What's a God to a King?
Mary has a feeling. An odd feeling. A feeling she hasn't had at any point since she has arrived here. She has the feeling that she slept for too long.
She blames Ivar for it because every time she has tried to get up, he has wrapped his arms around her and asked her to stay.
"I have just fought a battle." He would say, clearly fishing for sympathy. And even though Mary would huff and protest, she would fall back into bed every time. But now its too bright, and the people outside are too loud for Mary to keep sleeping. She slips from his grasp, and sit's up. Ivar groans and opens one eye, looking at her unhappily before letting his eyes wander over her body. She is still naked, and raises a questioning eyebrow when his gaze becomes lecherous.
"I could touch you again." He says suggestively, letting one finger trace the flowers on her hips. She turns her head towards the entrance and bites her lips. She can see the shadows of people passing by, can hear their conversations and she knows that they will be able to hear most of what goes on inside the tent.
He seems to know exactly what she thinks when his face turns wicked.
"Let them hear." He mumbles suggestively and Mary laughs loud, before escaping his wandering hand and getting up.
"I see what this is about." She tells him smirking, unperturbed at his face of false innocence. "You want to show off."
He just shrugs at the accusation.
"So, what if I do?"
"I won't help you keep up this ridiculous feud." She tells him, ignoring the way his jaw sets at the tone of her voice.
"They disrespect me and they question my abilities as a leader." He grounds out and Mary sighs. She doesn't know what she had expected. Maybe she had hoped things would go back to the way they were two months ago.
But the animosity clearly runs too deep to be solved over a victory and some beers.
When she doesn't answer and just pulls on her gown, he scowls, having clearly expected her to take sides and now being angered by her refusal to do so.
"Your dress is dirty." He comments rudely, rolling back onto his back and staring up at the ceiling.
Mary looks down and, as expected, the hem is muddy and torn in places.
"I can get a new one." She shrugs.
When she looks at him, she notices that her dress it not the only thing that is dirty. His braid has come undone and she can see that the tips are hard with blood and dirt, and his hands are almost black from the soil.
"Would you like to take a bath?" she asks him, sitting down at the small table. He is clearly in the mood to argue but Mary is still elated from the night before and refuses to let him ruin it for her. If he wants to pout, he can do it by himself.
Ivar pulls himself into a sitting position and drags his legs over the edge of the bed, running a filthy hand down his face as he nods. He takes hold of his hair and tries to separate the bloody strands of hair, but without water and a good scrubbing, there is little to be done.
"I will have one of the servants come in later." He says then and Mary looks up curiously.
"I can help you." She offers but he just scoffs.
"Someone else will do it."
She tsks in annoyance and, in a rather petty move, turns her back to him.
"Are you jealous?" he asks mockingly and Mary glares at the tent wall.
"Why? Because there will be some slave girl here to undress and wash you?" she asks tartly and he laughs. The sound is still a little condescending, but much better than the sardonic sound he has been making the last weeks. When Mary looks back over her shoulder, he has pulled on his shirt and reaches for his crutch and secures his iron legs. While his upper body is clearly sore from the battle, Mary notices with joy that he seems quite agile on his own now, even without the brace being locked. He limps over to her, his balance having progressed impressively and her heart flutters with the hope that maybe- some day - he might be able to walk with only the crutch.
He falls beside her and grins.
"Most of them come once and never again." He continues their previous conversation "So you do not need to be jealous. "
Mary loves Ivar Ragnarsson, she fears Ivar the Boneless, but she hates Ivar the Cripple. Especially when his words are spoken with such self-deprecating honesty.
"Would you not be jealous if a man came and undressed me? Watched me sit in a bath and scrubbed my back?" Mary asks, her voice half teasing half sullen as she turns back towards him. Ivar's reaction is – as it often is – extreme.
"I would kill him."
She shudders at his words and frowns disapprovingly into her cup.
Her reaction does not go unnoticed.
"Do I scare you?" he asks, leaning forward and putting one elbow on the table. Grasping her chin in his hand, he gently forces her to look at him.
"Sometimes."
"I would never hurt you." He says earnestly, letting his thumb run over her lower lip.
"You have done it before." She reminds him.
"I was foolish before."
"You are still foolish." Mary says and his face goes from serious to warning.
"I am smarter than people think." He tells her and she nods.
"You are also angrier than you admit."
She kisses his palm and then stands up. The afterglow has dissipated and now the air is tense. Nothing good will happen if she stays .
"I'm gonna go." She tells him.
"Are you fleeing, little fire bird?" he asks her, looking up at her with his hand in his lap and a mocking smirk on his lips. It's the first time since the journey from Wessex that he calls her by that nickname again.
"I have to wash and I have to find a new dress." She answers and even though she leaves, the corners of her mouth lift into something that might resemble a smile.
The day is bright outside. The sun is shining through the tree crowns, casting swaying shadows in the wind, and the air is clear. Sadly, it is also incredibly cold and Mary can actually see her breath when she exhales.
Ubbe, Sigurd, and Hvitserk are sitting outside, lounging in the sun as if it was a summers day and when Ubbe sees her he grins proudly. She likes Ubbe. He is smart, and kind, and under other circumstances she would have been more than happy to sit down and have a chat with him. But Mary has her eyes on someone else.
Sigurd is sitting with his back to her and when Mary is sure that there are no sharp or pointy objects close (she doesn't want to accidently impale him) she kicks him in the back.
Hvitserk looks alarmed at the sudden attack on his brother and jumps to his feet but Ubbe shakes his head, motioning not to get involved in the confrontation that lies ahead. Listening to his older brother he stays back, but he doesn't sit down just yet, his fingers touching the axe at his side.
Sigurd, surprised by the sudden force against his spine, falls forward and sputters when he hits the ground. Maybe he had expected Ivar, or maybe even an enemy army, but when he sees Mary, his eyes go from wrathful to annoyed.
He stands up and brushes the dirty off his clothes.
"You are a very violent woman." He informs her and Mary bristles.
"And you are a stupid, idiotic pig." She growls, but he just rolls his eyes as if she is nothing more than a child.
"Are you here again to defend my brothers honour?" he mocks and Mary leans down to pick up a handful of dirty.
"No, I am here to defend my own honour." She shouts and throws it at him.
It doesn't hurt him of course but he lifts his arms against the odd attack and staggers back a few steps when she comes closer.
"If you ever put your hands on me again, I will make you uhrt so bad even your grandchildren will feel it." She hisses.
Ubbe shakes his head "Sigurd." He says exasperatedly "What did you do?"
Mary looks at him in surprise, then grins sardonically "Oh you haven't heard? Your slimy brother tried to get into my pants – under my skirts- whatever. That's why I broke his nose."
Ubbe closes his eyes with a heavy sigh and lets his head fall into his hands before looking back up, his expression disappointed. "Brother." He just says and runs a hand over his face.
But Sigurd isn't going down without a fight.
"So what?" He asks into the round, opening his arms wide "She was a slave-"
"But she isn't anymore." Ubbe interrupts him forcefully "She is a free woman and as such she could have you punished for going against her word and taking these liberties."
Finally, Sigurd shuts his mouth.
"You had no right to touch her and you better pray that our brother never finds out what you did."
At that, Sigurd actually looks afraid.
Really? That is what makes him stop? Fear of his brother? She wants to hit him with a bat. Maybe throw something heavy at him. Possibly throw him into the icy cold river and see if he can swim.
But instead, she just gathers her skirts and marches off, her face red with anger.
"Nice to meet you" Hvitserk says behind her.
"We already met." She grounds out and Ubbe sighs tiredly. All of his brother's are idiots and somehow it's always on him to make sure none of the die. Sure, on the battlefield they can hold their own, but the line between enemies and allies gets muddier with every misstep and thoughtless word.
Mary makes her way back to her own tent, where she finds Helga braiding Tanaruz's hair and Floki sitting with his back to her.
"Good morning." Mary says with false cheerfulness and then she actually jumps when Floki turns to look at her.
"Oh my god, why do you look like that?" she shrieks.
His face is coloured black, from the scalp to halfway down his face with a few smudges reaching all the way to his jaw.
"You scare easily for a seer." He just remarks, giving no reason for his current horrendous appearance. How the English didn't just turn and run as soon as they took a look at him, she doesn't know.
"I'm a seer, not a mind reader." She counters and he snickers.
"Really? I feel like the nature of your ability keeps changing." He comments and Mary glares at him.
"Floki, let the girl be." Helga chastises him when Mary sits down beside him.
Then she lifts the thick braid she had been working on over Tanaruz's shoulder.
"You have very nice hair." She says, clearly enunciating each word and Tanaruz smiles.
"Thank you." She says, her accent heavy. Slowly but surely the Moorish girl is learning to speak Norse even if the conversations are often clumsy and slow.
Helga beams at her and rather than roll his eyes, as he often does when the two interact, Floki just shakes his head with a small smile.
His opinion on his wife's new 'daughter' was never a secret and when Mary found out the story behind it, she understood him a little bit better.
Helga had basically abducted the girl from her home and a mad wish to replace her deceased daughter. The story is sad and tragic and even though Mary cannot condone her actions, she also feels for her. Deciding that the early morning is much too cold to just sit in her dress, she quickly slips inside the tent.
After finding her old cloak in the depths of her bag, she wraps herself in the warm furs and passes another one to Tanaruz. The queen had a few made for her, and even though Mary still felt nothing amicable for Lagertha, it had not escaped her attention that one of the coats was much smaller than the rest. Too small for any grown woman, really.
The young girl smiles thankfully and wraps up. She has found that she is almost as much of a wimp when it comes to the cold as Mary herself. Helga and Floki are looking perfectly happy of course, sitting on the cold ground without a shiver.
God, she hates this weather. Even though the trees are starting to turn colourful, it has absolutely no business being this cold.
She stays with them for a while until Helga announces that she will take Tanaruz to the river to wash, and when she asks Mary if she would like to join, she declines.
She has never been comfortable washing with a bunch of people. She doesn't mind the nakedness so much as she dislikes the stares and whispers ever time her tattoo comes to light. She is also secretly hoping to get a dip in Ivar's tub, rather than the surely freezing river.
"Would you care for some food?" Floki asks and she nods, following him away from their little camp.
"So, what happened yesterday?" Mary asks while they walk.
"Oh, I don't think you want to know." He says "I think your -eh- different sensibilities would not approve."
Mary laughs a little at that.
"You think we don't have violence where I am from?"
"Oh, I don't doubt that you do." He says dismissively "But I doubt that you are a girl that ravels in death as much as some other people here.
When they step into a wide clearing by the water, she sees the brothers gathered around one of the fires, a giant stag cooking between them. She doesn't have to ask who he might mean with this.
She automatically turns to walk towards Ivar, but Floki grabs her sleeve and shakes his head. It's only then that Mary notices the tense air that seems to be emanating from the four men and reluctantly joins Floki at a fire behind them instead.
She tries not to listen to what they are saying but Floki seems to have absolutely no quarrels with eavesdropping even if it makes a muscle in his cheek twitch.
He is clearly as unhappy with the situation as she is.
But just like her, he also seems unwilling to get involved for now. Instead, he pulls a bucket of water closer and washes the leftover paint form his face, only to then re-draw the familiar black under his eyes and the lines down his cheeks.
"You don't like it?" he asks grinning when he notices her dubious expression.
"Where I come from, it's usually the women who paint their faces." She informs him.
"Tell me about your home again, Seer." He says, leaning back in a casual slouch. God, the man is tall. Not even just tall, but long. His legs, his arms.
Even when he leans back and looks at her with scrutinizing eyes, his voice stays nonchalant "Where are you from again?"
Before she can answer he leans forwards.
"It is where, right?" he whispers quietly, almost secretive, but the tone is almost mocking.
Mary looks unimpressed.
"I don't know or care about how you came to be here." He then says, losing his interest in that particular little game as quickly as it came. He stretches out and takes a sip from his cup. Somehow, even during the day the people here drink beer. It's much weaker than the actual thing, but also much more bitter, and Mary pulls a face when she takes some herself. She takes a careful bite of the meat that is cooking on the open fire - some kind of venison she assumes and when she finds the meat tender and juicy, she happily takes some more.
"I thought you were devoted to your gods." Mary says carefully.
He grins and nods. "Very much so. But I believe that even the gods cannot stop the storm coming over the Ragnarssons."
His face changes quickly into an annoyed scowl and he cranes is neck in anger. The voices behind him are getting louder and Mary would not be able to ignore them even if she tried.
"Same as you, brother." Sigurd says, turning the spit over the fire as the others huddle around, decked in heavy cloaks. "Except I don't ride around on a comfortable bloody chariot."
Mary cannot see his reaction, he has his back turned to her, but she cannot imagine it to be anything but arrogant and angry. Goddamn idiot.
"What you have to learn Ivar, "Bjorn says "is that if you break up this brotherhood, we may not succeed. We have many challenges ahead of us. So, if you want to keep arguing, and whining like a little girl, then I suggest you leave. We don't need you."
Mary groans quietly, leaning her forehead on her knees. She doesn't know when the brother's rivalry had started, but she can see the reason for it clear as day.
Jealousy.
They are jealous of Bjorn for knowing their father, jealous of Ivar for their mother's favour, and Ivar is jealous of them all for being raised as warriors while he had to stay behind. Mix that in with the Viking way of overcompensation and an obsession with greatness, and the result is a deeply troubled family.
They keep bickering back and forth, talking about their father's legacy as if Ragnar Lothbrok had been much more than just a stubborn old man by the time he died.
When Bjorn mocks Ivar with a stag's head, and he answers with yet another condescending answer, Floki has had enough.
With a cackle he turns around and finally faces them.
"So, this is what the grunting of the little pigs was all about." He mocks.
Mary remembers the phrase, yet she doesn't quite know from where.
But it makes the brothers quiet down as Floki turns away in disgust and focuses back on his food. She catches Ubbe's troubled eyes but quickly lowers her gaze to her own plate.
None of them dare protest and once again Mary notices the deep respect they have for Floki. He may not be a King, or even an Earl, but everyone still holds him in high esteem. But not even Floki will be able to command them or force them to work together. No, the only man who would have been able to do that is dead and buried deep in these woods and if they are unlucky the rest of the family will soon follow.