Chapter Twenty-Two: Winds of Change
The warmth of the sun was making Rúna drowsy. It shined full-force on her face, upturned to the sky as it was. Not a single cloud dotted the sky but the meadow grasses and flowers bobbed with the rhythm of a gentle breeze. The fact that Ivar was also warm did nothing to help stave off her waves of sleepiness.
"Have you told Queen Aslaug that you want to go with Ragnar yet?" They both lay in the grass, with Ivar half propped on a mossy, long-fallen log. Rúna lay with her head resting on his chest, his arm about her waist. She tipped her head back to see his expression, but his eyes had drifted closed. She wasn't the only one feeling this cozy contentedness, then.
"Yes. She was not pleased." That made her laugh, though it was short and largely devoid of humor. Of course Aslaug would not be pleased with the thought of her favorite son leaving.
"But Ragnar has agreed?" She watched the deep green of the swaying grasses that surrounded them. By the time Björn or Ivar returned, that grass was like to be bleached by the summer sun.
"Mmm. He has."
Rúna turned in his embrace, resting her chin just above his heart. A smug, self-satisfied smirk tugged at the corners of his mouth, though his eyes were still shut. "What of your brothers? What have you told them?"
His hand slid down the curve of her spine to rest on the small of her back. "They think I am crazy, but that is nothing new, no?" Cracking one eye open, he peeked at her. His eyes reflected the spring sky back to her.
"No. You will prove them wrong, anyway." There was no doubt in her heart or mind. She had seen, firsthand, how capable he was. Ivar was strong and smart; he often bested his brothers despite the limitations of his legs. A true smile curved his lips; with his free hand, he reached behind her head and pulled her hair stick loose so that her hair tumbled in a copper waterfall.
"Did you know you have flour on your cheek?" He wiped it away with the pad of his thumb while she pouted beneath his touch.
"Some of us do have to work to make the feast tonight possible. Not Margrethe, of course, busy as she is servicing your brothers. But some of us." Perhaps she would have continued her rant uninhibited, but with a bemused smile, Ivar tilted her face up and stopped the rest of her words in their tracks.
Less than a full day had passed since the first time she had kissed him, yet she already knew she would never quite get over the thrill of it. Each time, her stomach gave a little drop, just as it did when she was out on the water with Floki, cresting the tall wave of an ocean current. His thumb traced along her jaw, only adding to the rush.
"But of this, I have told them nothing," Ivar murmured when he pulled away from her. "They may share Margrethe, but I would rather keep you all to myself."
That earned him a bashful smile, Rúna dropping her gaze down to the green embroidery on his tunic. She had not told a soul, either, though she did not have many confidants to choose from. Ivar was usually the first one she shared any secret with, but he was the secret. Telling Helga was an option, she supposed, but she was scared speaking of it aloud at all would break this delicate happiness she felt herself wrapped in. It was like a shawl around her shoulders, warming her each time she thought of kissing him for the first time under the moonlight.
"Unfortunately for you, I have to go soon. I'm meant to sail with Floki, remember? To retrieve King Harald and his people."
Pouting, Ivar told her, "Floki and Björn know how to sail." He greatly disliked the thought of letting her go, though he knew he needed to. Rúna was excited to be given command of a boat in the fleet, even if it was a short journey.
"But I can sail better than Björn."
Too soon, she wiggled out from beneath the weight of his arm. She plucked her hair stick from where he had tucked it into his belt. He watched as she gathered her hair and gave it a few practiced twists before spearing it through with the stick to hold it in place. His hand shot out of its own accord, he was certain, wrapping around her ankle through layers of boots and pants. These were not her every day boots she wore through the winter but rather the supple, thin boots Floki had made her. Better to feel the land and the sea through.
Tamping down his impulse to ask her to stay—and knowing she was like to if he did—he said instead, "I will see you tonight, though? At the feast?"
"For all the work I've done for that feast? Ivar, Ragnarok could begin and still not keep me from that great hall. If Margrethe had wages, I would have demanded them for all her slack I picked up."
He still had hold of her ankle when she crouched to kiss him. Then, though she very much did not want to, she made herself walk through the swaying meadow grass and trek back through the trees. In the privacy of the forest, she ran a finger over her lips, marveling at how easily they had bridged the gap between friends to something more. It felt as natural as breathing to press her lips to his. They had always been easy with their affection for one another, but still she would not have expected this seamlessness.
When she drew near to the pier, where Floki, Björn, and others were congregating to sail for Tamdrup, she pushed thoughts of Ivar from her mind. Smiling a greeting at Björn, she bypassed him to go straight to Floki. "There's my Rúna. This one is yours. Sail close to me; I'll be setting the course. The fjords are mostly open to Tamdrup, but watch for rocks close to the shore when we dock. I would rather these boats not sink before they see true open waters."
Rúna shrugged and dropped her voice to a whisper. "I think you meant that warning for Björn. You know I would not scrape all our work off on crags."
Floki giggled, giving her a good-natured push toward her vessel. "One day Björn will learn he is not infallible, but so long as the gods smile on him, the lesson will be late in coming. Perhaps Ragnar should not have named him Ironside when he was so young. It has been his thickest armor since that day."
Her father lifted her at the waist, easily swinging her over the ledge of the boat so that her feet landed solidly on the deck. She leaned over, perching her chin in her hand. "I suppose I should thank you for keeping me humble by not gifting me a fancy moniker."
Giggling once more, he flicked her nose. "Flokisdottir is a fine name to carry, if I do say so."
Her smile was nearly as bright as the sun behind her. "I wouldn't want to carry any other."
With the bird's eye view the cliff afforded him, Ragnar watched his eldest son's fleet sluice through the dark water of the fjord with a bemused smirk on his face. Though high above the forest and water, this cliff spot was not hard to manage, something he was grateful for. The older he got, the more the old wound—long suffered and never fully healed—protested in his side. Even now, as he sat lounging, it throbbed dully.
"I did not expect to have company." All the years he had spent away had done little to dull his father's senses, still attuned to the quirks of his children. Such as the sliding, rustling sound that foretold Ivar's arrival somewhere.
"I am more capable than my legs would lead one to believe."
His smirk deepened at that. Not taking his gaze from the boats, Ragnar extended a hand to his youngest son. The old wound did not like taking on Ivar's weight; it flared with a flame that left him grunting. Once Ivar was seated beside him, he chanced a glance at the boy. Capable, surely, but not without effort. His cheeks were blotched red and sweat ran in rivulets down his face. "Still, I will carry you back down. I understand you're expected at a feast tonight. Your mother has not yet had my head for planning to spirit you away to England with me. I shouldn't try my luck further, yet."
Father and son sat quietly for a few moments, watching the progress of the fleet. Floki was as familiar to Ragnar as himself; it was all too easy to spot him at the head of the line of ships, standing tall and letting the sea breeze wash over him. Björn's braided hair flicked to and fro in that same breeze, bright and gold among the dark sea and cliffs lining the fjord. To Floki's left, Rúna commanded her own ship with all the ease of her father. As they watched, she climbed onto the ledge of her ship, keeping balance by gripping the dragon's head that mounted the bow, leaning across the water to shout something to Floki. She pointed out to the water before them, prompting Floki to raise a hand to shield his eyes as he followed her gesture.
It was impossible to see the pod of dolphins from above until they breeched the water, jumping and playing. The sight elicited laughter from those manning the fleet. Even all these feet up, snippets of their mirth traveled on the wind. Still perched on the edge of her own ship, Rúna crouched low and managed to catch the interest of one of the passing dolphins. When it broke the water, it bumped its head against her open, waiting palm. She rose victorious, turning to smile at Floki, who clapped for her.
Ragnar chuckled, plopping one of the roasted walnuts he had pilfered from Lagertha into his mouth before offering them to Ivar. With a sidelong glance, he caught the way his son was intently and fondly watching the redheaded girl sailing in the fjord below. Ragnar leaned close, all but whispering though they were alone. "I should have asked Floki's daughter to sail with me instead of your brothers. Rúna seems all too eager to sail, and it is obvious she knows what she is doing."
Down below, as the fleet began to move passed them, Rúna opened her sail to catch the wind and angle her boat cleanly around a bend in the fjord. "Floki taught her to sail. She loves the sea."
"Mmm. She has learned much since coming to Kattegat, no? Shieldmaiden, sailing. Manners. She calls me 'King Ragnar', always. What else has your mother taught her?"
Always 'your mother'. And when Mother spoke of him, 'your father'. They did not use the other's name, and it did not escape Ivar's notice. "She learned the same things we did. Runor, to count coins and keep payment and spending records, stories of the lands we trade with in Kattegat. Just as I learned of the gods and our legacies and fighting from Floki."
"I see." They sat together a while longer, quietly chewing their walnuts. Ragnar offered him a skin of ale. "But you cannot sail like that?"
Ivar glared at him in surprise, but the shine in his eyes was humorous. His face broke out into a wide grin as Ragnar ruffled his hair. "Fuck off," he told his father, pushing back against him.
"My favorite," Ragnar told him, standing and dusting off his legs, "is one I learned from the Christians. They say, 'go to hell'. Their hell is not like ours. No goddess, no second life. Only burning and suffering."
With a grunt, Ivar was slung over his father's shoulder for the trek down the cliffside. "It is a curse to them," Ragnar explained. "Go to hell. That is the worst they can come up with."
"Go to hell, then." Ivar shook with Ragnar's laughter. He was carried down the cliffside and through much of the forest, but Ragnar deposited him some yards away from the south edge of Kattegat. Crouching beside him, Ragnar made sure to meet Ivar's eye.
"You can manage your way home, yes?"
"Of course!" Ragnar had not come back into Kattegat since leaving two days before.
"Good." The smile Ivar was given was sad at best, not reaching the sudden dark cast in Ragnar's eyes. He ruffled Ivar's hair once more. "Then on you go, Little Ivar. I will see you tomorrow. Toast Björn and Hvitserk for me."
While father and son were parting ways, in Tamdrup, old friends were meeting once again. The chance of seeing Bodil and Gisli—for however short a time—was as much of a draw for Rúna as being permitted to sail one of the ships into King Harald's harbor. Luckily for Rúna, the twins were of the same mind. They met the incoming fleet at the harbor, rushing to her boat and each taking an arm to pull her up and out as soon as she docked.
"Rúna!" They exclaimed in unison, wrapping her in a three-way hug right there on the pier. Floki shooed the trio away; there was packing to do and passengers to board, and all needed to be in Kattegat in time for the feast. Giggling, they moved in a cluster to the beach so they might steal a little time to catch up while the cargo was stowed on the ships.
"You look like a boy," Gisli admonished, taking in her vest and tunic, the axe hanging from her belt.
"Would you rather I sailed in my skirts?" Rúna shook her head over Gisli's vanity. As always, both the girls wore jewelry and silk dresses. From their clothing, it was obvious they still maintained their position as concubines to King Harald.
"Just promise me you are changing before this feast," Gisli continued on. "I am so jealous we will not be attending. Apparently, we are not much use on a voyage."
Bodil rolled her eyes at her sister's dramatics. "We never sail with the raiding parties, but Gisli has convinced herself this Rome is a land of riches and she hates that we are not going to see it. Or the feast in Kattegat, but that is because she will be missing a chance to watch Queen Aslaug."
"A queen in her own right!" Gisli sighed. "Imagine such a life, Bodil. But we have heard…"
"That King Ragnar has returned? Yes, that is true. He came back a few days ago, but he hasn't reclaimed his throne nor denounced Queen Aslaug. He… doesn't intend on staying."
"No?" Bodil asked, pretty face crumpling in on itself. "Where will he go?"
"He wants to return to England." She bit her lip, eyes drifting down to the sandy beach they stood on. The sand was different here, in Tamdrup. Darker and rockier than the fine, white beach sand that was only a few feet from home. "Ivar is going with him."
"I thought he did not sail?"
Rúna shrugged. "He usually doesn't, but he asked King Ragnar if he might go, and his father agreed. They are leaving the day after Björn. Hvitserk is sailing in Björn's fleet, if you need something else to be dour about, Gisli."
The girl threw her hands up, muttering about her bad luck under her breath. But Bodil, as always, was more observant than her sister. Rúna felt Bodil's dark blue gaze boring into her cheek, as if she were trying to divine her thoughts by staring. "You're going on neither?"
"No… Helga wants me to stay in Kattegat, with the queen and Torvi. Björn's wife, remember?"
"We remember." Around them, the frenzied work was begging to die down. "Tell us quickly about Ivar, Rúna. Have the two of you finally stopped torturing yourselves?"
At Bodil's bland probing, Rúna's face flushed as red as her hair. "Oh, um…"
Words escaped her but Gisli was not likewise afflicted. She squealed, throwing her arms around Rúna. "When? What happened? Who initiated it? Do the other princes know? Do your parents know? Or Queen Aslaug?"
Rúna felt as if she were shrinking into herself from the embarrassment. She pushed her way out of Gisli's embrace, laughing despite herself. "Last night, and only the two of you know."
This made Gisli squeal again, and she likely would have rattled off more questions, if it were not for Bodil. She caught her sister by the arm, smiling all the while. "Leave Rúna be before she burns to ashes. I doubt she has much to tell us, yet, with it being so new. We will interrogate her when next we see her and she has details to share."
The playful wink Bodil gave her only served to put her stomach in knots. Rúna groaned inwardly at the prospect of having to put her evolving relationship with Ivar into words, but smiled and hugged and kissed her friends goodbye before boarding her ship again. Immediately, she wished she had stayed on the beach. King Harald was not sailing with shieldmaidens, either. All the eyes on her as she crossed the deck were male. She ignored he slight shake in her hands as she undid the knot tying the ship to the dock.
Floki had warned her of this, when he gave his permission for her to command a ship. Shieldmaidens were common enough, it was true, but rarely did women lead in the way she was about to. As far as she knew, not even Lagertha had taken full sailing rights of a ship. She ignored the murmurs that followed her and positioned the sails to catch the wind just right to propel them forward. In the open water, the oars were taken up and all talk was replaced by the sloshing of the blades cutting through the waves. It was silent until they cleared the first twist in the fjord. Only then did conversation among the men pick up and Rúna was all but forgotten, a sure sign that the crowd decision was to trust her. Rúna's shoulders sagged in relief, though she kept her eyes focused on the path ahead.
Still, her heart did not settle until her feet touched solid ground once more in Kattegat.
"Very good, Rúna," Floki praised her with a proud smile lighting up his dark eyes. His pride was echoed with a swelling in her chest as she returned his smile. Then he drew her into his arms, squeezing her to him. "But you had better hurry home if you're to be ready for the feast. I will be sure to brag about you once I am safe from Helga's scolding."
The great hall was warm and golden, especially in Ivar's seat beside the hearth. He watched the others mill about, waiting for Floki, Helga, and Rúna to arrive. Mother came to check on him often, but not half so often as Margrethe.
Smirking, he held his empty ale horn up and gave it a little shake. As soon as Margrethe reached for it, he opened his hand, letting the horn clatter to the floor. "Oops."
Contempt shone from the slave girl's fair face, neck and cheeks blotching red. Ivar did not care. This had been his amusement while he waited for Rúna. Most of the ale he kept sending Margrethe for was poured discreetly into the sooty corner of the hearth behind him. He had also sent her in rounds and rounds looking for foods he knew were not prepared for the feast. Rúna had told him the menu but considering Margrethe had been largely absent from feast preparations, she was none the wiser about his requests.
And besides that, she could not tell him no.
Feeling eyes on him, Ivar looked across the room to where Sigurd stood with Björn, overlooking the worn scrap of map their eldest brother had carried with him for years. Björn was detailing the plans of travel for some of King Harald's men; the king himself, and his brother Halfdan, had not yet made it to the great hall themselves. Margrethe's contempt was mirrored in Sigurd's features, but Ivar merely smiled at his brother and lifted his fresh horn in toast.
"Why are you tormenting Margrethe?"
Impossibly, he had missed the arrival of Floki's family until Rúna was leaning over the back of his chair to whisper in his ear. Her voice and her breath washing over his skin sent a pleasant shiver down his spine. When he tipped his head back to whisper in return, his face was the picture of innocence. "I am just making sure she earns her keep, what with her lack of wok ethic of late. Mother agreed it was needed."
"Of course she did." Rúna shook her head, sending her braid swinging where it rested on one shoulder, but she was smiling. In the warm, golden firelight, Rúna was radiant. Her hair was braided into a sweeping mass that curled around her head, tied off with a length of silk ribbon that matched the green shade of her dress. Like new leaves in the spring. It set off the fire of her hair, the cut of the dress skimming over her in fluid waves. Aside from the pearl earrings she had been wearing since piercing her ears and the silver arm ring he had given her, she wore no other jewelry, leaving her collarbones bare where the dipping neckline of the dress exposed them.
But he was not the only one drawn in by her arrival; his brothers were soon circled around for good-natured teasing.
"Who is your new friend, Ivar?" Hvitserk began. "Rúna is like to lob you over the head for replacing her."
"A regular jester tonight, are you, Hvitserk?"
"She sounds like Rúna," Sigurd continued, "but it is hard to tell with her hair tamed and nothing smudging her cheeks."
Ivar felt her lean on the top of his chair, the end of her braid tickling his neck when she leaned forward.
"Do not play stupid, you three. If you can still know Margrethe with her clothes on, then I know you're not as daft as you seem."
Despite the jab, all five dissolved into laughter, drawing the attention of King Harald and his brothers. The king clapped Ubbe and Hvitserk on the shoulders but smiled on them all. "Sons of Ragnar!" He greeted. "The last feast did not afford us much time together. Ubbe, Hvitserk, the two of you are much taller than the last time we raided together."
King Harald's bright smile alighted on each brother in turn. It was not lost on Ivar the way the smile faltered when it landed on him. Ignoring the hot flare of anger this brought on, Ivar forced himself to smile and lift his horn. "I am taller when I stand up."
There was a small, shocked silence before Harald and Halfdan erupted in laughter. Still, that did not stop the pitying look from returning to Halfdan's feline face. "I am sure you wish you could come with us."
Rúna's hand slipped onto his shoulder, fingers digging into the skin hard enough to ground him and keep the smile from falling off his face. "Go to hell," Ivar said, foregoing his instinct to strike out at the king's brother. The second burst of laughter from the pair of brothers showed Ragnar was not the only one who found humor in the Christian insult.
As his laughter died down, King Harald took notice of Rúna for the first time. Recognition lit up his dark eyes as he said, "You're the shieldmaiden that sailed with us today. Helga and Floki's girl, yes?"
"Yes," she said, at the same time Ubbe said, "Her name is Rúna."
"Rúna," Harald repeated, a smile curving around her name. "After seeing your sailing today, I was saddened to hear from Floki you won't be joining us."
It was Rúna's turn to fake a smile. Ivar could see the falsehood in it from the tightness at the corners. "I will be in good company with Queen Aslaug," she said mildly.
"But not on the open sea. Perhaps you will be permitted to join us on the next voyage, should Björn lead us to success in this dream of his." To this Rúna smiled politely and dipped her head demurely, raising her own cup of wine with her other hand.
"Skol, King Harald."
"Skol." He tipped his own cup to each of them, smiling all the while, before turning to mingle with the masses of the feast. Halfdan followed his brother like a shadow. Ivar was hopeful that this departure meant having Rúna to himself again, but it was not to be. Even as his brothers dispersed, another pair of guests approached: Lagertha and Astrid.
Though Astrid hung back just behind Lagertha's shoulder, the earl drew Rúna into a hug and greeted them both in turn. Thankfully, they did not linger long, only inquiring about training together in the future. Lagertha intended to help Torvi in Björn's absence, when she could, it seemed. Finally, Rúna took the seat beside him, sipping her wine. "Making Margrethe 'earn her keep', huh?"
"Mother took more notice of her absence than you thought," he said by way of explanation. "There's more to be done than warming my brothers' beds."
Rúna gave a snort and gestured across the room with her chin. "I don't think she understood the message."
Ivar looked up just in time to see Margrethe slipping out the door. A quick survey around the room and he quickly surmised it was Sigurd who had led her out. He made to push himself from his chair, but Rúna's hand laying on top of his stilled him. "Leave her be. It's a feast; there's no need to go instigating fights with Sigurd."
Despite the twist of his scowl, Ivar didn't argue. "That's not your blue dress," he said instead, prompting a giggle from her. She was so like Floki when she laughed like that she might as well have been his true daughter.
"Very observant of you, Budlungr." She plucked at the richly embroidered skirt with her free hand. "A Yule gift from Helga and Floki."
"But I am the spoiled one."
Giggling again, she admitted, "I think they were feeling a little guilty about leaving me behind. Perhaps you should take note."
Turning his hand under hers, he caught her fingers and gave them a squeeze. "Don't you start, too. Mother has been at my ear about it often enough since I told her."
"Likely only because she cannot get a hold of Ragnar's ear. I have not seen him since he went to Hedeby."
"He is here," Ivar told her, running his thumb over her knuckles. "In the forests, like some spirit."
Rúna's face darkened at that, eclipsed by a sudden cloud of what looked to be sadness. Before he could ask her about the sudden, inexplicable shift in her mood, his mother's voice commanded all attention in the great hall. Standing on the dais with a wine cup in her hand, Aslaug smiled in a way that did not meet her eyes.
"This occasion calls for a sacrifice, to praise the gods and ask their blessing and protection. It is not every day that Kattegat and Tamdrup join together to sail to new lands." By the time Aslaug finished speaking, all tension had faded from Rúna's face. Now she smiled at him, brighter than the sun they had laid under that morning.
"Bodil and Gisli say that the sacrifices in Tamdrup are always magical. Apparently, King Harald and Halfdan sing at them."
Sing they did, with flames dancing over their tattooed faces, in low, harmonious voices that felt like they resonated in one's very bones. As they sang, Aslaug sunk the wicked sacrificial blade into the throat of a goat, dark blood streaming into the collection plate. There was smoke in the air from a multitude of fires and countless bodies milling around as Kattegat and Tamdrup were united in honoring the gods. Yet that was not enough to obscure the sight of Rúna in her new, spring-green gown, sitting beside Ivar and smiling when he dipped his fingers into the blood, swiping a curving red trail from her temple to chin with his touch.
Some distance away, Floki and Helga watched the pair together. Helga leaned into her husband, resting her head on his shoulder. How was one supposed to feel when watching their daughter become a woman before their very eyes? Sighing, she ignored the ache in her chest. "They are not half so sly as they would like to think."
Both of them had noted the way the two flirted through the feast, not to mention the way Ivar had held Rúna's hand. Beside her, Floki gave a derisive sound that was somewhere between a snort and a giggle.
"Oh, my Helga, we were young once, too."
"We are leaving her alone come the morning," Helga pressed on with all the worry of a mother.
"And Ivar is leaving with Ragnar the very next day. What trouble can they conjure in that time, hmm?"
Helga tilted her head, nuzzling into his neck despite the tickle of his beard. "If she is anything like you, and I see much of your influence in her, then the answer is 'plenty'."
Rúna may have been amused, but ultimately dismissive, over his intentions to have Margrethe make up the work she missed so that it fell on Rúna's shoulders, but Ivar had always been nothing if not persistent Her mid-feast romp with Sigurd only fanned the flames of his determination.
Though the slave girl had served his family for some time now, Ivar was not blind to her discomfort around him. He had that effect on many; it came with his lot in life. But if there had been one thing Ivar had learned over his years, it was when and how to use his crippled status to his advantage.
Tonight, he intended to use it to put Margrethe back in her place.
More of his ale ended up in the hearth ashes than his belly, but that did little to stop Ivar from claiming he needed Margrethe's assistance to ready himself for bed. He made sure to wait until Ubbe had retreated from the feast with Hvitserk before making the demand of his mother.
Aslaug was exhausted from the feast, he could tell.
"You were having visions, no?" He asked her, waiting patiently for Margrethe to finish washing the red and black face paint from the queen's skin. Each pass of the rag revealed more and more of Aslaug's skin, typically fine and clear but now sallow and tired.
"You know how the sacrifices can bring them on." His mother's voice was raspy from the smoke of the fires. Almost always, Aslaug had Björn or Torvi complete the sacrifice ceremonies for this very reason. Yet tonight, she had insisted on doing it herself. "I saw nothing of importance. Everything flickered by so quickly, I could not put a name to a single thing I saw."
A tight coil of apprehension released somewhere along his spine, leaving him nearly sagging beneath his relief. Though many of Aslaug's visions were minor, it was not unheard of for her volva powers to reveal more to her. Annoyingly, the remnants of Siggy came forward in his mind. A smudge of an image; Björn's flaxen hair framing a small, blurry face, features entirely unclear. Ivar scowled, tamping down the thought and cursing Rúna and Sigurd both for keeping the dead girl's name alive.
When Margrethe had finished Aslaug's own night preparations, the queen rose only to stoop before her youngest son. Taking his face between her cool, dry hands, Aslaug pressed a kiss to his forehead. "Sleep well, sweet son. You will be thankful for good rest once your father has you traipsing through Christian lands."
As always, Margrethe walked a few paces behind him. Perhaps she was already remembering her place. Still, to be sure, Ivar instructed her to help him dress for bed, citing tiredness and drunkenness. He decided he would take care of his wrist braces himself. After all, that was not where the frailties of his body lie. He instructed Margrethe to remove his bindings and boots for him.
Ubbe was so skilled at this routine, performed any time Ivar requested it, that it took him seconds to be done with the tasks. Rúna took no longer than Ubbe to complete it all. But Margrethe fumbled with unfamiliar, shaking hands. She was careful not to let her fingers brush his legs as she worked. This observation brought a wicked smirk to Ivar's face.
"You are frightened of my legs, yet have no unease over the snake Sigurd carries in his eye? Though I suppose you are more concerned with the snake in his pants, hmm?"
Margrethe flinched at the sound of his voice, which only amused him further. He watched her struggle with his bindings for several moments before the weight of them fell from his shins. Ivar leaned back, sinking slightly into his bed, staring down the line of his nose at the slave girl. In a haughty tone, he prompted her, "Take my boots off, Margrethe."
With the same shaking hands, she took hold of his left boot and tugged. Just as she was unfamiliar with his bindings, so too was she unskilled with the stiff leather his shoes were crafted of. Frowning, she turned the heel in her hands, trying to work his foot free. This proved to be her egregious error. Inside his boot, Ivar's rigid ankle twisted with a pain so sharp and electric, his vision blackened for a moment. The air was stolen from his lungs, teeth gritting to contain the scream building in his throat.
His hand shot out before he was even conscious of it, catching Margrethe's face with the backside. A heavy thud echoed through the room when she was felled with the force of his blow, a shriek ripping through the tense quiet.
"You stupid, worthless idiot!" He seethed, pulling his own boot off in one smooth motion and throwing it at her. Margrethe moved just at the right time, narrowly avoiding another hit to add to the blood streaming down her face. The metal buckles of his brace had cut deeply into her temple. Pushing himself from bed to stool to floor, he shoved her onto her back. Margrethe raised her hands in an attempt to block him, but he knocked them to the side and brought himself within inches of her face. "You are below the broodmare my brothers use you as."
He might have hit her again, but the way she whimpered and sniffled, tears and snot streaming down her face as freely as her blood… all of it disgusted him. Repulsed, he shook his head. "Get out before I think better of it."
Only after the girl had scrambled from his cabin, trying—and failing—to form a complete sentence praising his mercy and expressing her remorse, did Ivar lift himself back into bed. His ankle throbbed all the while. Shirking his other boot, braces, and shirt, he contorted himself uncomfortably to inspect the joint. Not even bruised, though the waves of pain would beg to differ with the seemingly typical appearance.
Leave her be. Rúna's words from earlier in the night, come back to him. They quelled the roiling anger inside him just enough that he took hold of his blankets and rolled into them rather than hunting Margrethe down, as he was half a mind to do. He buried himself in bedding and forced his mind away from a dumb slave girl. Instead, he thought of Rúna in the spring sun, the light glinting a red-gold off her hair and her head heavy and soothing on his chest.
Eventually, he slipped into sleep remembering the sweet, soft press of her lips on his.
Standing on the docks the morning after the feast, Rúna decided the sun had no right to shine as brightly as it did. Yet it glittered over the clam waters of the fjord, turning the gentle waves to gold on that warm spring morning. Despite the warmth, Helga and Floki stood before her wrapped in their cloaks. They would need them on the open sea, which would not have warmed nearly as much as the land this early in the season.
She liked to think it was the harsh sun that made her eyes sting and prick as they did, but she knew better. This was only the second time that Helga and Floki had left her, and she could not conjure the words for a goodbye. So, she threw herself at her parents again, choking down her tears as they caught her, and she buried her face in the fur trim of their cloaks.
"Mind Queen Aslaug," Helga told her as if she were still a little girl, her voice thick around the words. "Do not forget to tend the animals and the garden each day. And return to the great hall before nightfall, unless you are with Ubbe or Sigurd."
Ivar could not be included in Helga's list of protectors. It was common knowledge, now, that the youngest of Ragnar's sons would be sailing with him the next morning.
"We will bring you many stories, our Rúna. Or would you prefer treasures now that you are so grown, hmm?" Floki's teasing made her giggle despite herself. Trying to be covert, she tried the tears brimming at her eyes and forced herself to smile when she pulled back.
"Why not bring me both?" She countered. "Then you will be certain I am pleased with my gifts when you return."
Floki giggled, his mirth bubbling over. He drew wife and daughter alike into another bone crushing hug before taking Helga's hand to help her into the boat.
"You are a spoiled child," he told her, catching her chin in his hand and bending to press a kiss to her forehead.
"You have only yourself to blame for that."
Somehow, her heart soared and broke all at once while she watched Floki board one of the ships they had built together. It left her with a throbbing ache in her chest. She knew if she did not make herself smile and wave a final time and turn on her heel, she would stand on that dock until the day they returned. Rúna wiped more errant tears from her cheeks as soon as she turned. Breathing deeply, she inhaled the salty sea breeze until her lungs were filled to bursting with it. Squaring her shoulders, she forced her wooden legs to carry her forward.
Only her feet carried right into a group of Ragnarssons, interrupting Ubbe, Sigurd, and Hvitserk's goodbyes. She meant to sidestep them, but Hvitserk's hand curled around her arm and pulled her in their midst.
"Were you going to walk by without seeing me off, Rúna? What if I die?" But he was smiling all the while, pulling her into a squeezing hug. Rúna laughed, letting herself be crushed.
"How fortunate you did not drop dead just now from a broken heart," she teased. "Perhaps you will see some of Björn's dream before it catches up to you."
"Believe it or not, I think I might even miss your snippy mouth."
She traded innocent barbs with the brothers a few moments more before continuing her trek to the great hall. The feasting was done, as were her chores at home. Despite the likelihood of having to withstand some belittling at the hands of Aslaug, it was her hope the queen would have some sort of menial work for her to do lest she spend her day wondering and worrying over Helga, Floki, and Hvitserk.
"Queen Aslaug?" she called out, letting herself into the massive doors. The hall was empty; not even Margrethe was milling around. There was a heavy silence in the hall, one that settled over her like a fog as she walked forward. "Queen Aslaug?"
Venturing inward, Rúna pulled back the curtain separating the queen's bedroom from the public hall and peeked around the corner. No candles burned within, leaving the room shrouded in soft shadows. There, curled up in a bench piled with pillows and a blanket pulled tight around her, Aslaug sat staring at the wall. Curiosity pulled Rúna into the room; when she was a few feet closer, she realized the queen's shoulders were shaking and tears fell down her cheeks in quick succession.
"Queen Aslaug?" She said again, as if it were the only phrase she had ever known. Tentatively, she reached a hand out to touch Aslaug's shoulder. Viper-quick, the queen's own shot out to catch hers. She pulled Rúna down to her, so that she could meet the girl's eye.
"I wish Ragnar had been dead all this time, as we had always assumed. Here, sit beside me, Rúna. There is something I must tell you."
A/N: Thank you tooooooo: katie. pierce23, Nightwingstress, sarah0406, taylor115, Wika0304, and Guest for reviewing!
Re: Sarah0406, I am reworking the other 'first kiss' scenes into other scenes, but I will put it in the author's note when those scenes come up!
I am sorry to be pulling the two of them apart so soon, but Ivar's journey with Ragnar is so crucial to his character development. It's one of the things I decided I couldn't ignore from the plot of the show while weaving Rúna's story.
I will update as soon as I can; I have a big chunk of the next chapter written out! But I have a lot of deadlines coming up for school & work until mid-May, so apologies in advance if it is a bit delayed!