Chapter Thirty-Eight: King Olaf
Even Ivar could feel how springy the lush, green land was beneath their feet. The spiked end of his crutch sunk deeply into the soft earth with each step. This land took and gave easily; he had no issue moving forward. Up ahead, Rúna seemed a blazing smudge against the green land. Between her hair and scarlet tunic she stood in stark contrast to Hvitserk, who wore an earthy brown. Excitement propelled the two of them forward. It was the Christian and Tanaruz that kept pace with Ivar.
Heahmund was armed once more. His sheathed sword slapped against his thigh with the rhythm of the bishop's walking. Tanaruz was quieter than the men, walking lightly over the vibrant landscape. "That is Dublin?" She asked, inclining her head toward the township becoming visible in the distance. It was still tiny, no more than a dot on the horizon.
The question was directed at Ivar. Tanaruz didn't seem to care much for Heahmund. "We should hope so, or our siblings are getting us lost."
Rúna held the map in her hands, braided head dipped over it. Hvitserk, taller than her, was curved over her to look at the spot she was pointing at. He felt Tanaruz stiffen beside him. "Rúna would not get us lost."
"Probably not," Ivar conceded, trying to conceal his smirk. "She certainly cannot get herself lost, no? I think we might even be able to see her come nightfall, bright as she is."
He earned himself an amused smile from Tanaruz at that. The trio of misfits followed their guides for some yards until Rúna stopped. She pulled Hvitserk to a stop, too, with a yank of his tunic. The pair waited for the others to catch up. Once close enough, Rúna wedged herself between Heahmund and Ivar, slipping her hand into the crook of the latter's free arm. They were approaching Dublin; as Ivar had predicted, they were also approaching a welcome party. Or, perhaps 'greeting' party was more accurate. The small knot of men at the front gate did not look hostile but nor did they look very pleased at their approach.
"Hello," Ivar greeted in his native Norse once they had stopped a few feet from the men. They were not dressed like Vikings nor much like Saxons. All five men wore belted linen tunics that fell to their knees. Their legs were bare beneath this; simple leather shoes encased their feet. But their hair and jewelry were reminiscent of Norway. Each man wore braids in their hair. One even had hair beads dotted along the braids, just as Rúna did. And every man wore an arm band, the sight of which heartened Ivar that they were indeed in the right place. "This is Dublin, no?"
"It is," the tallest of the men—blonde, green-eyed—confirmed. He spoke in Norse, but with a lilting, almost musical accent. "You are here for King Olaf."
This wasn't a question. They had been seen sailing in, but Ivar knew that. He had spotted fishermen along the beach before they docked.
"Yes," Ivar confirmed. "We would like a word with him, if you would not mind seeing us to him." His tone echoed one oft heard from Aslaug, one that brooked no argument. He met the tallest man's gaze unwaveringly, daring those watery green eyes to defy. They didn't.
A five-man escort was quickly formed. Green Eyes headed the venture, with two men flanking Ivar, Rúna, Heahmund, Tanaruz, and Hvitserk on either side. Within the gates of Dublin was a kingdom that was not so different from either Kattegat nor York. It bustled with people, most of which turned curious eyes in their direction. A great hall was situated in the heart of Dublin, just like Kattegat.
The familiar, cloying scent of herb fires in braziers made Ivar's chest tighten with sudden longing for Mother. As did the dais, lined with furs and housing twin thrones. These chairs were empty, though, showcasing their elaborate carving. Entertainment was being had that morning; a crowd of people occupied the left side of the hall. It was a raucous crowd, so much so that their arrival went unnoticed, even with the thump-scratch-thump-scratch of Ivar's walking.
A wrestling match. The larger of the men—massive, like Björn, but dark-haired and tanned—threw his opponent over his shoulder to the chorus of cheers from the crowd. Turning on his heel, this huge man's dark eyes alighted on Ivar and the others and a wide, white smile spread across his face amongst his heavy beard.
But it was not Ivar nor Hvitserk, nor yet Heahmund, that the man's eyes settled on and sparkled at. It was Rúna. He spoke Norse unaffected, unlike their companions. "Padraic, is this the wee, red selkie you told me you spotted from shore this morning?"
"Selkie?" Rúna repeated, brow furrowing and expression closing in anticipated offense. Padraic was one of the men in the greeting party, a white-blonde young boy who went red in the face at the larger man's jest.
"A selkie is a creature from these Celts' myths," the man explained. "A seal that turns to a woman if she sets foot on land. Playing with the sea animals this morning, were you?"
Indeed, she had been. Ivar had spent the morning watching Rúna hang precariously off the edge of the boat while she laughed and attempted to pet the slick, sleek creatures that played alongside the boat. It was Rúna's turn to blush at the teasing, dropping her eyes demurely to her feet as she nodded. "I did."
"A bonny little selkie, certainly. Now," he turned the dark gaze to the rest of them, raking over Heahmund, Ivar, Hvitserk, and Tanaruz in turn, "I saw the banners on your ship myself. Who among you is a son of Ragnar Lothbrok?"
"We are," Ivar and Hvitserk spoke in tandem, motioning to the other. They gave the other a smirk before Hvitserk motioned to him once more. "My name is Ivar the Boneless, and this is my brother, Hvitserk."
"Ivar the Boneless and Hvitserk, huh?" The man repeated. "And your companions?"
"Bishop Heahmund, held captive from King Aethelwulf," Ivar explained by way of introduction.
"And the selkie?" The dark gaze returned to Rúna, unconcealed curiosity shining from the depths. "What is your name, a leanbh?"
"My name is Rúna." She kept that same demure tone.
"Only Rúna? No family name?"
"Rúna Flokisdottir." The correction brought a wide smile to the man's face.
"Ah, there it is. I had wondered if, perhaps, Ragnar's children were not the only ones of notorious lineage sailing to my shores. Selkie indeed, having a boat builder as your father."
Rúna smiled again, radiant with the recognition of her father. She waved a hand toward Tanaruz. "My sister of the heart, Tanaruz. She keeps the Moorish god, Allah. Please do not mistake her abstinence from certain food and drink as ungratefulness; she does so to please her god."
Though he had not yet provided any introduction, it was obvious the man before them was Olaf the White, King of Dublin. Named with that wicked irony Vikings so love, Ivar thought, smirking at the dark looks of the man. Olaf smiled and raised his arms wide in welcome. He continued to speak in a mix of their native Norse and the language of the current land.
"Ivar and Hvitserk Ragnarsson! Rúna Flokisdottir! Children of my own land and their friends, Heahmund and Tanaruz." Here, he spoke over his shoulder to his amassed crowd. "We will welcome the Christian and Moor without holding their gods against them, no?" The crowd laughed and whooped at that, shouting their agreement. "Céad mile fáilte! A hundred, thousand welcomes!"
Never had Rúna been so thankful to eat roasted mushrooms stuffed with goat cheese. The taste reminded her of home, of dinners in the great hall. Their arrival in Dublin had been fortuitous; Olaf's kingdom was approaching Lughnasadh and the court was rather merry. Lughnasadh had been explained to them as being strikingly similar to midsummer.
"We will have games and a funeral feast in honor of Tailtiu, mother of the Celtic god Lugh, who died of exhaustion after clearing the Brega plains for farming. Gratitude and honor are given to her every Lughnasadh." King Olaf explained to them. He had invited Rúna and the others—even Bishop Heahmund, though Ivar had made it clear the Christian man was a captive—to sit on the dais with himself and his family. The ruling family was small, comprised of King Olaf, his wife Queen Audr, and their son, Thorstein.
Where King Olaf was dark, his wife was the opposite. Queen Audr had golden hair and the lightest of blue eyes, nearly colorless when the light hit them just right. Thorstein had his father's black gaze and hulking size, but his mother's fair skin and soft smile. His hair was ruddy and bright, though, which gave context to his name: Thorstein the Red, named in accuracy rather than irony, like his father had been. He was of an age with Rúna and Ivar, but the rapt attention he gave to their tales over dinner made it clear that he had not yet raided.
"You keep the gods of the land, then?" Ivar asked, dark brows furrowed together. He was looking well, Rúna was pleased to see, after his bout on the ship. So many days in the sun had given him a tan and a healthy glow.
"We keep both," Queen Audr explained. "There are so many similarities, truly, that Olaf and I like to thing our gods and theirs would get along well together."
"I am sure you didn't sail this far to attend Lughnasadh," King Olaf continued. "After dinner, the Ragnarssons will come with me to discuss the reason for this visit. Audr, a stór, you will show the others suitable accommodations for their stay in Dublin?"
"Of course, a mhuirmín." She took Rúna's hand and squeezed it of a sudden, somehow managing to be motherly and friendly all at once. "It will be good to have a kinswoman with me for a time. I will take you and your sister with me to the well tonight, to ask Lugh's blessing."
"Bishop Heahmund will join our discourse," Ivar amended Olaf's plans. "He's a great mind for strategy and he is a warrior. I certainly did not bring him here for counsel."
Even the bishop smiled at that. He had been largely quiet since landing, though that didn't surprise Rúna. Heahmund had sufficient Norse to understand the lot of them, but stubbornly spoke only in his own tongue. Whatever contributions he had for their after-dinner discussion would have to be translated by either Ivar or Hvitserk.
"Very well." King Olaf agreed readily. "The more speakers, the more Thorstein will learn."
And so it was decided that once the dinner plates were cleared away, Rúna and Tanaruz went to accompany Queen Audr to this well and Ivar, Hvitserk, and Bishop Heahmund slipped away into another room of the great hall to discuss strategies with King Olaf and Thorstein.
"I like this plan very much, Ivar the Boneless." Olaf had a habit of calling him by his whole name. Perhaps he liked the cadence of it. He didn't know. Ivar was thankful that, despite the mildly annoying habit, Olaf did not seem the least bit put off by his leg braces and crutches. "But allow me to offer a slight alteration."
The map laid out before them was lovely, painted in a fine hand and labeled with a scrawling print. From memory, Ivar knew the borders of the land called Alba, the place they intended to journey to. Olaf began to pluck the wooden warriors off the map and stack them vertically on the River Clyde. "Alt Clut is a massive fortress, carved and built on a steep rockface. It is, sadly, impregnable. I admire your lust for battle, and I have heard you named a berserker in the tales traveling around about the vengeance you all wrought for your father, but the fact of the matter is that we cannot take Alt Clut by sheer force, thanks to Dumbarton Rock."
He moved a fleet of small, wooden ships along the painted riverway. "Should you send your bonny selkie with a fleet of ships, they would be riddled through with arrows. Even if they were to draw close enough to make a go at the entrance, it would be a fool's errand. The River Clyde would run red with their blood."
"What is it that you propose instead?" Hvitserk asked, curiosity compelling him to lean forward over the map.
"There is also strength in patience. We are at a vulnerable time of the year, as you know. The first harvests are not yet ready to cultivate, and last year's bounty is depleting." Olaf arranged the ships a safe distance from Alt Clut, with more wooden warriors lining the banks. "What we cannot take by power, we can certainly take by persistence."
Ivar smiled at the proposal. "And when the Britons are tired of starving and being cut off from trade?"
"We slaughter them, of course, those who are brave enough to leave the perch of Dumbarton Rock. And we shall take what we like, Ivar the Boneless, and make my Dublin and your Kattegat the richer for it."
The night air off the sea was cool, washing away the heat of the day. At Audr's request, Rúna and Tanaruz had changed into borrowed linen shifts, and Tanaruz had forewent her veil. Their hair trailed loose down their backs, fluttering in that breeze. Queen Audr led them through the lush green grass toward the coast. Had the queen not known where the spring was, Rúna surely would have walked right into it. A gentle hand stopped her from doing just that; she felt Tanaruz pull up short just behind her.
"This is a holy well," Queen Audr explained to them. "If you do not mind joining me in honoring Lugh, remove your shoes, girls."
Rúna relayed this information to Tanaruz in her mother tongue, holding up their farce that her sister didn't speak Norse. Surprise showed on Audr's face as they set aside their boots. "You do not mind honoring a god that is not your own?"
"No," Rúna said simply. "Tanaruz prays to her Allah and asks protection for me. I do the same with my own gods. I have a… sister, of sorts—by way of marriage—that is Christian. Princess Blaeja, daughter of the Saxon King Aelle, is married to Ivar's brother Sigurd."
Queen Audr regarded them with her pale eyes for a moment before nodding. "There is a path of stones across that narrow bit of the spring, where the sea water flows in. Follow my steps across it."
The ceremony to honor this Lugh involved walking three times around the spring and while chanting a prayer calling Lugh a master of artisans, leader of craftsmen, and patron of smiths—among other things—before evoking his blessing. Setting foot on the cold, moss-softened rocks made Rúna suddenly think of childhood days with the boys, playing in the creeks in the forests of Kattegat. She kept hold of Tanaruz's hand the entire time, her only tether in this new world. When the three rounds were finished, Audr bid them to kneel before the spring and poured water from her cupped hands over their heads. It was cold and fragrant with the salt of the sea as it sluiced over Rúna's face. The ritual was completed when small scraps of fabric were tied to the branches of an ash tree growing tall and strong near the spring.
It was a nice ritual, Rúna thought, but just as she had felt nothing bowing her head in Blaeja's church, she likewise felt empty completing the rounds with Queen Audr. She would pay them homage, but these very much were not her gods.
"The two of you are very tolerant," Audr remarked as they walked back through the swaying grass. Stars were heavy and bright overhead. Rúna felt wistful in this new land, excited yet unmoored, and she longed for Ivar. "You said you have a Christian sister, of sorts. You are married to Ivar, then?"
"Oh," Rúna murmured, face flushing, "well, no. Not yet." She had been living as if she were Ivar's wedded wife, much to the scandal of the Christians.
Audr smiled softly at that, eyes glittering like the stars above. "Handfastings take place during Lughnasadh. It's akin to a trial marriage; you pledge loyalty one another and are considered married for one year, at which point you can either make the marriage official with a ceremony or go your separate ways. Neither of you have parents to arrange a marriage for you, do you?"
"No," Rúna admitted. "Queen Aslaug was killed when Kattegat was usurped by the shieldmaiden Lagertha, King Ragnar's first wife. And, well… everyone knows what happened to King Ragnar."
"And your own parents?"
Here, Rúna made sure to keep her eyes trained forward. It took considerable strength not to look at Tanaruz. "My mother was killed when we were raiding, in vengeance for King Ragnar. The grief… it was too much for my father. He is alive, but I do not know where."
Queen Audr gave a sympathetic click of the tongue at that and linked her arm with Rúna's. "If it is yours and Ivar's wish, I know Olaf would be more than pleased to perform the handfasting ceremony for you."
Lughnasadh and midsummer celebrations were combined in Dublin, which became obvious when Rúna saw the blood-dipped runes hanging from the trees. She added her own runes alongside Ivar and Hvitserk. Funeral games were played throughout the day, keeping the air of the festivities light. Even Tanaruz and Bishop Heahmund partook in these.
Both Tanaruz and Rúna were good shots with their bows, and each managed to best their opponents more often than not. Rúna also ran footraces with Hvitserk, and she cheered for Heahmund in the horse races and Ivar in the axe throwing and wrestling.
"I am glad he decided to compete in the wrestling," Tanaruz had whispered to Rúna amid the clapping and cheering. "I have heard it discussed that he must be cursed, because of his legs. Some men are not best pleased that King Olaf has formed alliance with him."
Tanaruz's information only made Rúna clap and cheer louder for Ivar's every victory.
The first day was filled with music as well, the sound of string instruments giving Rúna a sudden pang for Sigurd and Blaeja's absence. But this was soon remedied when Queen Audr swept her up and taught her the fast-paced steps of their dances. The games, music, storytelling, and trading lasted for several days. While his people celebrated, King Olaf alternated between the festivities and performing such duties as settling disputes among his people and giving his blessing for marriages—handfast and true unions.
"Just do it," Hvitserk urged them. He was slightly sunburned from so many days of games, nose and cheeks reddened. Still, his hazel eyes shined at them. "You'll be married at home after we take Kattegat, anyway, and surely that will not take a whole year to accomplish."
"Handfasts are recognized even in Christianity," Bishop Heahmund threw in. Despite the heathen gods presiding over the festival, Heahmund was thoroughly enjoying the vices not overtly permitted to him in his own land. Namely, drink and women. He smiled overtop of his mug of blueberry mead at them.
"Yes, my only goal in life is to ease your sensitive Christian morals," Ivar had quipped, but it was in the teasing tone he usually reserved for his brothers. To Hvitserk he said, "It surely will not take the whole year to avenge Mother and put Kattegat back into our rightful hands, I promise you that, brother."
The true motivation for Ivar and Rúna, though, had been the fact that, upon learning the pair were unmarried, they had been separated. Ivar had been lodging at night with Hvitserk and Heahmund, while Rúna and Tanaruz had been given places to sleep with Queen Audr's slave girls. Agreeing to a handfast marriage would allow them to be together again, at least.
So it came to be that Rúna and Ivar were the last couple to join hands through the wooden door. Rúna giggled as she put hers through and Ivar took it. He had taken his brace off for it so that her palm met with his warm skin rather than stiff leather. King Olaf bound their joined hands in ribbon and said some words in that singsong tongue the Celts used. She didn't understand the handfasting words, but she felt giddy, nonetheless. Ivar squeezed her hand when King Olaf's small speech was done, and he removed the ribbon that bound them.
Once she was allowed to move to the other side of the door, she stretched onto her tiptoes and kissed Ivar to the whoops and catcalling of Hvitserk and Tanaruz.
The funeral games ended that same day, with the funeral itself. This was not only a mock funeral to honor Tailtiu, but true pyres were burning by nightfall on the first day. Both the Norse and Celt gods were evoked during the mass funeral. Though Ragnar, Aslaug, and Helga had long since gone to their graves, King Olaf honored them in the funeral rites as well. In absence of their bodies, wooden epitaphs with their names carved in runor were burned instead.
It was to Odin and Hel that Rúna prayed to during the funeral, asking for the well-keeping of their souls. Rúna knew in her heart that Helga resided in Hel, reunited with Angrboda once more. She hadn't given much thought to the fate of Aslaug's soul, but it made sense she would rest in Hel, too.
Heahmund had found some pockets of Christianity in Éire; apparently, King Olaf ran an exceedingly accepting court. If these men knew Heahmund's status within their church, they raised no qualms to the bishop's partaking in the feasting and celebrating.
The night had grown hot and close, between the press of warm bodies and the roaring fires. Not to mention the mead, warming her throat and belly as she swallowed. Rúna shed her cloak, folding it carefully and tucking it away with Hvitserk's.
"You look like you're wearing a shift," Ivar teased her. Without the borrowed cloak, Rúna did feel exposed a little exposed. The dress Queen Audr had lent her was long for Rúna only because she herself was shorter than the queen. It was made in the same style as the tunics the men wore in Éire; the hem fell below her knees but left her calves entirely exposed.
He beckoned her to him with a wave of the hand. Giggling, Rúna let Ivar draw her into his lap. "Do you feel married?" She asked, settling her weight across his legs. He wrapped his arms about her middle, pulling her back flush with his chest.
"No," he told her with a scoff, pressing a kiss to her neck. "Do you?"
"Not a bit." Unlike her, Ivar still wore his own clothing. She could feel the thick embroidery and beads on his tunic. Before them, Thorstein and his friends were playing a game that involved jumping over the flames of the smaller fires. "I guess we're still living in sin."
"I am surprised breathing isn't considered a sin to Christians. What is it that Olaf keeps calling Audr of late?" He hugged her closer, settling his chin on her shoulder.
"A chroí. It means 'my heart'."
"My heart." Ivar buried his face in her hair. "That's what you are, my Rúna. My whole heart. Just wait until we are the ones presiding over feasts like these, a chroí."
A shiver ran through her at the thought. Every day drew her closer to the fate revealed to her by Aslaug, confirmed by the Seer. Rúna lifted Ivar's hand where it rested over her stomach, raising it to her mouth and pressing a kiss to his fingers where they were left exposed from his brace.
The next day started early, with the crowd assembling at the crop fields just after dawn. Thorstein presided over this part of the ceremonies, solemnly cutting a portion of each swaying crop and setting it aside in a basket held by his mother. Audr wore a thin, white smock that reached the ground and her hair loose. It reminded Hvitserk of Mother, his chest going hollow at the thought.
"Olaf says the crops will be buried on the highest hill as Lugh's god portion of the harvest," he explained to Ivar and Rúna in a feeble attempt to distract himself from the sting behind his eyes. Unlike Sigurd, he still held good memories of Mother, mostly from before Ivar was born and his baby brother became the sole focus of Aslaug's life. "You missed the lessons last night."
"Ha-ha." Still sleepy and without his breakfast, Ivar didn't have it in him to form a witty reply. Rúna gave none of her own other than a disparaging look over her shoulder. She had braided the ribbon Olaf used in their handfasting ceremony into her hair. The two of them had slipped away from the funeral feasts unseen last night, emerging together this morning for the next installment of Lughnasadh.
He knew that breakfast would come next, with the first of the harvest to be shared and eaten before the ceremonial sacrifice of a bull in Lugh's honor. The meat would be roasted throughout the day, for the night's feast. And the play that would be put on that evening, telling the story of Lugh bringing the grain to feed mankind.
An odd land and odd customs, yet similar enough to his own home that Hvitserk found something to rub salt into his wounds at every turn. He missed Floki, too, always joyous at the celebrations of their own gods. And Ubbe… his older brother hung above him like a heavy, secret rain cloud. He couldn't talk about Ubbe to Ivar or Rúna. They were a united wall of anger where he was concerned. Tanaruz would likely listen, she was good at that, but she couldn't empathize with him, not having known Ubbe.
He missed Sigurd.
The loss of Ubbe and the absence of Sigurd stayed with him throughout the day. It throbbed like a bone-deep bruise, making it hard for him to focus on the skit of Thorstein, playing the god Lugh, battling for the grain. He had watched Audr sacrifice the bull with blank eyes, trying to keep the visions of Mother's face out of his mind. Audr had placed a bowl of lifeblood at the base of a statue of Lugh, a massive stonework that depicted the god with three faces. Other portions of blood had been passed around for each person to have a sip in Lugh's honor.
The sacrificial bull was massive, his meat marbled beautifully when it was served at the feast. "Please tell me Allah allows you to eat this," Hvitserk teased Tanaruz. They had been thrown together a lot as of late. Privately, he felt they were both byproducts of Ivar and Rúna. The former was engaged in a card game with Bishop Heahmund, the latter patiently answering questions about Floki from King Olaf.
"Well…" Tanaruz was clearly hungry, he could see it in the firelight shining in her dark eyes. Her tongue flicked out, wetting her lips. Hvitserk had to lean close to hear her; she was speaking Norse, but in a whisper, so as not to give it away that she was competent in the language. Rúna had given her the task of eavesdropping when she could, after all. "The bull wasn't sacrificed in the name of Allah. But… I already drank the blood, earlier, and that is haram as well."
Tanaruz shrugged and plucked a small piece of beef off her plate to pop it into her mouth. "I pray each day that Allah forgive me for taking on your heathen customs."
This took Hvitserk so by surprise that he was laughing before he knew it. "Why do it, if it is haram?"
Here, Tanaruz fixed him with her dark, dark gaze. "I am alive only because of Rúna's deep kindness. I do not forget that."
It was not, then, in honor of gods she didn't keep that Tanaruz took part. It was in honor of Rúna. Smirking, Hvitserk tapped his mead cup against hers, knowing it was filled with honeyed water. "Skol, Tanaruz."
The smile she gave him was tentative, not fully committed to forming across her lips. "Skol."
When Lughnasadh finally drew to an end, talk of the plans for raiding in Alt Clut were resumed. This time, Rúna and Tanaruz sat amongst the council crowded around King Olaf's expansive map.
"So we will… sit?" Rúna asked, nose scrunching. There were few alternatives and that was made obvious by the tall stack of blocks illustrating the rock the Britons made their stronghold in.
"Would you rather sail into the rockface in one of your ships?" Thorstein snapped. Though the son of a Viking, he had been raised in Éire, and had adopted the common-held belief that women had no place in raiding.
"I would rather not be questioned by someone who's not seen battle," Rúna shot back. Ivar smothered a laugh, laying a hand on her thigh in warning, but there was no need. King Olaf threw his head back and laughed heartily as Thorstein's face reddened.
"You had best get used to shieldmaidens, son. Rúna Flokisdottir will not be the only one joining us in Alba. Yes, we will sit, but not for long. Once the Britons have been starved out of Alt Clut, we will storm them. Hopefully the cocky bastards will learn a thing or two, if any of them are left standing once we're through."
King Olaf took one of the wooden ships and reversed the voyage they had taken to Éire. "You lot will return to York to retrieve your troops." From York, he took a hastily made chariot and began an overland journey across the map. "Ivar the Boneless will brin this Great Heathen Army of his north, to Alba. We ourselves will travel by sea and up the River Clyde. All of us shall sail together in two days' time and rejoin our forces here, at the base of Alt Clut."
A large finger tapped the table, causing the tower of blocks to waver a little.
"Should all our gods see fit, mo chairde, Dublin, York, and Kattegat will all be the richer for Alt Clut falling."
A/N: Hi, friends! I hope you enjoy this chapter. As I said before with Tanaruz and Heahmund, I want to add more of the exploration of religion into this story. The show focused so heavily on Viking gods and Christianity, but since I pulled the alliance of Olaf the White and Ivar the Boneless to take down the Britons straight from history, I wanted to explore some of the Ancient Irish traditions. It was a lot of fun to write this one! I know it's a bit shorter than I usually put out, but I promise next chapter will make up for that!
Thank you to Puffgirl1952 the 2nd and the kind Guest who left reviews last chapter!