Chapter Twenty-Six: Homecoming

There were no clouds in the sky, so that the sun beat down on the top of his head. England was no longer visible when he looked back; Norway could not yet be seen on the opposite horizon. Ivar was well and truly alone with his Christian escorts.

Neither realized he spoke their language. He had understood every word said by King Ecbert and Father when they had discussed the terms of Ragnar's surrendering himself to the Saxon ruler. While playing a game called 'chess' with Prince Alfred—not altogether unlike his beloved hnefatafl—they had spoken little, and in their own tongues.

So, it was that his chaperones spoke freely of how anxious they were to be rid of their crippled cargo.

Ivar glared at the back of their heads and withdrew the little chess piece Alfred had given him as a parting gift. It was wooden, just like his hnefatafl pieces, but this one had been carved into the likeness of a king. More specifically, King Ecbert. Running his thumb over the carved features, Ivar mused at Alfred's reasoning.

Perhaps he thinks he has won, Ivar thought. That this is like a game of chess, Father's giving himself to Ecbert. He closed his fist around the piece, squeezing it tight enough for it to hurt his fingers through the thick leather padding of his braces. Raising his head, he glared at the horizon where England had been yesterday.

Ivar knew not how long the sea journey from England to Norway took without a storm propelling your ship through the water at an accelerated rate. He knew only that his legs ached terribly, Ragnar's makeshift bindings he had made for him not holding well under the stress of travel. His head pounded as well, from the tears he held back every time Father crossed his mind—not to mention the overbearing sun and his ever-growing annoyance with his companions.

Sighing, Ivar returned his chess piece where he kept it tucked in his belt. Turning his eyes skyward to that endless expanse of blue, he mouthed a quick prayer to the Allfather that he would be back in Kattegat soon.

Rúna was not as skilled at being reclusive and elusive as her father, it seemed. Though she avoided the great hall, the call of town eventually got to her. She found herself there one morning, after the animals and Sigurd had their breakfast. Her first destination was to the shore to inquire about any possible incoming ships. Helga, Floki, Ivar… her chest was always aching with the missing of them, but she was met with no news from the fishermen and traders unloading their cargo.

She stopped by Torvi's home to inquire if there was anything she needed from the market, but Rúna had been right to assume Ubbe had been spending time there. Torvi wanted for nothing thanks to Ubbe's daily visits.

"Can we train soon, though? With, with Ubbe and Sigurd, I mean," Guthrum asked her, tripping over his words. Considering all that had happened in the past two weeks, the poor boy was probably itching for some normalcy. Rúna agreed, telling him to talk to Ubbe of it and she would do the same with Sigurd.

There was only so much time she could spend playing with Hali and holding Asa, though. Before the morning was done with, the two were yawning and Torvi whisked them away to tuck them into their beds for naps. Rúna took her leave then, deciding to make her way through the market and see what, if any, Lagertha's fledgling rule had brought to the trading town.

Deciding to start at the very front and work her way in toward the great hall, Rúna hedged close to the tall, thick wall that marked the entrance to Kattegat. She intended to do some shopping, and would have, had she not heard her name called in a familiar voice. A voice that not only gave her pause but made her legs feel weak beneath her. Despite the presently watery nature of her knees, Rúna found herself turning, all thoughts of the market forgotten.

At the gate was Ivar, slung across the back of a horse, torso and legs dangling over the sides. He was streaked with dirt and dark smudges underscored hazy, tired eyes, but he smiled when she began to run toward him. Luckily for her, the horse was stopped, for when she was close enough, Rúna reached for him. She took his face in her hands and kiss him full on the mouth. One hand worked its way under her braid to cup the back of her head, the other coming to sit square between her shoulder blades as he kissed her in return.

"Ahem," came a pointed, forced cough, causing the two to withdraw from one another. Ivar still held her even as she turned, noticing for the first time that he was not alone. Two whey-faced men stood beside the cart. They were dressed strangely, in tufted tunics and brightly colored pants. Their hair was cut short, beards neatly trimmed, and around each of their necks hung a… what had Floki called it once? A cross.

Christians.

One of them—Rúna was not sure if it had been the one who coughed or not—spoke in a language that sounded garbled to her. She cut her eyes at Ivar; Björn had taught his brothers the Saxon language, but she only knew a few odd words. Ivar grimaced at the men over the top of her head.

"They want payment," he explained. "For returning me to Kattegat. Apparently, the Saxons do not obey their king without reimbursement."

Rúna reached into her pocket, withdrawing her coin purse. She knew not how much she happened to be carrying that day and she did not care. Any price was acceptable to her, to have Ivar safely here. The darker haired man caught the purse when she tossed it.

"You owe me a ransom price, now, Budlungr."

Beneath her hair, his thumb caressed her neck. "I will make it up to you. Help me down if you would, Rúna. I would like to be rid of this Christian filth."

His weight was almost too much for her to take head-on like that. Ivar wrapped his arms around her neck, Rúna securing her own around his chest. Neither of the Christian men offered any help as she pulled Ivar across the horse's back. When his legs trailed across the horse's back, Ivar inhaled sharply and buried his face into Rúna's neck.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, but Ivar only shook his head slightly. Somehow, she managed to get him down without falling over herself.

By that time, they had drawn attention, and Sigurd and Ubbe came rushing through the small, curious crowd to take Ivar from her. They settled his weight between them.

"Welcome home, little brother. We were not sure if we should expect to see you again."

"It would take more than a few Saxons to kill me, Ubbe." As if to punctuate his point, Ivar turned his head to look back over his and Ubbe's shoulder both. The Saxons in question had already turned their backs in retreat, no doubt anxious to return to their boat. Cowards had not even docked at the port Ivar had pointed out to them, instead choosing to come ashore around the fjord on an uninhabited beach and travel inland from there.

Ivar spit in the dirt, glad to be rid of them and see them go.

Rúna followed behind the brothers, noting, as they past the great hall, that Lagertha and Astrid had come to stand on its steps. A crown glittered on Lagertha's head. Relief spread through Rúna when she turned, anxious, to see if Ivar had noticed, but he had his head hung as Ubbe and Sigurd carried him past the great hall to his own cabin.

That stutter in her steps over seeing Lagertha and Astrid had given her pause in her thoughts. Suddenly, she felt she would be imposing if she followed after the brothers. Instead, she turned where she stood, to address Lagertha.

"Ragnar did not return with him." A mean satisfaction filled her to see the pain flicker across Lagertha's face. "He is alone."

The new queen gave a nod, squaring her shoulders as she did so. Rúna and Lagertha regarded each other another moment before Rúna returned her nod and turned away. She still did not think she should follow the brothers, yet she was at a small loss of what else to do. All the coin she had was given to the Saxons who brought Ivar to the gates, giving her little reason to linger in town longer. But she did not want to go home or to the forest, either.

Ignoring her self-doubts, Rúna walked the few yards left and pushed her way into Ivar's cabin in the middle of his explanation.

"King Ecbert handed him over to King Aelle, knowing that Aelle would kill him," Ivar was saying, surprise coloring Ubbe and Sigurd's faces.

"Why would he give him to Aelle?" Ubbe asked, but Ivar was shaking his head before the question was finished.

"It doesn't matter. Our father is probably dead by now. And we will have to avenge him. That is what matters."

A heavy silence filled the cabin at Ivar's words. His back was to Rúna, but Sigurd had taken notice of her arrival. Both Ubbe and Sigurd loosed sighs while Sigurd waved Rúna forward and took a seat beside Ivar. She drew forward, stopping behind Ivar's chair to rest a hand on his shoulder. "We have something to tell you."

The weight of the silence grew. Ivar lifted a hand, threading his fingers through Rúna's. Tipping his head back, his questioning gaze landed first on her, then Sigurd, and finally… "Ubbe?"

Unable to form the words himself, Ubbe gave a small shake of his head, eyes not quite looking at Ivar. Gulping down the lump that had formed in her throat, Rúna gave Ivar's hand a squeeze and opened her mouth to reveal the terrible truth, but Sigurd beat her to it.

"Mother is dead." Gone was any grief Sigurd had shown to her in the past weeks. He spoke the sentence plainly, as the fact that it now was. The fingers holding hers gripped Rúna so tightly that she bit the inside of her cheek to counteract the pain. Ivar's head tipped back, seeking confirmation from her.

"Yes," Rúna managed, with a small nod. Bewilderment and shock had left Ivar's eyes and mouth wide alike. He turned to Ubbe next, perhaps seeking a different answer, but it wasn't given to him.

"It is true." Ubbe told him, face scrunching briefly as he reigned in his own anger. "Lagertha killed her. Lagertha is now queen of Kattegat. And Mother is dead."

With her hand resting on Ivar's shoulder as it was, Rúna felt how he went rigid and still, his breathing becoming labored as his anger built. She looked at Ubbe and Sigurd, inclining with her head toward the door. Sigurd stood immediately, but Ubbe lifted a brow in silent question. Despite whatever form Ivar's anger was about to take, she knew she would be spared. Past experience let them all know the same could not be said of his brothers. So, Rúna nodded, motioning again for Ubbe and Sigurd to leave.

No other protest was brooked.

"Ivar," she said softly, once they were alone. He was still holding her hand. She leaned forward, wrapping her free arm across his chest from behind. With her head dipped low next to his ear, she began whispering to him. "I was with her. She did not go alone. Your brothers… Lagertha tricked them, trapped them; do not blame them. Lagertha is the one to blame. Only Lagertha."

"Thank you," Ivar said, hoarsely, after some length. "Thank you."

Rúna nodded, kissing him on the temple before withdrawing and giving him his space. Ivar did not turn to her; she watched, a bystander to his hurting, as Ivar pulled an odd little wooden figure from where it had been tucked away in his belt. He gripped it in his hand even tighter than he had held her hand, so tightly that blood began to seep through his wrist brace.

It dripped menacingly on the floor, that blood, echoing the sentiments running through his head.

Three of Ragnar's sons crowded around the small family table in Floki's cabin on Ivar's first night back in Kattegat. Ubbe had taken him to his cabin earlier in the day, helping his brother bathe and change into clean clothing. With the dirt cleaned from his cheeks, Rúna thought he looked pale, his face drawn.

The telling of Queen Aslaug's death made it fresh for Ubbe and Sigurd as well, so that all three brothers were left picking at their dinner. They drank more ale than anything, and Rúna could hardly blame them. She would just feed the leftover chicken to the barn cats and the vegetables to the goats, and nothing would be wasted.

It was a quiet dinner, the four of them eating in near silence. The only time it was broken was when Ubbe or Sigurd posed a question for Ivar about Ragnar. But Ivar was despondent after learning the news of Aslaug, answering his brothers in a combination of fragmented phrases, shrugs, and scowls. Eventually, Ubbe pushed away from the table, Sigurd following his older brother's lead. Ubbe made a move toward Ivar, but the youngest brother shook his head.

"Leave me."

Ubbe at least had the decency to turn to Rúna, raising an eyebrow in an unvoiced question. Though her face heated with a furious blush, Rúna nodded. In a small voice, she confirmed, "He can stay."

There was an amused snort from Sigurd. Gone was all the mean-spirited taunting from earlier. He clapped Ivar on the shoulder in a rare show of brotherly comradery between the two, Ivar smirking despite himself and making a halfhearted swipe at the older boy.

"Alright, then," Ubbe said, face still slack with surprise. He pulled at the leather vest he wore over his tunic, clearly displaced by this shift in dynamic. "I guess we should… go."

Even Rúna couldn't help but smile at Ubbe, usually calm and collected, flustering this way. Sigurd ushered his brother out the door, throwing one more look over his shoulder before letting it swing closed behind them. Now that they were alone, Ivar picked up his head from where he had been looking despondently into his plate. His blue eyes were rimmed an angry, hurt shade of red, pale cheeks blotched with ruddy splotches, a small tremble in his jaw. "Rúna."

Just like that morning, her name was all it took. Rúna moved to him immediately, cradling his head when he wrapped his arms around her and buried his face into her stomach. She bent around him, dipping her head low over his. "Shhh," she murmured to him softly, pressing a kiss to the top of his head.

He clung to her while Rúna ran her fingers soothingly through his hair. Though not quite crying—her dress didn't feel wet, and there was no sound coming from him—Ivar was shaking. "I hate her," he spat, words muffled.

"I know," Rúna told him, and she did. That hate he proclaimed, it was clear in the heat of his skin, in the way he gripped fistfuls of her dress. "I know."

His breath seeped through her dress, washing across her skin hotly. She knew not for how long she held him this way, only that eventually he withdrew from her to run his hands over his face and through his hair. Calmed, now, Ivar took up his earlier despondent staring, though this time he directed his gaze at the dying fire in the hearth. Rúna stepped away, giving him space while she tidied the room.

"C'mon," she moved back to him with her chores finished, caressing his cheek with her hand. "You look exhausted."

"I feel it," he agreed, voice sounding hollow. Rúna held the curtain aside for him at the doorway to her bedroom. She had no bedside stool, as he used at his cabin, but her bed was low enough that Ivar had no problem pulling himself up and into it. With a heavy sigh, he fell back into her pillows and crossed his hands on his chest. "Could you…?"

"I've got it," she told him, already moving to the foot of her bed to undo his makeshift bindings and pull his boots from his feet. "There's another set of bindings in Floki's workshop. I'll get them for you in the morning."

Ivar didn't reply, instead working on removing his braces. Once free, he sat up just enough to peel off his shirt before falling back onto the pillows and rolling onto his side. Now he stared up at the ceiling as Rúna undressed down to her shift and joined him on her bed. Only after Rúna blew out the bedside candle and plunged them into full darkness did Ivar begin to cry.

The bed shook with his sobs. Rúna curled herself around him, hugging him from behind and pressing her cheek to his back. He clung to her hand, gripping it tightly against his chest. There were no words Rúna could offer that would comfort him, and she knew that. She simply held him instead, riding out the waves of his grief.

"Rúna?" His voice broke over her name. Ivar drew the hand he held up, so that he could press it to his mouth. "Did my Mother suffer?"

"No, Ivar." Lifting her head, Rúna tried to discern his features in the dark. She was just able to make out his pale profile and her own hand where he held it to his lips. "Queen Aslaug was dead before she hit the ground."

Pillow rustling under his head as he nodded, Ivar took a deep breath. His lips seared his next words into her skin, the heat of his promise making her shiver. "Lagertha will suffer. I will make sure of it."

Rúna took a deep breath herself, turning her eyes upward, though she could not even see the ceiling through the dark and certainly not the sky beyond. This is part of your fate, she reminded herself. It was not until Ivar said it aloud that Rúna realized that, though furious with Lagertha, she did not want the shieldmaiden to die. You cannot run from your fate even if you try.

In the dark, she turned her hand under Ivar's pressing with her fingertips to turn his face toward her. Only a little clumsily, she found his mouth with hers and kissed him slowly. Softly. She was choosing Ivar, following her fate, and she wanted him to know that. "We will avenge her," she promised, stroking his tear-damp cheek.

Ivar caught her hand there, holding it fast. She felt his nodding beneath her palm, small at first and then growing more determined. "Yes." Running her thumb across his lips, Rúna nodded back to him, though she doubted he could see it through the dark. "Yes. We will."

His other arm wrapped around her back, pulling her into him for another kiss. "I love you," he told her once they broke apart, tucking her against his side. Her head came to rest just over his heart, the beats thrumming under her cheek.

"I love you, too, Ivar," she whispered against his skin. His fingers worked their way into her loose hair, raking gently through the strands again and again. Ivar's back, she thought to herself. Here she was, her head rising and falling with the gentle lulling of his breathing, turning deeper and more even as he drifted into sleep. Her cheek was flush with his warm skin and he smelled of clean soap.

Ivar is here, returned to me.

"Thank you," she whispered, meaning it with her whole heart. "Thank you, Freya. Thank you, Allfather."

And then she smiled, no longer able to contain her giddy excitement, hugging Ivar tighter to herself. Stirring slightly in his sleep, Ivar's hand fell heavy on her shoulder, eliciting a giggle from her.

Her gods had blessed her indeed.

Just like the morning he left, on Ivar's first day home, Rúna woke before him. Carefully slipping from the bed, she managed to dress in the dim morning light without waking him. Next to the door, written in the dirt, was a note from Sigurd. Torvi was all it said, written in his spiky runor. How kind of him, Rúna thought, shaking her head at the assumptions Sigurd must have made to have him break his routine of relying on her for meals. Still, she appreciated the privacy.

When she came in from her chores, she found Ivar awake sitting up in her bed, examining the little branch of mistletoe. "Where did you get this?"

Brow furrowed heavily, he held it out to her. It was still as pristine as the day it had been gifted to her over a week earlier. Biting her lip, Rúna came to sit beside him on the edge of her bed. "The Seer gave it to me."

"You went to the Seer, Rúna? And what did he tell you?" Ivar pushed himself up so he was truly sitting, the branch forgotten so that it fell discarded into his lap. Plucking it up before it could be damaged, Rúna ran her finger over the leaves, considering how best to answer.

"Not much," she said, not considering it a lie since her visit had been short. "He told me to cling to the gods and they would cling to me, and then he gave me this branch of mistletoe as a parting gift of sorts. But he did not tell me why it was given to me."

"When did you go?" Ivar continued his line of questioning. "Why did you go?"

"A few days after Queen Aslaug's death." Rúna hung her head, suddenly shy. How to tell Ivar she had stolen the dying wish from his mother. "I went to ask him if her vision of your death would be fulfilled."

She felt those eyes on her, as intense as the blue heart of a flame. "The Seer does not reveal the fate of others."

"I know." The mistletoe was returned to its place amongst her river rocks on her bedside table. "And he reminded me of that. I told you, he would not reveal much to me."

If he suspected her deceit, Ivar did not call her on it. For that, she was grateful, a knot of anxiety undoing itself in her middle. She reached for his hand, drawing it into her lap and running her thumb over his knuckles. "Tell me of England. It's weighing on you."

To her surprise, Ivar shook his head. "I told all the important parts yesterday." He leaned across her, stretching out with a small groan to reach the tunic he had tossed on the floor the night before. "You said there was another set of my bindings?"

"In Floki's workspace," she reminded him. "I will fetch them. We are going to find your brothers, no?"

Gone was the Ivar of last night, the boy who had mourned his mother and let her hold him through it. He as slipping on the cloak of Ivar the Boneless before her very eyes, features settling into stoicism. "I have much I want to discuss with Sigurd and Ubbe."

In Ubbe's cabin, Rúna sat perched on the table, watching three brothers argue.

"We have to kill Lagertha!" Ivar hissed, keeping his voice down though his anger was evident in the venom of his tone. "Has the snake in your eye blinded you, Sigurd? How can you not see this?"

Ubbe nodded along emphatically, watching Ivar all the while.

"What good will it do? Killing Lagertha will not bring your mummy back, Ivar. And what is the use? She has already said we are to keep our stations and continue to be treated as the princes we are. Mother's being dead does not change the fact that we are all sons of Ragnar."

"You are fine with being a disgraced, powerless, and weak prince so long as you get maintain that status, Sigurd?" Ubbe asked, giving his head and shoulders a shake as if the mere thought might take hold of him. "If you do not want to do it for Mother, fine, but what of yourself?"

To that, Sigurd glared, sweeping his angered gaze over each brother before him. Then his eyes alighted on Rúna, brightening, and his shoulders straightening. "Rúna will agree with me. She may be mad at her right now, but she likes La—"

The shaking of Rúna's head stopped Sigurd in his tracks. Three pairs of blue eyes set on her, expectant. "Queen Aslaug had a vision that she would be avenged by her sons."

"And she told you Ivar was dead, too, yet here he is." Dropping her gaze to the wooden cabin floor, the only reply Rúna could give was a shrug. If she was hesitant to reveal the fate the Seer had given her to Ivar, she was in stark refusal to tell him how she had cheated Aslaug. Not yet, she reminded himself. Not when his hurt is still so prominent in the forefront of his mind.

"She was your mother, though. You are all well within your right to overthrow Lagertha."

"To kill her," Ivar corrected. His voice no longer held a trace of malice when directed at her. Turning back to Sigurd, Ivar shrugged. Though his back was to her, Rúna could picture the way he pursed his lips and raised his eyebrows. "If you are too coward to join us, Sigurd, then fine. Perhaps Father is already watching from Valhalla and will remember your blight of weakness."

"Why do the two of you keep doing that?" Sigurd nearly shouted, slamming an open palm on the floor. That is where the three brothers sat, the two elder having sunken down to sit at Ivar's level for the discussion. "Why are you talking of Father as if he is dead? He is Ragnar Lothbrok! If you are so certain he is dead, why are we not on a boat set for England instead of sitting here arguing over Lagertha?"

"He is dead, Sigurd, or very soon will be. I told you this last night, were you not listening? Father told me he did not go to England with the intent of returning. If you do not believe me, then ask Rúna. Father told Floki the same."

As Rúna nodded her head in agreement, Sigurd threw his hands up in surrender. "Fine! The two of you may kill Lagertha. Whether you succeed or not, I will be in a good place, no? Either the only brother here who did not attempt to kill the queen or the brother of the two victorious in killing the queen."

Pushing himself up, Ivar made a move toward Sigurd that was stopped by the rigid length of Ubbe's arm hitting him across the chest. Annoyed but duly contained, Ivar rocked back. "I will satisfy myself in the knowledge I have one true brother sitting beside me and the faith that I have another soon returned from the Mediterranean. There is no doubt in my mind that Hvitserk would agree with use over you, Sigurd."

"Nor mine," Ubbe said, more quietly, before pushing himself up from the floor. He stopped at the table where Rúna sat to pour himself a cup of mead. He held another out for Ivar before proffering one to Rúna and, finally, Sigurd. "If you will not help, perhaps Rúna will. What do you think, Ivar? Should we have her bar the doors from the outside?"

"A nice touch," Ivar praised. But Rúna was shaking her head.

"I will bar them if you like, but more importantly, Astrid should be separated from Lagertha. Her shieldmaidens will fight for her, but none so fiercely as her lover."

Ubbe turned to her, smiling appreciatively before taking a hearty drink and nodding. On the floor, Ivar sent a bright smile her way over his shoulder before raising his cup to her. "Skol, Rúna. See, Sigurd, that is how a true ally should be thinking right now. How will you do it?"

Taking a sip of her own mead, Rúna's mind drifted to her morning with Astrid beside the waterfall. "I think I have an idea where to find her, in the mornings… when do you plan on doing it?"

With a smirk, Ivar nodded. "We need Sigurd to understand how important this all is. But… we must stop planning, at least here. We do not know who could be lurking and listening. Let us go to the woods tomorrow, brothers. The spring weather should be nice for swimming. Sigurd, you may even learn something if you pay enough attention."

Rolling his eyes, Sigurd made a swipe at Ivar. The younger brother caught his arm, rolling Sigurd over so that he fell flat on his back with a heavy thump. "I am no longer in England, dear brother. My days of playing the part of a helpless cripple are done. Slow learner as you are, you ought to know better than underestimate me."

"Helpless or not, you are still a cripple, Ivar," Sigurd rasped once the breath came back to his lungs.

"And you are still a coward, Sigurd." Pulling himself into the chair closest to Rúna, Ivar turned his back on Sigurd. One hand came to rest on Rúna's knee, forefinger idly tracing the embroidery on her skirt. "I am hopeful we can remedy that sooner rather than later. There is also the matter of Margrethe, no? Did you not all three admit the useless excuse of a slave girl was complicit in Mother's death?"

Though blotches of high color still stained Sigurd's cheeks, he stood and dusted himself off. "You may do what you like with Margrethe, as far as I am concerned. I think she is more to blame than Lagertha."

"How?" Ubbe asked, brow furrowing as he took a seat across from Ivar. Though he looked to Sigurd for an answer, it was Rúna who gave one.

"She helped Lagertha because she fancies the thought that she might one day sit on Kattegat's throne, Ubbe. That was the only reason she began taking the lot of you into her bed, in the hopes she may marry a prince and become a queen."

On her knee, Ivar's hand tightened. She laid her own on top of his, waiting for him to loosen his grip. There was a mumbled sentiment of 'stupid whore' from Ivar, which Sigurd nodded his agreement to. Across the table, Ubbe's face went pale and then a flush flooding his skin from his temple to his beard. Ivar and Sigurd alike chuckled. "You have still been seeing her, then, Ubbe?"

"Not any longer. Not after today. But… does she really deserve to die? Mother was going to choose her death regardless; we all know that even without Rúna's telling us."

"Yes, but you might have gotten to tell her goodbye if Margrethe had not helped Lagertha trap the two of you, no? You would have been able to attend her funeral. Margrethe plays the part of sniveling, scared slave girl well, but she's twice now shown to be more cunning than she lets on."

Ubbe rocked back in his seat, stroking his beard where it covered his chin. The other three waited expectantly. Eventually, Ubbe shook his head. "Let's not kill her, yet. I want to see how tomorrow plays out first. Now, Ivar, when do you think would be the better swimming time? Morning or afternoon?"

The royal youth—and Rúna—were summoned to dine in the great hall on Ivar's second night home. Despite having an afternoon filled with talk of the usurper queen's death, the boys did well in keeping dinner mild, Rúna thought. Just as it had been the last time, conversation was sparse, mostly only answers given to Lagertha's questions since her new station meant none of the four could deny her.

"Are you ready for Floki and Helga to return?" She asked Rúna at one point, pulling her from her reverie of watching Astrid. It was curious to her that the girl did not sit either next to Lagertha at her head of the table or at the other end; Aslaug had always left Ragnar's seat empty beside her, yet Lagertha did not even have a second throne. Instead, Astrid sat just to Lagertha's right, where Ivar used to sit. A place of high honor, but not of equality.

"Very much so," Rúna answered honestly, earning her a soft smile from the new queen.

Lagertha had the princes seated in birth order down her table, with Rúna across on the other side. Next to Astrid. It was not lost on her that she had been given a high place as well, despite the fact there had been no war council for Floki to serve on in over a decade.

At one point, when Lagertha's wine cup ran dry, Astrid took it and stood rather than calling forth a servant. Interesting. Tucking the scene away in her brain, Rúna turned back to her dinner.

If Lagertha was withholding the spot from Astrid because she expected Ragnar to return, she would be sorely disappointed.

"I would like you all in attendance tomorrow for an announcement," Lagertha said, pulling Rúna from her thoughts once again. "In the evening. I expect to see you all here in the great hall at sundown."

Of the four, none of them gave any affirmation of Lagertha's order. When the meal was finished, they lingered in the street a few moments.

"You will check in the morning, that Astrid is where you think she may be?" Ubbe asked, drawing close to Rúna under the guise of helping her fasten her cloak, so that he might whisper.

Rúna nodded, cutting her eyes back at the great hall. "And then I will stay close to home for the rest of the day, as I have been, so as not to draw attention."

A tug at her skirt drew her attention down, to Ivar. "Come with me for a bit tonight, if you would, Rúna."

She couldn't help but try to give him a soft smile. The days had been rough on Ivar, and it showed in his face. Besides being pale, his usually clean-shaven cheeks were dusted with stubble, as was his upper lip. His cheeks were hollow, though that was no surprise given how he had picked at food since returning. "I will," she told him before turning to Sigurd. "And you listen to us. We need you on our side, Sigurd, not apathetic and lazy."

Then the four broke off in pairs, Sigurd with a scowl as he turned to follow Ubbe and Rúna falling into step beside Ivar. Inside his cabin, Rúna fed and fanned the coals in the hearth into a fire. There was much groaning as Ivar pulled himself up onto his stool to undo his boots and bindings.

"Will you make that vile concoction for me, Rúna? Unfortunately, Sigurd is sometimes right, and I am still a cripple and the travelling was hard on my legs." Smirking to herself, Rúna nodded and began assembling the herbs needed for the pain-relieving tea Ivar so hated. She stirred a generous amount of honey into it, knowing it would do little to keep him from lamenting about the taste.

Sure enough, he screwed his face up in disgust at the first taste. Rúna bit back a laugh, pulling up a chair so she could sit across from him. Without his asking, she took one of his legs into her lap. "Apologies if I cannot do it quite like Queen Aslaug would have."

He sucked air through his teeth when she pressed her thumbs into the scant muscle of his shin and pushed upward. Following the pain, though, came a throbbing of relief, the pressure of her thumbs helping dispel the tension in his legs. Everything about his legs was painful, but Rúna's ministrations were bringing on the good pain, at least.

"Thank you," he murmured before choking down another mouthful of tea.

"Of course." While she worked, he studied her in the firelight. It played over the blooming freckles in her cheeks, giving its own life to her hair. White teeth appeared, drawing in her lower lip in her concentration.

"Rúna?"

"Hmm?"

"What are you keeping from me about the Seer?" She smirked, giving a huff of an almost-laugh. No attempt was made to deny she had been deceitful.

"What are you keeping from me about England?" Came her counter. She looked up at him through her lashes, waiting.

"You first."

A shake of her head. "Mine requires prefacing. Show me yours and I'll show you mine."

For once, Ivar found himself not in the mood for arguing. He leaned back so that his elbows rest on his bed behind him, evaluating her. "Ragnar said he believes I am the most important of my brothers. That I, above the others, will be crucial for the future of our people."

To his surprise, she wasn't taken aback by his confession. Instead, she lifted her head, cocking it to the side so that her hair fell over her shoulder. Her lips pursed for a moment while she thought. "Did Aslaug ever tell you anything about visions of your future, Ivar?"

"Aside from me drowning at sea? No."

An emotion he couldn't quite name flashed over her face, gone as soon as it came. "Lagertha will fall, Ivar, of that Aslaug was certain. But she could not see by what means, though she went to her death satisfied in the knowledge the sons she knew she was leaving behind would avenge her. The Seer would not tell me if you survived the storm or not… at least, not in so many words."

"You are being cryptic, Rúna. While I'm sure Floki would appreciate it, I do not."

Sitting up straighter, Rúna picked her words carefully. "The Seer drew a crown on my head in his own blood. As I have no claim to the throne—unless I took it by conquest—and you made me promise that I would not marry one of your brothers if you died…" Rúna shrugged, watching the realization dawning on his face. "I will only wear a crown if you do as well, Budlungr. I knew you were returning to me."

Taking hold of his trousers, Ivar moved his leg out of her lap before taking hold of her chair and dragging it forward. Giggling, Rúna soon found herself close enough for Ivar to reach for her, drawing her to him to kiss her hard on the mouth.

"We will avenge my father in England and my mother in Kattegat, Rúna," he told her, tipping his forehead to hers, "and then I will put Lagertha's stolen crown your head myself."

A/N: Small bit of dialogue/scene framing taken from the Season 4 episode 'All His Angels'.

The scene where Rúna and Ivar are reunited was almost a first kiss scene!

I can't wait for you guys to read what I have in store for Astrid and Margrethe. Hopefully you like the changes, because much of this story will deviate from the show from here on out, aside from plot points I think are too crucial to various characters' growth and development.