatever that might be for, Rúna had no time to ponder. She grasped her mother by the arm, tipping her head close to her ear. "Torvi says the baby is coming."
Not quite chaos, but a frenzied bustle settled over the women as they fell into their roles. Rúna was instructed to sit beside Torvi, to hold her hand and dab her face and give her the honeyed wine, should she want it. Aslaug and Helga had seen babies brought into the world before; they settled together at the end of the bed, to handle the delivery. Rúna was jealous of Margrethe and her job—ensuring that Aslaug and Helga had what they needed, whether that be cloth or blade or water. What the use of the blade may be, Rúna did not want to know.
"It's truly not so bad…once it's over," Torvi whispered to Rúna. Helga and Aslaug were murmuring to each other, sandy and golden heads tipped together. Aslaug waved Margrethe over, holding her hand out for one of the cloths. "Though the wine is my favorite part."
Torvi didn't get a second drink of the wine, though. She had been right when she said the baby was not one for waiting. No sooner had Torvi swallowed her drink, her body twisted against the pain, another low keening sound slipping past her lips.
"Help her sit up a little, Rúna," Aslaug prompted her. For once, the queen's voice was soft. "It makes the birthing easier."
Everything seemed to speed up from there. As soon as Torvi was angled, she clamped a hand on Rúna's arm in the intensity of that first push, groaning all the while.
"Oh," Helga commented, surprise coloring her face as Torvi followed the first push with an immediate second. "Impatient indeed."
Margrethe was waved forward again, and Rúna no longer envied her when she was given the job of holding one of Torvi's legs. Aslaug took the other, but by then, Torvi's pushing had spluttered out and she was trying to catch her breath. There was only a brief respite for her, though, before the pattern was repeated. When resting, Torvi fell back against the pillows, head cradled in Rúna's splayed hand. She never released her grip on the girl's forearm, using it as leverage to angle herself for each push.
Though at the head of the bed, Rúna could still see over the swell of Torvi's belly, where a little, bloodied blonde head was emerging. A shiver ran down her spine and she swore there was a note of the sweet, clean flowers Freya had worn in her hair during Rúna's fever vision cutting through the more primal scents of blood and sweat.
"It's happening," she breathed, unsure if she was talking to herself or Torvi. Beside her, the laboring shieldmaiden made a sound that was not quite a chuckle.
"Yes, I can feel it."
The rest of the head came forward with the next push. Rúna watched in stomach-twisting fascination as Helga guided the body out, Torvi grunting loudly as the shoulders emerged.
"Oh, what a beautiful little girl, Torvi!" Helga exclaimed over the baby's cries. Torvi reached for her daughter, slick with blood and fluid, pressing the baby against her chest and cooing over the little head even as tears ran down her own cheeks.
"Hello," Torvi whispered over the baby. "Shh. I've got you."
Gently, Aslaug helped rub at the baby to warm and clean her while Torvi held her close. "What will you name her?"
"Asa. Her name is Asa." Displaced and without a task once more, Rúna stepped away, but was caught again by Margrethe. She was pulled to the side, noticing for the first time the thick, purple cord that connected mother to child.
"Here," Margrethe picked it up and placed it into Rúna's hands, surprising her with the warm, wet weight of it. "Hold it still while I cut."
Once severed, Margrethe handed it off to Helga, who coiled the cord on the top of the afterbirth before tying it up tightly in a cloth. "It will be buried," she explained. "And these sheets will need changing again, once Torvi's stopped bleeding and we've got her cleaned."
Birth, Rúna had quickly learned, was not simply a woman having a child. There was a whole process around it, one that took several pairs of hands. Aslaug helped wash the child; Helga tended to Torvi; the girls were sent into the cold pre-dawn to bury the parcel of afterbirth, as Helga had mentioned.
Tucking up her skirts, Rúna took the shovel and began digging, mind racing as she tried to process all she had seen in such a short time. Or, rather, time had felt short. She had arrived to the cabin with Helga in the dead of night, yet now the sun was painting the edge of the sky with hazy warmth.
"You have never seen birth?" Margrethe asked, not unkindly, head cocked curiously to the side so that her pale hair fell over her shoulder and caught the first rays of dawn.
"Um, no." The soil was stiff with cold, but eventually Rúna managed a hole deep enough. But Margrethe did not drop the parcel inside. She continued to study Rúna's face, instead. "Not before tonight."
"No wonder you are crying, then."
"I am?" Rúna had not realized, until her fingers came away with warm damp after skimming her cheek. Wiping at her eyes with her sleeves, she watched Margrethe pat the earth back in place over the hole.
"Yes, but do not be ashamed. I think it happens to every woman, the first time, if they are lucky enough to witness birth before going through it themselves."
That was all the consolation the slave girl offered, excusing herself once their task was complete. She did, after all, have Aslaug's sons to tend to, and they would be wanting food soon, she told Rúna.
Inside, Aslaug and Helga had made quick work of the cleanup. Torvi was tucked in bed with little Asa, wearing a clean shift in clean sheets. The soiled fabric was soaking in a large washing tub beside the hearth, Helga minding it to get the blood soaked out before the stains had time to set. Aslaug was sitting behind Torvi in her bed, combing the sweat-damp hair for braiding.
"Come here, Rúna. You should hold the first baby you've helped into the world." She sat on the edge of the bed, where Torvi had patted, and took the light, warm bundle from her arms. Asa was tiny in her swaddling, soft baby skin pink and her features small and fine. A little rosebud mouth suckled at empty air as if remembering the feel of her mother's breast.
Scarcely chancing to breathe, Rúna felt her whole body still as she drank in the sight of the baby in her arms. How inconceivable it seemed that not even a full hour before, this child was encased in Torvi's womb. No one knew, then, that Asa was a girl or that she shared the curve of Hali's nose and the same straw-blonde shade of hair with Björn and Lagertha. Tears sprang forth anew, leaving hot tracks down Rúna's cheeks. Chuckling again at the young girl, Torvi wiped the wetness from her face.
"They have no right to be such powerful little things, new babies."
"No," Rúna agreed, sniffing back fresh tears as she tried desperately to dam up the ocean wave of unnamed emotions swelling inside her.
Come full morning, Björn and his sons returned and Aslaug took her leave to her own children. Only Rúna and Helga lingered, cooking a breakfast of sausage and hash for the family. For little Hali, Rúna warmed cream and dried berries over the hearth, much to the boy's delight. When she caught Guthrum, still tenderly young himself, eyeing his brother's bowl with poorly concealed coveting, she spooned a helping out for him as well.
"Be nice to your mother," she told them. Though Helga was not the woman who birthed her, Rúna found herself feeling as if she should extend an apology. It would have to be on the behalf of Angrboda, though, and she had never discussed the little girl with Helga. Only Floki. "The both of you. She deserves the world after the night she's had."
"Are you coming to training this afternoon, still?" Guthrum asked, dark eyes peeking up from his cream and berries. Attending Asa's birth had shoved all plans for the day from Rúna's now-drowsy head, but she nodded. The weather was turning colder by the day and she knew they would have few days left before snow began to fall.
Guthrum gave her a shy, pleased smile before turning back to his food. When all was sorted, the family fed, and Torvi and Asa napping, Helga and Rúna finally turned toward home. Floki had done all the morning chores, including Rúna's own of collecting eggs and feeding the small stock of animals the family kept. He was gone from the cabin, though; hunting, likely, while there were still animals scurrying around to hunt.
"Come, Rúna. You had best eat and try to get a few hours' sleep yourself if you're intent on training with the boys today."
Together, they shared bread and cheese beside the hearth, neither having the energy to cook again for their own meal. Helga also accompanied Rúna to her bedroom, removing her hair stick and running her fingers through the loose, red strands. "You did well last night."
"It was… interesting." Though muted now by exhaustion, Rúna still felt full-up of warring, unfamiliar emotions. "Different than I thought, I suppose."
Helga laughed at that, smoothing the blankets over the hill of her daughter's shoulder as she cuddled into her bed. "When I was a girl, my mother told me I was a woman once my courses began. But you have had yours for some time now, and I would venture to guess you did not feel grown up for having started them, no?"
"Courses only make me feel annoyed," Rúna agreed, smiling into her pillow. Her eyes were growing heavy, Helga's toying with her hair drawing her ever closer to sleep.
"I thought so. I did not feel grown, myself, until Lagertha gave birth to Gyda. That was my first. I was only a handful of years older than you are now, Rúna."
"Mmm." Sleep was pulling her under, robbing her of any other response. Rúna was not so sure she felt like a woman grown, but she was comfortable and warm in her bed, limbs giving in to the exhaustion that had taken residence in her bones.
The sunlight was weak and cold in their training clearing, doing little to warm them, not that any of them needed warming. After archery and swordplay, races and shield work, the four brothers, their nephew, and Rúna were all sweating beneath tunics and vests, pants and boots. They sat in a loose circle to rest, Hvitserk withdrawing a skin of ale to pass around.
"So, Rúna, how was your night?" Hvitserk asked, a mischievous twinkle in those hazel eyes as he passed the skin first to Sigurd. "Eventful?"
She glared openly into his face in response. "I already told Guthrum, early this morning, but you should all be very kind to your mothers. Especially the four of you. Why anyone would want to go through all that four times is beyond me."
"But Torvi and the baby are well?" This question came from Ubbe, fair brows drawn tight over his sky-blue eyes.
"Oh, yes, quite well. According to Helga, Torvi had an easy time of it, though I am not really inclined to believe any of it is ever 'easy'."
"Mother says Ivar was the only difficult one, actually," Hvitserk threw in. "So perhaps he should be the only apologist."
"He hasn't let up since." Sigurd's barb earned him a small pebble glancing off his brow, thrown hard enough to raise a tiny red mark. He and Ivar may have fought, were it not for Rúna catching the latter by the arm to root him to his spot beside her while sending a reprimanding look to the former.
"Anyway, I have a new opinion I am certain none of you will agree with: the father of the child should be there."
She had been saving this thought since noon, ruminating on it throughout their trainings. Were she in Torvi's place, she had decided, she would want the father beside her. It was obvious her male companions did not agree, with their features falling into surprise and thinly veiled disgust in turn.
"Why?" Ivar ventured first. Guthrum looked a little green, and Rúna nearly felt bad. The boy was surely thinking of his mother, not a future wife.
"The father is just as responsible for the fact that a child is being born," Rúna began, "and aside from that, I want you each to tell my why the father should not be there. Give me a truly good reason."
"It's not their place," Ubbe sputtered. "Woman's work," was the only reply Sigurd could frame, Hvitserk nodding emphatically beside him. An odd mix of red blush and green sickness blotching his cheeks, Guthrum was too put out to conjure an answer. Rúna turned to Ivar, quirking an eyebrow and waiting for an answer but he shrugged instead.
"Tell me why a father should be there, Rúna," he said, turning her request back on her.
"As I said, the father is just as responsible," she repeated, "and whether the child is born of love or lust, it still took the two of them. If you love the mother of your child, why should you not want to see her through the pain? And even if it is just lust, would you not love your child? Perhaps I am wrong in my thinking, but unless the father had no care for mother nor child, I cannot puzzle out a valid reason for him not to be there."
Guthrum was intently staring at the ground, as if trying to remove himself entirely from the conversation. Hvitserk and Sigurd exchanged a look, each of them with mouths twisted in a grimace. Ubbe cocked his head slightly, perhaps running over her words in his mind.
She could not quite bring herself to look again at Ivar, though she felt his intense blue gaze boring into her cheek. Dropping her head as Guthrum had, Rúna picked idly at the grass.
"Ignore me all if you like, but as someone who would actually have to do the birthing, I think it would be nice."
A/N: Thank you and hello to everyone who has favorited and followed recently! An extra big thank you to mickypants and Nightwingstress for the reviews. Yes, mickypants, as you can see we will be having a bit of a competition... but we'll have to see how Rúna retaliates. ;) And Nightwingstress: I miss the twins, too, but we will see them again!
Fun fact: I've been heavily listening to the album Dear Wormwood album by the Oh Hellos and a hodgepodge of Lord Huron's discography while writing this story. Did anyone ask? No. But sometimes I like sharing the music I take inspiration from when writing, in case anyone wants to know!
We're drawing closer to the timepoint of the show, where Ivar's arc really begins. Some things will stay the same, but I have a LOT of changes in mind, so... be ready. I'm excited to get there and I hope you are too!