Making a tyrant
Mary forces herself to step further into the room, her breath shaky even when she tries to appear nonchalant.
"Welcome back," she says before falling into a mocking curtsy, "My King."
He stares at her and for a moment she thinks that he is as unprepared for their reunion as she is. When he doesn't speak, she steps even closer and runs her hand over the scratchy material of the servant dress, "I'm sorry I couldn't dress up properly. My status has somewhat diminished in your absence."
Finally, he clears his throat, "It is good to see you again, Mary."
She snorts and crosses her arms, her eyes going to the ceiling when she prays for patience, "You could have seen me any time you wanted, Ivar. I was right here. For two months."
He extends a hand and even if she is still angry, Mary steps closer and puts her hand in his, letting him pull her up the stairs.
"I thought you were dead." He mumbles, raising her hand and letting his lips ghost over the scar in her palm. "I got word that the infection had stopped your heart."
Mary holds her breath at his words before exhaling and closing her eyes. So that had been it. The reason for his sudden disappearance. The reason for his alliance with Harald. The mysterious message had not been about war on Kattegat, but about her. Everything else simply followed.
"As you can see, I am alive and – "she frowns down at her hand, "-not well. But alive, for sure."
"Hm," he agrees and pulls her still closer, until she stands between his knees and gazes down at him. Blue eyes, tan skin, brown hair. It's all there. And yet it is all so very different, achingly familiar in it's change.
"I never meant to hurt you," he says softly and she puts a hand against his cheek.
"I know," she whispers and when she leans down, he captures her lips in one fluid movement. The kiss is bittersweet.
He blindly reaches for his crutch but Mary is too close for him to stand up properly and when his weight shifts against her, she is unprepared.
"Oh, my god what are you doing?" she yelps and catches sight of his eyes widening before they both topple to the ground, Ivar landing heavily on top of her.
"Fucking hell," she laughs loudly, "Be careful."
But even so, she pulls him closer as soon as they hit the floor, always closer, and inhales the scent of his skin. How she has missed him.
She grabs the collar of his shirt, pulling him closer until his mouth finally touches hers again and he stems one hand on the floor beside her head, hovering above her just how she remembered. He kisses her hard and bruising, his lips hungry for her while his free hand touches her arms, her hips, her thighs, her face.
"Ow," she suddenly yelps and he pulls back immediately, looking down at her with alarm. She rubs the sore spot under her left breast where his elbow had dug painfully into her side and chuckles. "I just became whole again. Don't break me again." She teases and watches his face pull into a regretful grimace at her words.
"I'm sorry." He whispers, pulling her hand from his shoulder and pressing a feathery kiss against the angry scar. She watches him tenderly, her free hand playing the braids by his neck.
"I thought you had left me." She confesses and he shakes his head.
"I thought you were dead when I went to Harald. I thought I had…" he can't finish the sentence.
"But you didn't." she assures him.
She stops in her movement and her brows furrow and then she is leaning up, just slightly, and narrowing her eyes at him.
"Wait. You thought I died and your immediate reaction was to start a war against your family?"
He looks a little startled by her accusation, but quickly turns to defend himself, his voice returning to the hard edge she had heard earlier. "I thought Bjorn's indecisiveness had caused your death-" he says but Mary interrupts him.
"Alright, first of all. I love you, but if I had died then that would have been all on you, Ivar. Bjorn wasn't the one who threw that goddamn axe."
"If he hadn't-"
"If you hadn't. You. I'm just saying you have to take responsibility for your actions here, pal." She says, pointing a finger at his face, "You can't just start a war over something so inane. I mean seriously, Ivar. What is it with you people? You'd almost think that – why are you looking at me like that?"
She pauses, her finger still hanging between them, even when a sly smile has spread on Ivar's face.
"I missed you, little Seer." He just says and then he leans closer and forces her back onto the floor when he presses a kiss to her lips.
"Now, wait a second." She protests and pushes his away, "I was talking."
But his lips just move from her face to her throat and down to the crook of her shoulder and she can feel him smile against her skin.
"Don't ignore me." She gasps.
His only reaction are his teeth scraping across her collarbone before he slightly bites the skin of her throat.
"Ouch, what the hell, Ivar. Did you become a cannibal up north?" she protests, but there is laughter in her voice and when he kisses her again, they both smile.
In the heat of the moment, they both forgot the circumstances that have brought them back together and when the door to the throne room opens again, they are suddenly pulled back into the present. Mary cranes her head, looking upside down for the intruder, only to find Hvitserk staring down at them unimpressed
"Some would call that behaviour traitorous," he deadpans at Mary, and Ivar smirks.
"Why traitorous, brother? I am the King after all. If anything, she is doing what any good servant should do."
Mary slaps him in the chest for that comment, before working to crawl out from underneath him. Ivar sits up stares up at his brother with a smile. And for the first time since she has known them, Mary sees Ivar trying to reach out only to be cut down by Hvitserk.
"What are you doing, Ivar?" he asks, even when he helps the younger one back onto the throne.
"You mean, right now?' Ivar asks with a raised eyebrow and a glance at Mary, but Hvitserk just crosses his arms.
"In Kattegat. With Harald."
Ivar the amused smirk and settles back into his chair, "You are a warrior, brother. You should know what we are doing."
Mary looks between the brothers and apprehension starts building in her chest. Something is wrong.
"Don't play dumb, Ivar. You are much too smart for it." Hvitserk hisses.
Something in Ivar's eyes comes to light at the harsh words, but still his posture is relaxed, even if the arrogance is creeping back into his features.
"I took revenge." He says, "I thought Mary had died because of Bjorn's carelessness, and King Harald offered me an army."
Hvitserk shakes his head, eyes ablaze, and even though Mary had always known that he was a warrior, a Viking, it is the first time that she can sense the danger in him.
"Then tell me, why has our uncle Rollo just arrived at our shores, asking for the outcome of the battle and the health of your little Seer?"
What?
Mary's eyes shift to Ivar, whose face shows a hint of discomfort before the iron mask falls back into place, defiance shining in his eyes when Hvitserk continues.
"Tell me Ivar, and don't lie to me. When did you find out that she was alive?"
"A month ago."
Mary blinks, her head falling to one side when she realizes that he had lied. No, not lied. She thinks back to his words.
I thought you were dead when I went to Harald.
"Why did you stay?" she asks, hating how weak her voice suddenly sounds, "If you knew I was here, why did you stay with Harald?"
Hvitserk answers in his place, his voice accusatory, "Look at him. He finally had his revenge on Lagertha, and he finally has his crown."
He scoffs and Mary waits for Ivar to defend himself. To say something. Anything. But when he doesn't Mary swallows.
"You did abandon me."
"He had an army. A shot at being King." Hvitserk scoffs, "What else could he need? What else has Ivar the Boneless ever wanted?"
He laughs sardonically, letting his head fall back when he stares at the ceiling, his shoulders slumped, "When I first heard you were with King Harald, I wondered by you never send word to me. I stayed in Kattegat, stayed with her, because I was sure that that is where you would want me. Where you needed me. But now I can see it." His gaze lowers and when they look at each other, whatever bit of brotherhood had existed, dies. "You just wanted it all to yourself. The glory. The power. Well, congratulations, Ivar. You have it all."
Mary can feel the happiness drain from her body. The warm feeling that had just been coursing through her veins is replaced by the cold grip of betrayal and a deep sense of disappointment. Because in the end, Ivar had chosen revenge over her. His craving for war had won out and she realizes what he is. Who he is.
She stares at him and when his eyes meet hers, he lifts his chin, "I do not regret my decision." He says, "We have won. I have won. And tonight, I will be crowned King of Kattegat."
Ivar the Boneless. Ruthless Viking. Power-hungry strategist.
"I can't believe you." Mary breathes.
"I can." Hvitserk mumbles, but his comment is ignored by Ivar, who closes his long fingers around her wrist.
"I know you don't understand-" he starts and Mary snatches her wrist back with a loud laugh,
"Of course, I don't understand. Fuck, Ivar. You went to war against your own family. Your own brother," she rants, her fingers raking through her hair, "What happened to him? Ivar, where is Bjorn? Where is Lagertha?"
He is unmoved by the anxiety in her voice, simply shrugging at her question. "They fled before my men could capture them."
The sound that comes out of her throat is somewhere between a laugh and a sob and she presses the back of her hand against her lips, "Harald lied to you. He lied to you and when you found out you stayed there. Why? Because he promised you a throne? Is your loyalty really that cheap? I can't believe I waited for you. While all you cared about is - Fuck." She tries to walk away but Ivar's voice halls through the room and when he speaks his words shatter the last bit of hope she had.
"I am you King. You do not walk away from me, Seer."
When she turns, Hvitserk has his fingers wrapped tightly around the handle of the axe at his hip and his lips are pressed into a thin line.
"What do you want?" she barks, "Are you going to order me take my dress off? Should I kiss you, my King?"
Ivar swallows, guilt behind his eyes, but Mary is done. She is just done.
"No? Well, then I will leave now." She sinks into a curtsey, "And I am not your Seer anymore. Just a servant girl. No one of significance."
And with that she turns around and storms out of the hall. Ivar follows her but Hvitserk is faster, hurrying after her with long strides. He catches up with them just in time to see Mary's eyes find Harald, still surrounded by his drunken men.
"Don't." Hvitserk says immediately, clamping one hand over her mouth and wrapping the other one around her waist.
Mary is livid when she sees the Viking king and her immediate reaction is to try and fight him. Ivar can hear the muffles curses that escape her mouth and Hvitserk has to physically lift her off the ground and drag her between two houses to stop her from going after the other man. She struggles in his hold, kicking and punching, only stopping when Hvitserk pushes her against the wall, one hand still covering her mouth.
"Will you stop?" he asks and she glares at him.
"He is right." Ivar says and when her hateful eyes turn to him, he drops his voice into a cold command, "I forbid you from attacking Harald. If you go against my order, you will suffer the consequences. Just like every other servant girl."
Her eyes widen for a second before she stops struggling.
Hvitserk leans in closer, "Will you be quiet now?"
She narrows her eyes at him before moving her mouth behind his hands with a look of childish petulance in her gaze. Hvitserk barely reacts.
"Did you really just lick my palm? You should be much more disgusted by that than me." He informs her and when she pulls a grimace, he finally lets her go.
"Eww." she whines and wipes her hand over her mouth.
"Neither one of you will raise a hand against Harald." Ivar says, his eyes flaring with jealousy at how comfortable they are being close to each other, "And you will not disrespect me."
Mary doesn't even answer him, turning on her heels with one last disgusted look.
Hvitserk just shakes his head, almost sadly. "Yes, my King."
And then they are gone, both of them, and Ivar learns that being King and being loved are two very different things.
When a knock sounds at the door, Mary knows who it is, and so does Hvitserk. He motions for her to stay where she is, kneeling by the fire, and opens the door with a drink in his hand. The early morning hours had been loud and boisterous, when victorious warriors had passed through the streets, many drunk, many on the hunt for a celebration. Their energy had been lost before midday, and the men and women, inebriated and exhausted from a night of fighting, had quickly succumbed to sleep. Ever since, it has been deadly quiet, most villages too afraid to leave their houses just yet, with the streets filled by strange invaders.
Ivar stands in front of Hvitserk's door, his crutch under one arm, and smiles brightly.
"I have been thinking about your words, brother." He says, entering the house without an invite, where his eyes linger on Mary for just a second too long.
"I have been unfair to you, and I want to make it up. Comme to my celebration tonight and I will make you my general. A man like me has few friends, and I would have no one else by my side."
"Can't fathom why you can't find any friends." Mary grumbles and then she freezes when Ivar's eyes fall on her. But he doesn't reprimand her, just quirks a lip and says, "And bring your servant."
"Why would I want to be your general?" Hvitserk asks, leaning against the edge of the table.
"Because," Ivar says, a dangerous glint in his eyes, "A position means security. For you, and for everyone else on your household."
His eyes drag to Mary in what is both a threat and a warning, and she scowls at him.
"I have been safe so far." She says, "Is there a reason why it should change now?"
Ivar shrugs, already on his way out, "I am sure that under Lagertha's generous rule, Hvitserk was allowed his privileges as son of Ragnar. If he was to lose those privileges, it would make him no more than a common warrior, and it would send you to the slave quarters."
Mary arrives at the celebration in a dark grey servant's dress and with Hvitserk by her side. He had tried to convince her that dressing like a servant might draw unnecessary attention, from men who thought they could take liberties, but she had insisted on it. She is not ashamed of the decisions she had taken because even if they had put her into servitude, they had also kept her safe.
In the end, Hvitserk has – with a heavy sigh and a shake of his head – insisted that she at least stay close. He has had the first cup of beer hours ago already, drinking steadily through the afternoon and when they step into the celebration, he is more than a little unsteady on his feet.
She glares at Ivar when he insists that they – the general and his servant – should sit right in the front, facing King Harald.
"How comes," the tattooed man starts, "that you are back serving?"
He motions to her dress and Mary scowls, "I seem to remember you being quite weary about my abilities. Is this not where you think I belong?"
Harald laughs, gripping the cup between his fingers, "I still don't know what to make of you, little one. You may not be a Seer but you aren't a servant either, that is for sure." He then shifts his attention to Hvitserk, who looks as thrilled to be here as Mary does, "I was surprised to see you in our ranks, general. With her tucked so tightly to your side I had expected your brother to cut of your head for taking his woman."
Hvitserk stiffens and Mary bristles, "He didn't take me." She hisses, "He doesn't even have me. The same way that Ivar never had me."
As id on cue, and surely because he had heard the entire conversation, Ivar whistles.
"Mary," he calls out and she grinds her teeth before she looks up to him, perched on the throne, with a crown already on his head, "Bring me some more beer."
Is he serious?
Oh, she is going to empty an entire barrel over his head if he doesn't lose that smug grin, she is going to-
"Mary," another voice whispers and Hvitserk's hand closes tightly around her own when he leans closer, "Whatever you are thinking right now, don't."
"You don't know what I am thinking," she growls.
"Don't I?" he asks and there is just the slightest hint of amusement in his blue eyes, "Because I am in no mood to explain why my servant drenched our new King in beer."
Ah, fuck. Fine. Maybe he does know what she is thinking.
Harald laughs out loud, clearly following their little conversation and then Ivar calls her name again.
She pulls her lips into a false smirk, her jaw still clenched, "Better?"
She stands up, a pot of beer in her hand and the only thing she hears is Harald's mumbled, "Drop the smile, girl. It is terrifying."
Maybe she can trip and spill all over the other Viking on her way back. Surely, no one could fault her for a clumsy mistake?
It only takes her five steps to reach Ivar, but she has to clench her fist to even walk those.
"I do not understand why you are so angry." Ivar says when she refills the horn in his hand, "Did I not come and get you? Can I not offer you more protection now than I could before?"
When she doesn't answer, he pulls her into his lap, drawing a round of drunken cheers and chuckles form the crowd and Mary tenses in his arms.
"Let go of me, Ivar." She says quietly but he just nuzzles his nose against her cheek. He smells like alcohol and sweat.
"You cannot command me anymore, Mary. You chose your position yourself." He mumbles "Now tell me why you are so unwilling to forgive me. And have a drink."
With the pot still in one hand, he tries to pass the horn into her empty fingers.
"Wait," she gasps suddenly but it's too late. He lets go of it and Mary, unable to grab it, watches it spill across the front of her dress, before rolling onto the floor.
Ivar looks momentarily surprised and her cheeks warm.
"I can't-" she wants to explain and when she flexes her injured hand, four of the five fingers barely curl. The nerves that had been cut were too difficult to repair and even though she had been told that a recovery was possible, there had been little progress.
Ivar draws her hand closer, inspecting the scar while ignoring the spilled drink.
"Is that why you won't forgive me?" he asks and his voice has an odd strain in it, his eyes hooded when he turns her hand to watch the scar run around her palm and just below her knuckles.
"No." she says quietly and for a moment she gets lost in the memory, sinking against Ivar's chest. When he looks at her like that, with such concern and regret, it's easy to forget how much things have changed.
"No, that's not the reason." He looks up at her and she sighs. "I always forgave you because, in the end, your heart seemed to prevail over your impulses. As soon as anger dissipated, you became the man I loved again. But now? Two months, Ivar. I waited two months for you, and you never came. And I think that you anger and your greed have finally taken a hold of you for good."
He looks at her like she struck him, "They haven't-"
"Really?' she asks, and in the room full of people their voices are hushed, meant for no one but each other. "This was not an insult thrown between brothers. Hell, it wasn't even an axe thrown in the middle of a fight." She scoffs and his fingers tighten around her injured hand, "You spend months planning, organizing. And if your heart never came through in that time, could never convince you to stop, then I don't know when it will."
"So, you chose to be a servant to me brother instead?" he accuses her. "Hvitserk is as much a warrior as I am. His need for blood and war is as strong as it is in every man in this room."
"And yet he has never laid a violent hand on me." She counters, "He has never touched me and hurt me in the process. I have never had to hold a dagger to his throat for him to see reason."
"How does he touch you then?" Ivar asks and the arms around her waist tightens when his voice becomes harsh, "How often has he touched you?"
"As often as I have wanted him to," she shoots back and then she stops herself, because she cannot drag Hvitserk into this. Not when his life is as dependent on Ivar's moods as hers.
She lowers her head, "He hasn't. Not like that."
But Ivar's eyes are already narrowed and cold, "I always thought you would leave me for one of my brothers."
"I never thought you'd leave me for a crown." She retards and Ivar's arm releases her.
"Go back to my brother." He says, "I'm sure you can convince him to share your bed."
"Right back 'atcha, Ivar dear. I'm sure you know what to do by now." She snarls, a odd bit of colloquialism slipping form her tongue, "Just remember to tell Freydis that I was the one who taught you."
When Mary returns to the table, she drinks three cups of beer in such quick succession that even Hvitserk raises his eyebrows at her. Then a shield maiden sits down opposite of her, tall and slender and her hair in an intricate braid, and Mary happily takes the distraction.
Her name is Siv and she is beautiful and fun and when a drunken Viking tries to drag her up by the elbow, she is happy to slam her shield into the rude man's abdomen.
Hvitserk is called away to business, together with Harald and when Mary watches them head into the back room – both of them clearly inebriated – she turns to Siv.
"Tell me something," she demands, her own words slurred just a little, "Why do men get to make all the decisions? I mean, you are big and strong, and I am sure you could knock out more than a few of these guys."
Siv smirks, her full lips quirking with just a hint of impishness, "Right now," she says and looks around, her eyes settling on a group of men where half are already asleep while the other half are somehow engaged in a three-person arm-wrestling completion. "I think I could take almost all of them."
"See," Mary says with a wide gesture, "That's what I mean. How do you put up with men like these?"
Siv smiles and she shrugs, "I don't. Men have never been my choice of partner."
Mary's mouth turns into a frown. "Could you teach me how? Cause I have had my fair share and I gotta tell you, it's not very fun so far."
When Siv leans forward and presses her lips against Mary's, her drunken brain takes a second to realize what is happening. And she tries. She really does. She tris to feel enchanted by Siv's soft lips, tries to enjoy the way she strokes her cheek, but the table is digging into her front because she has to lean over the table, and something sticky is under her fingers. When they break apart, both of them look rather unimpressed.
"I'm sorry to tell you," Siv says, "But I think you might be cursed with men."
"Ah, I'm sure she will be fine." Remarks Hvitserk, falling back onto the bench beside her with a bright smile. Whatever happened during their meeting, must have cheered him up considerably.
"I'm not sure if I could tell you to drink less or encourage you to drink more." He teases and one arm drapes across Mary's shoulder.
She throws a glance at Ivar who is scowling on his thrown, two fingers lifted to his temple as he glares into nothing. Harald is nowhere to be seen.
Damn, whatever has happened is about to put Mary into a good mood as well, because the alcohol has made her petty and when she catches Ivar's eyes, she lifts a cup in his direction.
His scowl only deepens.
The next time Mary looks, he has Freydis in his lap and this time it is her who scowls and he grins back, before whispering something in the servants ears that makes her turn adoring eyes to him.
"Inga," Mary shouts when a tall, blonde girl passes them. She had, to her regret, spend little time with her former friend and when she calls out her name now, she seems unsure on what to do.
"Please, sit down." Mary asks and Inga looks down at the plate in her hand, "I have to bring this food, first." She stammers.
"That's alright." Mary answers, turning her voice from boisterous to quiet for the hesitant girl.
She nods, a small smile on her face that quickly turns into a fearful frown when the Viking whose food she had fetched tries to drag her into his lap. Mary is about to come to Inga's rescue – even if she isn't quite sure what she would actually do – when Siv stands up, drawing her sword.
"I'll be right back." She says calmly and when she stands up, in full armour, Mary sighs.
"She is so cool."
Hvitserk chuckles and pulls her closer, "Did my brother really do so badly that you want to turn your back to the entirety of men?"
"I think you know the answer." She snorts and peeks up to the brother in question from beneath Hvitserk's shoulder. Ivar still has Freydis in his lap and while Mary's previous emotions had been built around anger and pettiness, she can feel the ugly roar of jealousy now. Because he is laughing, her face close to his, and with every word of praise he seems to be drawing her closer.
"You were always too good for him." Hvitserk mumbles against her hair, knowing exactly where her eyes are, "When I came back and they told me about you, the girl who had finally subdued my brother's anger, I thought it was a joke. And then I thought you were using him, staying though his moods because you were pursuing some bigger goal."
"Why is that everyone's first impression?" she grumbles, even if she is happy about the kind words.
"Because Ivar is volatile and dangerous and has as much charm as a rattle snake?"
"Fair enough."
Siv comes back with Inga and the next hour is filled with anecdotes and jokes and Mary doesn't miss the way that Siv moves closer to the other girl until they are basically glued to each other. Great.
At least Hvitserk is still by her side and keeps refilling her cup until her head is dizzy. He has been drinking as much as her, more even, because he had started hours before her, but when Mary pushes away her cup with a grimace he laughs.
"I can't," she declares loudly. "Have at it."
Hvitserk down the rest of her beer with his eyes on her and she laughs when the drink spills down his chin.
"That's what you get for trying to be such a show off."
The night drags on and on and on and Mary swears she will just close her eyes for a minute before she falls asleep.
"Hvitserk."
She startles awake when Hvitserk does. She had been nestled against his side, her legs drawn up on the bench, and when he jostles, she almost slips from her seat.
Oh god. Oh, god, her head is pounding with the promise of a hangover, even when the alcohol is still coursing through her body.
Her mouth tastes disgusting and she glares at Ivar with the same intensity as Hvitserk, who seems still mostly drunk.
"You know what?" he says, eyes trained on Ivar, "You insult the gods."
Mary is a little confused by his words. Maybe he had a bad dream, or maybe she had just forgotten something that had happened yesterday, but when she sees Freydis, still awake and beautiful, she pipes in sarcastically.
"Oh no, Hvitserk. They love him, remember?" she asks and stands up as well. Damn, the floor is not supposed to move like that. She blinks when Hvitserk snorts.
"I can't seem to recall actually. It seems to change depending on if he has a woman or not."
Ivar just watches them with a raised eyebrow, anger half hidden behind amused eyes.
"Then they must love me especially today, because I have never had a more beautiful one."
Freydis' eyes shine and suddenly the alcohol is not the only thing making Mary want to throw up.
Hvitserk wraps one arm around Mary, making them both sway for a second before he turns them around to leave. "Well, if that is the case, I must be Odin himself today."
They ignore Ivar's furious glare when they stumble out of the hall.
"We could go with God King." She giggles drunkenly, "Have I ever told you about this guy called Xerxes? Big man, big, big man. In the movie at least, I don't know about reality. But he was all gold…"