Chapter Twenty-One: A King's Welcome

Three days. There were only three days until Floki and Helga and Hvitserk all sailed away to a land unknown. Three days until Kattegat very well might change forever, yet Rúna was sitting in Ivar's cabin for walking practice as if nothing at all had—or would—ever change.

"…which is ignorant and ridiculous, as if Ragnar had done anything wrong. He was king! What was he supposed to do, tell all of Kattegat that they had failed? What would that help anything?" The fact that Ivar was able to easily rail against Hvitserk and Sigurd for saying they would kill Ragnar if he ever returned while walking his paces around the room was testament to his progress.

Rúna smirked, thumbing through Athelstan's bible. She sat perched on the table, using a chair as a footrest, flitting from page to page to study the illustrations. Though the words of the language the bible had been written in were lost on her, the illustrated pages fascinated her.

"Floki told me they did it to protect the lot of us. Keep the secret, I mean. You, your brothers, Queen Aslaug, Helga, myself. There might have been retaliation in revealing it all, with tensions so high already from the raiding in Wessex and Mercia and conflict with your uncle in Frankia."

That gave Ivar pause, if the sudden silence in the absence of his crutches tapping the wooden floorboards was any indication. Rúna didn't look up from the bible page, which showed a man bloodied, his limp body sagging from a wooden structure that reminded her of a sail mast. The tapping resumed moments later, drawing nearer until Ivar was close enough to lean on the back of the chair she rested her feet on.

She lifted her gaze to look at him. As was their habit, the shutters were drawn despite the warmth of the day. Candlelight played over his features instead, illuminating his eyes and painting his skin a soft gold. It drew memories of the night of Hvitserk's celebration to the forefront of her mind. "What do you think of it all?"

"I think Ragnar did what he thought was best," she answered, "for his family and for Kattegat. Probably for himself, too. The settlement was not small. King or no, I would not want to face that many angry people if they learned their family members had died in slaughter from a Christian king's trick."

"And what of my brothers?"

Here, she shrugged. "I think it is easy to say they would have done things differently when they have never led. And easier still to make claims of vengeance when you don't have to say it to your father's face."

While he listened, Ivar's face had been calm and blank, but as she finished, a slow smile spread across his lips. It made her stomach twist in a way that was not unpleasant, that smile. He tapped a finger against her temple, still smiling. "I always have liked the way you think, Rúna."

"You should," she said, dropping her eyes back down to the bible in her lap, lest he see how much his words pleased her. "I usually have the better ideas, between us."

Chuckling, he leaned his crutches on the table's edge. Using the chairback as leverage, he maneuvered his way into the seat with only some difficulty. He moved her feet into his lap so he could scoot into the middle of the chair, hugging her legs to him and resting his cheek on her knees. "They're all fools, yet I do not want Hvitserk to go."

Rúna set Athelstan's bible aside and ran her fingers through Ivar's hair. She couldn't see his expression, face turned away from her as it was, but there was a heaviness in his tone. For the moment, he was not the cunning and fierce Ivar the Boneless he showed the world, but simply Ivar, who was already missing his brother.

"Think of all the stories he will come back with, though." This was how Rúna was trying to comfort herself. When last Floki and Helga had gone raiding, they had returned to Kattegat with vivid recounting of their time away.

"Gloating, you mean." His cheek was warm even through the layers of her skirts; she could feel it in the swathe of skin just above the curve of her knee. "Ubbe thinks they should go with the intent of bringing new trade to Kattegat, rather than as a raiding party."

The disgust was obvious in his voice. "Not very Viking of him, no?"

"Of course not," Ivar scoffed. "Ubbe is a fine fighter, I will give him that, but he's the mind of a… 'lord', I think is the Christian word. Remember? Floki has told us some of how they lead in Wessex and Mercia and Frankia. A soft leader. He would not have battle, if he had the choice."

"But it is Björn's journey, and they do not call him Ironsides for nothing. He's earned it. There will surely be raiding and fighting as soon as Floki's boats hit this fabled land."

"Much to Hvitserk's fortune. That is why he wants to go, for the battle. You have seen him, in the training fields. Hvitserk comes alive with a sword in his hand." Ivar shook his head, rustling her skirts in the process. "You're putting me to sleep, playing with my hair like that."

His eyes did have a hazy quality, softening the piercing blue, when he turned his head to look at her. The point of his chin dug into her thigh now. It was mildly distracting, interrupting her mental assessment as she thought back on Hvitserk. He was a fluid swordsman, the blade an extension of his arm and quick on his feet. It always looked so natural for him. He wielded his sword with instinct, not thought, and that instinct had never let him astray that Rúna had seen.

Yet she could see the profit of Ubbe's line of thinking, too. Thanks to Aslaug's political knowledge, learned from her upbringing as a blood princess, the markets were filled with traders. Locals, such as those from Hedeby and Tamdrup, were more common thanks to geographical advantage. But there were also the Sami from Finnmark and Rus traders who brought treasures to Norway from the Silk Road. There were very dedicated traders as well, those who came from the far-away Asia, come to peddle their wares directly without the Rus as middlemen.

"We trade with Frankia, Wessex, Mercia. All have been raided by Ragnar. I do not see why we could not do the same with whatever lands lie beyond the Mediterranean Sea."

Another smile. Another flip in her stomach. "Exactly. We are Viking. Mother's trade empire has brought Kattegat much wealth and should be celebrated, but our power and our history lie in conquest."

He sighed, sending her skirts rustling softly along her thighs with his exhale. "Yet my brothers think I'm crazy for saying so."

"It is not!" Rúna might have stood, in her indignation, were it not for Ivar's hold on her legs. "And you are not! I know they have heard Björn and Floki's stories, and those of others, at feasts and in the taverns. Kattegat has been sleeping peacefully since Ragnar disappeared, and Hedeby along with us. But King Harald still raids! He talked of it often enough!"

Ivar's face had gone soft with admiration. It was a look she had most often—only, actually—seen cross his face when he looked at Aslaug or Floki. Now it was directed at her, quelling her protestations into a warm ember of validation in her chest. "If anything," she continued in a softer voice, "they are crazy for not seeing it."

"Ubbe and Sigurd, anyway. If Hvitserk thinks me crazy, he must see himself as such, too. He is the only one of us going on the first raiding party from Kattegat in a decade, after all."

"The first," Rúna agreed, hand drifting back to his hair, "but I don't think it will be the last. I cannot shake the feeling Björn is starting something, with this one."

Ivar smirked, eyes drifting shut as he leaned into her touch. "Perhaps Kattegat is finally waking up."

Again, he had put her fears into words. She took a deep breath, trying to shake the cold thrill that ran through her to hear what she had felt in her heart surmised in his voice. You only feel this way because Ragnar disappeared after the last raid, she tried to tell herself. Everything will be fine once Floki, Helga, and Hvitserk have returned.

Forcing herself to focus on Ivar, she could almost believe herself. He smiled at her one last time before bending to retrieve his crutches and moving her legs aside so he might stand. She watched the broad expanse of his back as he walked away from her, touching the far side of the cabin when he reached it before turning to make his way back.

"I suppose stranger things have happened," he said once he returned to her. "The resident cripple was never supposed to walk, after all."

It was her turn to smile up at him, pushing off the table to take up the space left between him and the ledge. She slipped her arms around his waist, laying her head below his chin, ear pressed to his chest. There, she could hear his heartbeat, which maintained only a slightly fast rhythm from the exertion of his practice. She felt him shift his weight, too, leaning it onto one crutch so he could have a free arm to hold her with.

"Ivar?"

"Hmm?"

"It's selfish, but I am glad you are not going when I cannot either." The reverberation of his chuckle vibrated on her cheek.

"Then we're the both of us selfish, Rúna."

How unusual the timing of the gods were, that just days after three of the five brothers swore death on their father, he should reappear.

When Ragnar returned to Kattegat, it created an uproar in the heart of the trading town. The absent king prodded and roared at his sons to send him to his death, though Rúna only heard snippets of this display over the crowd. Ragnar's words wafted into the great hall muted by the breeze, but his voice was unmistakable.

"Who wants to be king?!"

Rúna had been sent to the great hall to help Aslaug with the feast preparations. There were only two days until Björn's fleet would sail. King Harald and Lagertha were expected to attend as well. Ragnar's voice was like a spear, though, piercing deep into Rúna's chest and nearly causing her to drop the jar of honey she held in her surprise. Beside her, Aslaug's hand closed around her arm like the snapping of jaws. Distantly, Rúna knew she would wear the bruises of that grip, but for once she did not blame the queen. When, belatedly, she turned to Aslaug, it was to an ashen face with skin pulled tight across cheekbones and hazel eyes wide and cold with shock.

Instinctively, Rúna reached for her when she faltered, catching hold of the taller woman by the waist. "Queen Aslaug? Are you alright?"

Her voice sounded as if it were coming from under waves, for all the roaring in her ears. Rúna nearly flinched; had Aslaug not been in apparent shock, she likely would have snapped at her for asking such a stupid question. As it was, Aslaug only used her shoulder as leverage to pull herself to her full height. "No, Rúna."

She seemed to be the only thing holding the queen upright as they moved forward in tandem. At the massive doors of the great hall, they slipped through as if they were on entity, coming to stand side-by-side at the top of the steps. Aslaug had a height advantage, it seemed, sucking her breath in sharply while Rúna was left looking at the back of heads. She thought, perhaps, she caught sight of Ubbe's braid but she couldn't be sure in the crowd rippling with heads turning this way and that to whisper to one another.

They were only outside for a moment. Besides the disjointed, taunting cry of "…King Ubbe!", Rúna was unable to make out anything else between the hissing whispers and the distance at which she and Aslaug stood from the confrontation. It didn't matter, though. At that taunt, Aslaug was quick to retreat back into the great hall and drag Rúna with her. Back inside the privacy of the hall, she found herself at a loss as to how to comfort a queen that had always seemed as icy and dangerous as a winter fjord.

Now the only icy thing about Aslaug was the pallor of her skin. Though she still held onto Rúna by the arm, the fingers had gone slack. Tears rolled down the queen's cheeks, smudging the black charcoal ringing her eyes, which had taken on a far away look. As if she were seeing the past. Or… but Rúna did not like to think of Aslaug's unsettling abilities as a volva, of her foresight. She shook her head against it, again reaching for the queen and gently guiding her forward. Aslaug appeared unaware of how she trembled in the aftermath of hearing her long-lost husband's unmistakable voice.

The closest chair was Aslaug's throne; the great hall had been largely cleaned out in preparation for the massive amounts of cooking the feast would require. Rúna guided her into the seat. "Fetch me some wine, Rúna."

That absent look had not faded from Aslaug's eyes, but Rúna did as she bid. Her own hand was curiously steady as she poured the honeyed wine into a cup and brought it back to the queen. After a steadying sip, Aslaug's eyes drifted closed. She seemed to deflate where she sat, sinking slack into her throne. "Go home, now, Rúna. Before it turns to chaos in the streets."

Again, she did as she was bid, slipping out the doors without needing a second prompting. Rúna skirted close to the great hall, opting for the forest rather than the crowd still gathered in the center of town. She was thankful, belatedly, that Aslaug had not required her to speak. Would she have been able to get any words out, with the way her heart had lodged in her throat?

King Ragnar had returned, and, for some reason, that felt like a dangerous thrill. One that had her running, skirts hitched up, not caring how badly she scratched her legs as she barreled through the underbrush, seeking the comfort and familiarity of home in a suddenly upended world. Calm did not begin to ebb into the waves of her excitement until Rúna felt the forest floor give way to soft, slippery beach sand beneath her feet. Only then did she slow her run to a walk while beelining for Helga, who was inspecting the extra sails that would be taken on the journey.

"Hello, Rúna," Helga greeted her with a kiss on the cheek when she drew near enough. "I didn't expect you home so soon."

The truth died on Rúna's tongue when she tried to give it words. Instead, she swallowed it back and said, "Aslaug did not have much need of me."

Forcing herself to focus, she began looking over the sails with Helga. They were held erect on crude wooden structures, an approximation of masts. Floki was a stickler for perfection when it came to sailing. He knew too well the dire straits one could find themselves in at open sea should there be a misstep in preparations.

Rúna need not suffer long, though. Her agony over not knowing how to explain that Ragnar was once again in Kattegat ended when a pair of hands touched mother and daughter each on the shoulder. They both turned to a familiar face, weathered somewhat by age, but blue eyes as bright and vibrant as Ubbe and Ivar's.

"Ragnar," Helga breathed in surprise. Still left speechless, Rúna only stared up at the king's smirking face.

"Helga, you look as if you've seen a ghost."

"Are you?" She asked, hand drifting out to touch Ragnar's shoulder. A laugh erupted from the king, dressed in rough homespun and sporting a scraggly beard, before he pulled Helga and Rúna each into his arms.

"How I have missed you, Helga. And this must be little Rúna, no? All grown now? Let me see." He held her at arm's length, smiling softly all the while. Ragnar's gaze raked her from the top of her head to her feet and then he chucked her under the chin and suddenly Rúna was all of six years old again. Her face broke out in a smile as all memories of Aslaug's distress at Ragnar's return faded from her mind. "A fine young lady you've raised, Helga."

"Ragnar!" Floki had spotted the three of them on the beach, rushing now to join the group. He clung to his old friend tightly. "So you were not dead this whole time, you old bastard."

"No." Ragnar's voice was muffled by Floki's shoulder. "Not dead, but merely dreaming I was."

On his first night back in Kattegat, the king was hosted by the boat builder's family. They ate outside, in Floki's workspace, eating Helga's stew around the cooking fire. The setting sun painted the sky and sea alike in shades of pink and violet.

"Have you seen the boys yet?" Helga asked, spooning another portion into Ragnar's bowl.

"I saw them in town," Ragnar said mildly. "They have grown. Sigurd and Ivar were just little boys when we last left. Now they are men grown, each and every one."

He spoke more so to his bowl rather than his companions around the fire. The sea breeze rustled through his long beard. After a considerable pause, Ragnar lifted his eyes to meet Floki's. "I am going back to England."

"You should have gone back a long time ago." Floki had never been one to beat around the bush. "We are going with Björn. I made him a promise."

"We? All three of you are sailing with my son?" The smile that twitched at his lips did not at all feel happy. Rúna shook her head, but let Helga explain.

"No, Rúna will stay behind, with Aslaug and Torvi. We have not raided in Kattegat in so long. There are not many shieldmaidens here and none are sailing with Björn. I did not want her alone among all the men."

"So, my sons succeeded in turning you into a shieldmaiden then, Rúna?"

Though she was demure under Ragnar's questioning, Floki felt no qualms bragging. "I've seen her in the training field with the boys and Torvi's son, Guthrum. She is like a young Lagertha. And she has defended Kattegat alongside Lagertha and her shieldmaidens, about two years ago, when a small earldom tried to stage an attack during a hunting trip."

Sitting across the fire from Ragnar, Rúna realized for the first time where Ivar got his intense gaze from. When the sun had fully slipped below the horizon and all the stew had been eaten, Ragnar and Floki remained at the dimming fire while Helga and Rúna cleaned up. They washed dishes side by side in the moonlight some ways down the beach. More than once Rúna caught her mother glancing fondly at the two men with their heads bent together.

"They have loved each other their whole lives," Helga told her, drying each dish Rúna handed her. "It is important to hold on to friendships like that, Rúna."

Even with the dinner chores done, the men remained talking on the beach. Inside the cozy cabin, Rúna sat in front of the hearth in the front room while Helga undid her braids and combed through her hair. It had grown considerably since her fever made it necessary to cut it. Once again it hung down her back in auburn waves.

Helga did this for her every night. Combing the snarls from her hair and humming all the while. Sectioning the locks into two halves, braiding each and tying the plaits off with lengths of fabric. But, too soon, no one would be there to braid Rúna's hair at the end of the day.

The thought brought stinging tears to her eyes. "Helga?"

A pause in the humming. "Yes, Rúna?"

"Thank you."

She couldn't say, exactly, what she was saying thank you for. Luckily for her, Helga understood, as was made obvious when she pressed a kiss to the crown of Rúna's head before finishing the braiding and sending the girl off to bed.

Come the morning, the sun rose on Ragnar rousing in a makeshift hammock fashioned from a fishing net strung between two trees. Rúna watched as he rubbed at his face, standing some ways back and waiting for him to fully wake.

"No one woke me." His voice was still gravelly from sleep.

"It's still early, yet."

"Did I miss breakfast?"

"Yes, but Helga saved you some, though Floki said we should give it to the goats, as they woke on time."

Chuckling, Ragnar held his hand out for the bowl of skyr and berries she had brought. He ate while lounging in his hammock, watching the rising sun. "King Ragnar?"

"Hmmph. King. Did my wife teach you to speak so respectfully?" His head lolled to the side, a slanted smirk greeting her. Rúna felt her face heat, but she ignored his question.

"I was with her, yesterday, when you came to Kattegat. We heard you yelling." This made him laugh again between bites of skyr. Rúna laced her hands behind her back. "And you asked the boys who wanted to be king."

"Yes, I did."

Wringing her hands, Rúna took a deep breath. Aslaug had not only taught her to use proper titles but also to be subservient to royalty. She felt unreasonably nervous forming the words, but she knew they needed to be said. "We have not had a king in ten years, but Kattegat is completely different than when I came here. Traders come from all over and we have all done well in the absence of raiding and pillaging. Björn has been a help in this, but it was all Queen Aslaug's design."

Gods, but his eyes truly were just like Ivar's. She felt as if they were piercing her, looking beneath skin and muscle and bone to her very soul. "I was not under the impression you thought so highly of her."

Here, Rúna shrugged. Did she think highly of Aslaug? Not entirely. Harbard and Siggy were never far from her mind when she thought of Aslaug, nor were any of the times she had been unkind to Rúna. But, unlike Sigurd, Rúna could not deny two things: Aslaug loved her sons and she had done right by all of Kattegat with her leadership.

"We've had no king in a decade, but we've had a queen."

He regarded her for another moment, never pausing in his eating, before giving her a simple nod. Tension immediately melted from her shoulders; she hadn't realized she was poised for an argument until he doled his easy acquiescence. Rúna nodded as well before turning on her heel and walking back to her morning chores, leaving the king of Kattegat on the beach with his breakfast.

From his hammock, Ragnar watched the confident set of her shoulders as she walked away. The girl was small, but he wouldn't dare call her diminutive.

A young Lagertha indeed.

In the great hall, the morning was not as peaceful as it was on Floki's beach. Ragnar's return had unsettled Aslaug, it was true, but it went unnoticed by the princes. The king's name flew across the table as the brothers talked, ignoring Aslaug and Margrethe alike in the depths of their discussion.

"Brothers, your blades are still so clean. What happened? Did I dream all the talk of killing Father?" Ivar inquired, quirking a brow and looking at each of his brothers in turn. Ubbe looked as if he'd like to chastise him. Hvitserk was paying him little mind, more interested in scraping the last bits of porridge from his bowl. Sigurd was glaring, though, so much so that the snake is his eye seemed to writhe in anger.

"You drew no weapon either, Ivar."

"Ah, but I never said I would, dear Sigurd."

"You would be no match for Father, anyway. How could you be? He has been a warrior his whole life while you have been poor, crippled Ivar. You looked like an overjoyed puppy staring up at his master when we saw Father yesterday." Lacking anything more effective for launching at his brother's head, Ivar settled for chucking his cup across the table. Sigurd ducked, avoiding a glancing blow but still becoming drenched with ale. He grabbed his own cup to retaliate, but a loud thump! made him freeze.

"Enough!" Aslaug shouted. She was standing, palms splayed across the table in front of her. "Sigurd, go change your shirt. Margrethe, get Ivar's cup and clean that mess. I don't have the patience for your squabbling today, boys."

Pushing off from the table, Aslaug retreated to her bedroom, rubbing at her temples all the while. The brothers exchanged glances with one another. Ubbe caught Hvitserk's eye and raised a brow in silent question before inclining his head toward Ivar. Shrugging, Hvitserk popped a berry in his mouth before standing.

"C'mon, Little Ivar," he said, clapping the younger boy on the shoulder. "Frodde should be done replacing my axe blade by now. Come with me to the forge."

With a last acidic glare thrown at Sigurd, Ivar pushed away from the table himself. He tried to ignore those serpentine eyes on him as he crawled behind Hvitserk. In the absence, Ubbe sighed and rubbed a hand down his long face. "Sigurd."

"Don't you make excuses for him, too, the way Mother and Rúna do." Sigurd pulled his shirt over his head then and there, leaving the soiled tunic on the back of his chair as part of the mess Margrethe had been instructed to clean. Ubbe held his hands up in innocence in the wake of his brother's annoyance.

"I wasn't going to. But must you antagonize him? You know he wants a rise out of us. That is his goal when he says such things."

Sigurd was at the doors before he answered, turning to look over his shoulder. "All our lives, Ubbe, we have had to give Ivar what he wanted. Why should I stop now?"

The shock of Ragnar's return had delayed Björn's sailing. Within the same afternoon as his father's arrival, he had already dispatched a messenger to Tamdrup to let King Harald know. So it was that the day originally set aside for departure dawned warm and sunny, the morning light almost too bright as Rúna made her way through town to the great hall. There was still a feast to prepare for, even if it had been delayed a handful of days.

She joined Helga and Aslaug alongside the wives of men who would be making the journey to a land called Rome with Ragnar's oldest son. All the morning, her hands were covered with flour as she rolled and kneaded loaf after loaf of bread dough. Next came sweet cakes, with honey and berries worked into the batter. Rúna snuck one of these into her pocket, a strawberry cake to share with Ivar later. Sometime toward the evening, Aslaug sent Rúna with a large basket to begin collecting vegetables from the farmers for use in the feast.

Given more time together than anticipated, Ivar, Ubbe, Hvitserk, and Sigurd had spent their afternoon fishing on the beach. Now the brothers lay out under the low-hung sun, three of them talking easily of their time spent with Margrethe that morning. Traversing from farm to farm eventually brought Rúna close enough to overhear snippets of Hvitserk's voice on the sea breeze. Something about using a tree branch for a perch…

Equal parts curious and annoyed—this vegetable collection was meant to be Margrethe's job, but by the time she had bothered to show her face in the great hall it had been delegated to Rúna—she crept closer. The sand cushioned her footsteps so that she was able to come within mere feet of the brothers without notice. She propped her basket on her hip, looking at them all laying in the sand with their eyes shut against the sun.

Hvitserk had a dreamy smile on his face as he described lifting Margrethe and pinning her to the tree trunk. A day in the sun had left them all with lightly burned faces, a flush creeping across their cheeks and the bridges of their noses. Apparently, Margrethe had gone straight from Hvitserk to Sigurd, meeting him in a meadow without bothering to get dressed again.

"Some berry collecting, hmm?" The flurry in which they scrambled was almost amusing. Each of them pushed themselves up from the sand as if burned, eyes flying open wide as three pairs of blue and one pair of hazel settled on her face.

"Rúna!" Ivar found his voice first, cheeks paling so that his sunburn stood out like a stain. "How long have you been standing there?"

"Long enough to decide three of you fools need to craft a better excuse for Margrethe's tardiness, next time. You are all lucky Queen Aslaug has too much to worry about with the planning to take much notice of her absence."

"Berry picking is a good excuse for spending a morning in the forest," Hvitserk argued.

"Except Margrethe came to the great hall empty handed, with grass stains on her skirts and straw in her hair."

Only Ubbe appeared concerned with these discrepancies between Margrethe's excuse and her appearance. Before he could get any words out of his mouth, though, Hvitserk had flopped back into the sand. He was the picture of ease as he said, "What's the use? Mother chides us for being unmarried, but it is not as if we are sowing the fields of Kattegat's daughters. If anything, she should be proud of our efficiency."

"Efficiency?" Rúna asked, cocking her head to the side. It caused a waterfall effect with her hair, the braid-dotted locks falling over her shoulder. "Is that what the lot of you are calling it?"

"Do you have a better name for it, Rúna?" Sigurd challenged, a cocky smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

"Yes." She turned on her heel to leave. "Idiocy."

Ivar's laugh trailed after her, coaxing a self-satisfied smile from her and easing away some of her irritation at having to pick up Margrethe's slack while the slave girl was foregoing her work for pleasure.

After dinner, when the stars were just starting to show in a soft, black sky, Ivar met Rúna on the old dock that sat just a handful of yards from Floki's cabin. They sat side by side with the dark waves lapping below their feet. Rúna broke the sweet cake in half and held a piece out to Ivar.

"What do you think of Ragnar returning?" She asked, after they had each had a bite of cake.

"I told you he would, didn't I?" Ivar's smile gleamed white in the moonlight. "I told you and Sigurd both that dream was a vision from the gods."

Rúna chewed her next bite slowly, soaking in his excitement. She couldn't help smiling back at him. "You did, and now it's come to pass. Are you happy he is here, though?"

"I am. I used to sit on this dock, remember? When he was first gone? And I would wish him back. I would beg with the gods for Father to come back. It only took a decade for the gods to answer."

When their cake was finished, the pair laid back on the dock to take in the stars. Ivar reached for her hand through the dark, twining his fingers with hers. His touch anchored her, solid ground when all she had known was becoming watery and uncertain. She turned her head and studied his profile, limned in silver starlight.

"But he won't be staying long," she whispered. Something about the lull of the waves and the night made hushed tones feel needed. "Ragnar told Floki he is leaving again, for England."

Beside her, Ivar sighed so deeply his whole body seemed to rise and fall with it. Slowly, his head lolled so that he faced her. "I know. He told us, too."

He was not quite looking at her, eyes heavy lidded. In her chest, her heart gave a squeeze. "What are you not saying, Ivar?"

A little, sad smile quirked his lips. There was a rustling as he rolled on his shoulder so that he was above her, looking down at her. With his free hand, he caressed her face from temple to chin. "We know each other too well, Rúna. I have not told anyone else yet… I want to go with Father."

She would not have been more surprised if the dock had disintegrated beneath them and they both fell into the sea. "Ivar…"

"Björn can deny me, and I know he would. But I do not think Father will. Everywhere I go here, people look on me with pity. To go to England with Father, to raid beside him…"

His words were stilled by her fingers trailing over his lips. "I understand, Ivar. I do not like it, but I understand." It was the truth. She could see how much it meant to him in the earnestness brightening his features. And then his brows knit together, concern coloring his words.

"You're crying." He dried her cheeks with his sleeve. "I didn't mean to make you cry, Rúna."

Her laugh was as unexpected as it was shaky. "Just come back, alright? You will do that, won't you? I would be most displeased if you do not."

"Of course I will come back!"

Ivar had not been on the beach that morning, though. He had not heard what Ragnar had said to Floki before departing for Hedeby to see Lagertha. I am afraid if you do not come with me, I will never see you again.

Ragnar did not intend to return from England, even if Ivar did.

"Good." It was the only word she could manage through the thickness in her throat. She smiled tenuously, eyes flicking down to his lips. Everything else in her life was radically changing…

She reached for him before she could give it a second, doubting thought, her hand curling behind his neck and drawing him down as she rose up. When they met somewhere in the middle, the kiss surprised both of them. They pulled apart a mere moment later, eyes wide in the moonlight when they looked at each other.

Then Ivar's hand was at her waist, pulling her back in within the same breath. This second kiss was much longer, with ample time for the hand at her waist to trail up her back to weave in her hair. Long enough for her lips to begin tingling beneath his. Long enough that when they broke apart, she was quite surprised to see that the stars hadn't shifted in the sky whatsoever.

Her heart was pounding in the aftermath. It must have been, the entire time, though she was just now taking stock of it. She bit the inside of her lip, still feeling where his had been. Suddenly, she found herself unable to meet his eye.

"Don't tell stories of me on the beach."

The outburst of his laugh made her start. He pulled her into him again, though this time only to tuck her against his chest. Ivar's heart was beating under her cheek just as erratically as her own.

"Rúna, I wouldn't dare."

A/N: Thank you to 23 and Nightwingstress for the reviews last chapter! And to all the new followers/favorites!

I have a separate folder that has, like, five different versions of the all-important First Kiss scene taking place either before Ivar leaves with Ragnar or after he returns. This scene was none of the pre-planned ones I had. Honestly, it really, really snuck up on me. I was going to end the chapter differently, but then, well... this happened. And I kind of just love it. I hope you do, too.

Also get prepared for some angst in the next chapter or so, because I have plenty planned.